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 Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 8:35 pm
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 8:47 pm
i.
He stumbles out of the portal with tire lines crinkling the edges of his widened eyes. Bare hands brush against the cold dirt as he feels a burst of wind from the portal’s temporary closure. There is the slightest p***k of pain in the tips of his fingers before he continues to fall forward. He puts pressure into his legs, desperately clinging to any shred of stability, but everything he touches crumbles to dust and shards.
When he crashes to his knees and slides across the gravel, he looks less like the tired-but-trying young man he pretends to be and more like the breaking child he was. His mind tells his body to cry, but the tears refuse to spill out. He figures he’s finally run out.
The guard leans over, hesitantly inquires about his status.
Eyelids droop. The pain in his body dulls as he presses his palms to the ground to push himself up. “I’m fine.”
Red blood. Screaming. Smiles. She reaches out, cups his face one last time. She breathes in, tries to say his name one more time before—
“It’s okay. I don’t feel a thing.” He really can’t.
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 8:47 pm
ii.
He tries to write the report, but the splattered colors and metal cutting flesh keep distracting him. He feels his hand gripping the pen, but he sees it covered in the green glow of his weapon. His mouth opens to say something, but he ends up inhaling as much air as he can. Shaking hands claw at his pounding heart as he tries to take another breathe. Why won’t the air go through?
Someone has the kindness to rub his back and whisper into his ear. Breathe in. Breathe out. Let it pass.
He closes his eyes, watches the blood spread across the carpet over and over. Let it pass.
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 8:48 pm
iii.
When had the sky gotten so dull? The brightly colored apples that sprinkled the cafeteria had all but disappeared, transformed into dark reds and pale greens. When he looked at his hands it was like staring at a broken screen—his vision glitching between ashen grey and pale skin. Each day, something seemed to lose color. Sometimes they were insignificant details like the leaves on trees or the feathers of a passing bird.
And other times it was the deep red of his eyes. The reassuring glow of Gramps. The clear purple of her eyes, but now it was a grey-purple.
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 8:48 pm
iv.
What did apples taste like? What was the appeal of sugar if it only felt like sand rolling over his tongue? But still he smiled, struggling—but somehow succeeding—to emulate the delight in his eyes when he ate his favorite foods and desserts. This is fine. He is fine.
He’s eating a green apple. Toss. Catch. Bite. Repeat, as he walks toward the training fields. He drops the tasteless core to the ground as he tries to pull the mask over his face, but it’s so hard to breathe. Had it always been this hard?
Tear off the mask. Fall over. Clutch his heart.
This too, shall pass.
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 8:49 pm
v.
Please wake up.
Is it his voice or his weapon’s? He cranes his neck toward the clock and realizes he’s overslept by four hours. Somehow, he didn’t hear the alarm. Or maybe he had heard the alarm and chosen to ignore it? Brows furrow as he tries to remember. He’s already curling into himself, pulling his arms to his chest and pulling the covers to his chin.
He closes his eyes, tells himself if he sleeps a while more everything will be better (it won’t) and the red will go away (he’s tried this before) and the screaming will stop (he’s lost count) and he’ll be fine (there is no solution).
Just sleep (and cry).
Sleep a little more (and hope to die).
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