The Day My Dream Died

33 - Crest Falling

— 33 —

Crest Falling

//\\

Pain keeps her awake. No fear for growing too accustomed to it, it rises to meet exhaustion's demands. The peril of it is lost on her, as both preclude lucidity.

Rain patters the night-shrouded streets of Dejed. The smell of damp soil gradually ground out by wet stone. Lise is absent from her body, moving mechanically, but not so distant as to be truly insensate—a mere imitation of that blissful NON. Even as she walks forward, she looks back. Following the pattern along, she watches as her way grows depressingly dark. The next step... I make blindly. She can reminisce on brighter days, simulate them in her mind, but can never return—only ever seen through this warped reflection.

The tower is a black spike silhouetted against heavy clouds. A deathly visage. She walks around the spiral. Stumbling Right. Left. Left. Right. Left. Left. Left. Dragging Right. Walking walking. Why?

Staring at a door. Lise recalls her purpose in returning here. The door opens. Elineal stands, divested of the robes resting around her feet, staring into the air above her—staring at a memory, suspended.

The strangeness of the scene brings Lise back to the present. Buffer from the pain removed, it crashes in on her, drowning her. She utters a name.

The woman does not respond.

Lise loses consciousness.

She gasps, choking on air, heaving. Spilt from her cracked lips, the bile tastes of death and worse. The pain is blinding, deafening, killing thought at its source. Lise can do little more than lie in her vomit, trembling. Begging for even an imitation of NON. Whole body clenched, sweat beading up all over. Her chest holds hidden claws, raking relentlessly. She reaches out for Death's grasp, wishing only for something to hold onto.

A hand finds hers... Death? She can't see. The hand clutches hers tight, bringing it close, even as her nails peel away skin, it holds...

Lise regains consciousness, groaning, and is made sick at the smell of her festering bile. The pain is excruciating, but not to the same extent. She rolls, the motion drawing from her a mortifying yowl. Biting back sobs, for their pain isn't worth the relief, she lies still.

She waits for a moment when the pain recedes enough for her to move. When that moment never comes, she begins the process of convincing herself to move anyway.

If I don't get up, not only will I perish, but Seli's salvation goes with me. There is no pride in it, only acknowledgment of the tragic truth. I can't do it. I can't do it. Blinking, blinking, she suppresses the overwhelming fear, the tears, GET UP! DAMN YOU! DAAAMN YOU! I WILL DO IT!

She doesn't move.

Her breath comes in shallow gasps, each exhale followed by an immediate intake. Even these short breaths feel like a new talon in the chest for every rise and fall. Get up get up get up get up just move a little just sit look up do anything please move do something do anything don't cry just hold on don't give up I can't I need to move I need to save everyone, anyone, just someone please... help me...