#icefist

  The few times his drifts close to lucidity, the pain and fear are all that he can truly process. Surroundings are blurry and unfamiliar. He struggles to apologize, the last moments of his life flashing in his mind on a loop since it happened. Each time, he falls back into a cold blackness. A void. No dreams or thoughts. Like he didn’t exist at all. The brief moments of wakefulness are all he has. And it feels like a dream. Someone may have asked his name. Someone may have tried to get any information. But all that falls from his lips are disjointed pleadings and apologies. The times his eyes managed to take in any surroundings, it was a slightly different unfamiliar place. Sometimes bright. Sometimes dimly lit. Sometimes dark. Until it all blurred together. 

  What finally seems to revive him is the sound of distant thunder. A rumbling far away. Next was a smell. The air before it rains. Though only a vague scent. Lilac eyes slowly open, though he could only see through one. He slowly raises his right hand before a terrible pain stops him. His hand hurts. So instead he raises his left. Also sore and raw, bruised, but functional. He softly places trembling fingers upon his eye. It stings, but more notable is the soft feeling of fabric. A bandage is covering his eye. Next to slowly moves his aching right hand to look at it. It’s swollen and covered in bandages too. He tries to sit up, but the pain stops him. A tiny whimper leaving him. Everything hurts… But why? And where was he? A wooden building like this…. He wasn’t familiar with it. 

  It’s only then that the memory returns. All of it. The whole awful night. Tears start to sting his eyes. How is he alive? Shouldn’t he be dead? He needed to… What? He’s all alone, isn’t he? How does he know he’s even alive. Maybe this is just some strange afterlife. It isn’t until he hears someone enter the room that reality really starts to set in. His ears twitch and he tries to get his good eye to rest upon whoever is with him. 

  Oh…. It’s a man… One much bigger than he is, at that. Probably mad at him for sleeping too long. His heart is pounding. He could handle dying but… he just hoped this man isn’t going to do anything else to him… Anything like Xulu would. 

  “Ah…” He tries to speak, but his voice won’t cooperate. Maybe because it’s been a few days since he’s said much. Or maybe because he’s trying to stop himself from crying. “Sorry…. I’m….” He tries to sit up again but fails. The pain, yet again, sending him back down.