The Day My Dream Died

37 - Death Disoriented

— 37 —

Death Disoriented

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    "How long have I been here?" Lise tries to rub her eyes, but her arms are tied down. "Where is here?" The light is too bright.

    "Kellean, and you've been here three moons." It sounds like Aleen. "Here, let me undo these bindings; you kept thrashing about in your sleep."

    She breathes in slow, taking in the sharp scent of alcohol. "I've been asleep all that time?"

    "Well, how much was actual sleep I couldn't say, but you weren't conscious."

    "Right... I need to get out of here." Lise wipes the sleep from her eyes, trying to see past the light.

    "Probably a bad idea. You're so full of scozedine you'd fall right off your feet. Can't you feel it?"

    Her arms do feel heavy, now that she mentions it, and the pain is screaming from a distance rather than straight into her ears. She can't let this quiet go to waste.

    "I need to get out of here."

    "Yes, you said that."

    "It continues to be true."

    "Why are you so eager to leave? You have been terribly injured, and your body needs time to heal."

    "Are you the physic?"

    "No, that's–"

    "Then send for them. I need to leave."

    "I think you should reconsider."

    "You don't understand."

    "Really? I had the opposite sentiment. When my people brought you in, death's hand was on your neck."

    "I understand that."

    "Does it not give you pause?"

    "No."

    "Why?"

    "I... If it were only my life under death's hand, I would allow pause."

    "Well, pardon my prying past ambiguity, but what is that supposed to mean?"

    "It means I need to leave." At once, she catches a glimpse of the person sat beside her. It is Aleen, as she'd suspected, though something about her leaves Lise on edge. She can't articulate what chafed her, however.

    Eyes drooping, she watches the woman rise, resplendent in green and gold robes, a halo of purest white blooming behind her. Her face is cast in darkness as she looks down on Lise. "What is your name?"

    She smirks, lidded gaze shading her expression sardonic. "Lise, but Lose is more apt."

    Aleen chuckles, "We'll finish this discussion later. In the meantime, don't hurt yourself too much during your attempt."

    A blink and she is gone.

    Or, what felt like a blink... The light is dimmed now, a single sputtering candle. Shoddy, she thought, watching the flame spit flecks of wax.

    She shifts slow, turning to her right side, sliding left leg first off the cot. The polished stone is cold on her bare feet. At least I can move. Careful now, she pushes up, letting her right foot fall. Pain prickles, but veiled in the telltale tingle of good drugs its hideous face is rendered tolerable. Breathing heavy, she totters, balancing herself on the table beside her. It rocks, ill-balanced, and topples, sending the array of physic's tools skittering over the floor.

    Arms flailing, trying to catch herself. The thunk of her shoulder on the hard floor is quiet, but Pain hears it. It approaches her, sedate, knowing she can't escape. Looming over her, Pain lifts its veil for Lise to whimper at its gory visage, and it grimaces at Death's humbled form. Its gaze alone stills her in time, a forever moment in the color of agony.

    In the stretch between Pain's pause and present's return, she recalls Aleen's warning, followed close by Akota's, 'Skip the part where you thrash about and run head first into a locked door.' She'd heeded neither.

    Footsteps approaching, someone speaks in tired tone, "Hello?"

    Lise is mute.

    "Hello? Is anyone there?"

    She can't do anything but lie there, eyes clamped shut, blood let from her bit bottom lip. "...hel...p..."

    "Huh." They leave her unheard.

    Left to lie alone again...

    Breath fluttering, shallow, all she can handle. She remains where she is, on her side, head tilted awkward, afraid to move. I can't do it. I can't... Death's mark on her chest. At once, she knows that redemption is beyond her. Seli is beyond her. Stretched to her limits, it had been at her fingertips, so close... But this pain has wrenched away any semblance of success. She will never see her sister. She will never right her wrongs.

    The last dream, dead.

    Lise weeps.

    Not just dead, killed.

    She wants none of this to have happened. She can't carry this weight. She can't live with this pain. She can't live, I want to die...

    Knowing that the death she dealt could never be balanced, knowing that any good is beyond her. She has done irreparable damage, and to look upon it is too painful. Knowing that there is no point to her suffering, no point to the suffering she's caused. She can't continue. There is no point. Her last dream died that day, kept alive in her mind alone; now, its strings revealed, she sees it for the farce it is: a shambling corpse held aloft by a mind devoid of reality. Fooled into thinking its rot is the scent of hope.

    The scalpel, reflective edge dancing in the candle light, peeks from under her pale blue blouse. It is so close she can touch it with her breath. A turn of her hand and it's between her fingers. Picked. She holds it, staring at herself in its blade. The world becomes small, that single glistening eye, staring back. Such pain...

    To the only end, I walk alone. I beg I never dream again. I'm sorry, life...