Tʜᴇ Pᴀᴛʜ Tᴏ Hɪɢʜɢᴀᴛᴇs

Fᴀʀ Cʀʏ Fʀᴏᴍ Hᴏsᴛᴀɢᴇ

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 10

It seemed as though luck wasn't your greatest ally.

Like Friar Lawrence's words as the realisation of the deaths set upon him while he enters their solemn sepulchre, you too realise hope has been stolen. 'Unhappy fortune' had been on repeat in your head since you awoke. First, you wake, half dead, in an unfamiliar world, then you wake again to soldiers armed and waving live weapons at you, and now this. An unending field of darkness only broken by your own imagination. Little flakes of colour had been dancing around your shut eyes since you had woken up.

At least you thought you were awake.

You knew you had been for what felt like a good hour now, but no matter how hard you tried, you were unable to open your eyes and greet the world beyond— the walls of this cold place you had found yourself. It felt almost as if your eyes had been removed, replaced by a caving hole carved from the structure of your skull.

You were laying on your back, your lower neck was supported by a cold metal plank while you let your head hang off the edge, causing your body to lurch with effort any time you swallowed a heavy breath. You laughed. Maybe this had all just been a dream, and any moment now your alarm would screech and snap your eyes open, revealing your cupboard of an apartment and mess of a living space. Yet you were left waiting for that moment, which seemed less and less probable the longer your body hung awkwardly against the cold of the ground beneath you.

You shuffled uncomfortably, feeling your arms go numb again with pins and needles. Though you had no way of seeing them, you had guessed that your arms were bound at the wrist by a soft fabric behind your back. You were sitting awkwardly on top of your arms, with your feet on the plank you were laying on and legs pushing your arse up so you didn't leave your whole body weight on your bent shoulders.

You reflexively laugh, which erupted into guttural coughing when more blood rushed toward your brain. You must have looked ridiculous— blind, bound and holding yourself in a low bridge, anyone who walked by would see that and think they walked in on the start of a BDSM film. You laugh again, this time feeling phlegm catch in your throat and foam, expanding in thin dry sheets— choking you. You shot up, drawing your neck forward and dropping your legs, slamming your entire body weight on your wrists, you yelp in pain and lean your body up again— losing balance as your body kicked pathetically. You felt the world jerk forward, for a moment you moved while it stood still, then you hit the ground, head first.

You groan. Your body resting on its side on the hard bitter floor. A headache already ringing through your skull like a breeze through evergreen trees. You go limp, almost playing dead in what little vehement defeat you could muster the courage to show. Your head burned from where you smashed it against the hard floor and your wrists swelled and burned under their binds. You breathe in the silent air around you, trying to focus on nothing more than waking up, simply opening your eyes would do, all you needed was concentration. That's how Dorthy managed it right?

Breathe in through your nose— out through your mouth. It's just that simple, then in a moment your eyes would slowly flutter open, recognition would pump through you and you would get the privilege to forget you shook hands with a Nazi or had a conversation with a Monarch. No amount of lectures could make you remember how you sat in a military car drawn by horses and watched men march to their deaths. This dream was six feet under you, its plot line of hardships and betrayals obsolete and passable.

To forget it all, you would lose it all.

Yet your newfound reality always seemed to find a way to snake back into your mind and coil its hideous head around your terrified corpse. The sound of footsteps was your new torment. Loud and powerful like the bearer owned thick boots that were heavier than need be. You felt your eyes quiver as you held back tears. Oh what you would give to see what was about to happen, yet you were sightless, bound and helpless, all comedy you had mustered before had dissipated, replaced by mounds of misery upon misery.