Everything was very lucid, not quite as it should be. He felt, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure if he was. It truly felt like floating (didn’t it?), floating in a liquid world where there was no real need to do anything, no real desire to do anything. No need to move… no desire to know the ‘how-s’ and ‘why-s’ of the world around… no need to bother the mind with any though or question at all. Even the most natural act of breathing itself felt, mundane and unnecessary – unwanted almost, as it tried to destroy the complete serenity of where he found himself now.
Serenity… Peace…
This felt alien and bizzar to him. Unwanted, undesired. It stirred in him – ironically, it stirred in him the closest thing to actual fear he had ever felt. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but be amused by this: considering the world he lived in, this – peacefulness – frightened him?
He didn’t like this feeling…not just the fear, but the feel of the place: Too peaceful. Too much like the ultimate goal to be real.
No. It wasn’t like the ultimate goal. This was dark. Black. Unnatural. He didn’t like the feeling of…lacking, that this place seemed to thrive on, to feed of off. The air around him pulsed like a heartbeat, constricting him, trying to force him to not breath, to stop violating the world with his life.
He tried to move. He had to get out of this unseen force before it began to work.
He couldn’t move. Something was binding him, outside of the pulsing, which tried to squeeze the life from him. It pulsed again. It didn’t like him much. He tried again, putting as much of his will into moving his arm as he could. Was his arm burning? Was that a bead of sweat running down his face? He couldn’t tell. This place was keeping things like that from him. This place scared him a little. He continued to push – or was he? No, he could feel a build-up in his mind, telling him he was doing something. Something…at least he knew that. Something was comforting – it meant that he could at least feel, and this knowledge fueled him.
There it was: movement. Slight, almost invisible to the eye, but his mind recognised it. Movement. With it, a few other sensations began to form, as if traversing the obstacle of movement opened the gate to more movement. He could move his arm freely now - and his other now! Now his legs too. The movement brought its own sensations too; the feeling of touching something soft… fabric. But they were dull… as though being muted… only a ghost of the true feeling.
He realised he couldn’t open his eyes. The world pulsed, forcibly pushing the air from his chest, and blood from his arm. He revelled in the feeling of the warm substance flowing down his arm, even though he knew what it meant, he couldn’t help but welcome the new sensation of warmth. River hadn’t even realised he was cold. He forgot to breath. He felt air being forced down into his lungs. Where had that come from? He felt pressure at the bleeding wound. More pressure. The bleeding stopped.
Were there two forces? One: trying to kill him, another... fighting for his survival? Were they aware of each other? The world pulsed again, removing his breath once more. It was replaced by the other force - again. What was going on?
Voices He thought, No, one - maybe two. Two, mostly just the one though. He could hardly hear it. It was faint, but it was there. He couldn’t make out what it was saying, but it sounded exhausted, desperate – concerned. Was it one of the forces? Which one was it? The world pulsed violently, shaking in rage that the intruding life had not been removed – it could hear him breathing and it hated the sound. His whole body was wrapped in pain: his new found movement allowing him to convulse in pain – not a lot, not enough to offer any kind of relief.
“Oh no.” The words were plain and simple, but they were heard. The voices went back to its muffled un-clarity, but that was at least one question answered – the voice was trying to help him. His elation was quickly destroyed as the pain quickly asserted itself once again. It wasn’t very hard to do when the entire force of the world around you was trying to do so.
This place wasn’t anywhere close to the ultimate goal. This place was evil.
There was a different kind of pain - a prick. And then peculiar warmth entered him. It spread like wild fire throughout his body, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake, as it steadily eradicated the encompasing agaony. The only down side was that he felt weaker, and almost everything lost what little clarity it had. But he didn’t care, the encompassing pain had left him and that was all that mattered. Even the pulsing of the world had lessened, reduced to calming gentle waves that ferried him around in the void.
It was tranquil…peaceful.
No! I have to remember… this isn’t…safe. I. Am not safe. Think damn it, think, what is this…place? He began thinking intently, forcing his mind to work through the haze. Its protests fell on deaf ears, (I just had another argument with myself) and he eventually – after what felt like several days - found something of note. The something was a theory on what the person in a comatose state might ‘see’. The theory stated that the person might be in their own mind, essentially sifting through memories and feeling until they woke up. He adapted the theory to his situation and it made sense. The sensations could be what my physical body is feeling… the pulsing…and pain could be me…dying? My chest was pretty badly destroyed after all. The…helpful one…a nurse maybe? Okay, this doesn’t help me wake up. He debated mentally for some time, trying to remember if there was anything he had stumbled across that might help him now.
'No' was the simple answer to that. He needed to figure this out on his own.
His eyes. He tried to open them, but it felt like trying to lift two great lead slabs, the kind that would keep the most valuable treasures locked away for an eternity. His gut spoke out; it was telling him that opening his eyes would lead him to the waking world. Non to chuffed at the idea that simply being unable to open his eyes was keeping him in a comatose state, he re-doubled his efforts, desperately trying to pry open his eyes. It simply wasn’t working, they were refusing to budge. Maybe it would be best if- the thoughts of doubt were demolished as light burst into the abyssal darkness, lighting the candle of hope in him. It was just a slit, a measly crack, but it was enough to force him onward, pushing his eyes open more and more, a fraction at a time, the world of shadows almost screaming and writhing around him as it was banished.
Elation filled him finally as the light spilled into the darkness, throwing him back into the world of awareness and life, but not before all his memories flooded him in one fell, crippling swoop. He felt sorrow again. And again. And again. And again…