i want to breathe, for one second more - kazuscara (原神)

chapter 12 - self-fulfilling prophecy

Isn't a poem just a string

of text that makes no sense?

Why am I

writing these words in

black ink on a white

sheet of paper that could

be used for other things?

Useless chunk of

text, I don't understand

how people admire

this form of "art" at all.

(But if you read

between the lines,

you would understand

that you have

given your emotions

a mouth

to speak.)

– – – – –

Something was wrong.

Scaramouche could feel it, even lying down on the wooden planks. With one palm against the boards, he noticed that it felt extremely warm one second and damp the next. And he couldn't, for the life of him, understand why. Scaramouche wanted to stand or sit up to evaluate the situation but he felt as though his hands were glued to the floorboards, tied to the heat waves travelling through them.

"..."

He suddenly experienced a slight jolting sensation. He couldn't tell whether it was from the boat moving against the waves or from the growing headache he had after waking up. ...Waking up?

No, Scaramouche hadn't woken up. He couldn't recollect the events of last night at all. He couldn't remember the, usually unpleasant, physical experience of waking up either. All he remembered was the thought of waking up, but... what was that sentence he was about to finish? Scaramouche felt his headache get worse as he contemplated why he felt so displaced.

It was a dream, it had to be a dream. He hadn't woken up. That must have been his initial conclusion the first time he asked himself this question, Scaramouche decided, cursing his sudden forgetfulness. Everything that happened in this realm was not happening in real life. He was not back in the real world. He was simply stuck in this dream-like trance... hypnagogia?

"...!"

He intended to let out a loud yelp of surprise as he felt himself get dragged into the floorboards by an invisible hand, but all that came out was a choked breath.

Where am I?

Despite Scaramouche having closed his eyes, he could sense that he was submerged in some sort of liquid too thin to be anything other than water. He cautiously opened one eye and tried to take a quick breath, only to have warm seawater rush into his mouth. Beginning to panic, Scaramouche held his breath and raised his hands, now heavier than usual, above his head to paddle against the current threatening to pull him deeper into the depths.

I couldn't possibly drown, he told himself frantically. No, I can't drown. This is all just a dream, isn't it...? It's never happened before, but there's a first time for everything. I've survived this long. A dream about drowning... there's no way it's going to kill me.

There was a small sensation of burning in Scaramouche's lungs. And this is when he truly started to panic. He felt as though he had never valued his life more until that instant and felt his bioengineered sense of survival quickly kick him as Scaramouche waved his hands blindly in the dark waters, urging himself to swim upwards to the tiny glimmer light he could see through his glassy eyes.