Author Games: The Last Cannon

TASK EIGHT: Castiel Lyons

I push myself up from the bed and feel the morning air chill the sweat on my skin. I breathe quickly, my thoughts desperately trying to escape the haunting of my sanity. Shapes blur into place before me, each of them blued by the misty light. My shutters keep away the warm sunlight, but through their glowing gaps, I know the sun is in the sky.

I grip my silk sheets and feel sickened to not find any comfort in its touch. I notice my swollen eyes ache as I look around my simplistic room, keeping back the shadows and shapes. Beside me in my Husbands space, the sheets are empty but ruffled. I shiver, and a distant sound echoes one last time in my head.

The same nightmare comes every night. The babies cry and the medical staff rush around me, all the while I sit in pain and know that there is nothing I can do. As the racket arises around me, I scream and scream and beg for the pain to be taken away.... and it does. But another replaces it from the moment I wake up.

The night is everything but peaceful to me now, yes, but the days seem much worse. If I'm too weak to fight back, my demons come to light. I find myself wondering if there honestly people out there than can live like this? Scared to eat, scared to blink, scared to feel how they feel? It would seem as though from the moment I close my eyes to the second I wake up the next morning, I've fought a thousand battles to a war that cannot be won.

Small and delicate movement shuffles at the foot of my bed. First I jolt a little, but then I see the bars of the crib and my heart rests. I slide out of the bed and walk slowly over to the cot. I hear my baby boy whimper as a small, closed hand rises into the air. It clumsily pushes aside the blanket that's on top of him and I can see his wide-awake eyes that are so much like his fathers. I walk slowly around to the side of the crib, running my hands along its marbled edges and smiling at the kicking baby before me. The newborn looks at me, and though his face cannot change, his eyes expand and crease with a slight happiness.

No one else can ever make me feel like this. An indescribable happiness. A thought or a whisper that simply tells me that everything is going to be perfect. He gargles and coughs, screwing up his face, but I laugh just a little and tap the baby on his nose.

"Shh, shh," I say so softly that my own voice tickles my gut. "You're okay, just a little cough." I smile as the boy looks humorously outraged and confused. My face drops a little and I can't seem to pull my eyes away from the delicate cluster in front of me.

"I promise that nothing bad will ever happen to you," I whisper wetly, but something strange begins to hollow out my insides and throb in my skull. The air becomes cold, so I pull my hands in and cross my arms to rub my skin for warmth. The orange glow from the shutters seems to weaken and I finally tear my eyes away from the child to look at the windows and the darkening light.

And then the door on my right opens, and a swarm of blaring light hits me. My eyes ache and my cheeks begin to gently tickle; I realise I must have been crying. Suddenly the room seems so much darker than it was before. My husband stands in the doorway, but his features are blurred by my ongoing tears. He looks down and I follow his gaze to the crib at the foot of our empty bed, It too is empty and silent.

"You should get ready." My husband says neutrally and cautiously. I don't show it, but it takes every ounce of my being to not fall apart right here, right now. I bite my tongue and squeeze myself tightly, wanting to slowly and calmly breath before I respond. My mouth opens, but I immediately bring a hand to cover it and I weep into its palm, holding onto the marble crib just to keep myself standing. I feel Thon's large arms wrap around me and pull me into his chest. I rest on his comfort and cry into his clothes; a black blazer with a velvet collar.

He kisses my head and rocks me as we stand and I wait for my breaths to be stable once more. I run my hand across his collar and straighten it out. If he weren't dressed for a funeral, I'd say he looks handsome and young again.