Tales, Scripts, and Accounts

Gitika's Nightmare

Sunlight ripped through the room's largest window and laid itself across white sheets that veiled my bare skin from wanderers in the streets below as I walked towards the window. Last night was one of my best performances in a long time. Everyone loved me. A standing ovation in front of what felt like the entire Caravanasry was my reward and it felt like a dream that no one could tear me out of if they tried. My drive to push on was almost entirely revitalized.

My love and my muse ran circles in my head as I followed the sunlight's lead and sprawled across the pristine bedding. Never was I much of a morning person- especially when the material against my skin was soft enough to leave me dazed with every touch. Maybe it was simply the early time or overstimulation but the blissful vertigo I felt caused me to close my eyes. The moment I lived in right now could repeat forever and I could never get bored. So I dozed off with it on my mind.

I awoke with a crowd calling my name from below the balcony. "Gitika, Gitika!" I excitedly rolled out of bed with a borderline drunken smile and lightly pranced to the double doors that lead to the lavish balcony. Upon my appearance sounded a wave of cheering. My heart was pounding. They yelled their requests in near unison. "Encore! Sing us a song! Whichever one you want!" I leant over the railing to stare across my sea of most dedicated fans. Nothing made me happier. Everyone awaited my response amidst the hoots and hollars.

On my left was my favorite guitar and a stool to sit in. I must have left both out after I got back last night. No matter, I grabbed the instrument's neck, sat down, and started to play Where the Lone Wolves Gather. A slightly different variation than what was sung last night, but the words of the chorus just seemed to flow out of me:

There's no trust in this camp,
It's all liars and thieves.
But if you're searching for that,
You'll end up talking to me-

Realizing my own words as they re-entered my ears, I continued playing, but vocally paused and played a short interlude as the chorus turned into what would be the second verse. There were visible murmurs from the crowd. Those who paid attention caught my miniscule mistake. No big deal, I just need to justify myself in the next section. I took a breath before beginning to sing. Instead, a member of the audience interrupted and blurted out with crystal clarity. "Wait, I've seen you before! You killed the old tavernkeep while I cowered in the backroom!" My fingers continued to pick the strings as if nothing was wrong. The second verse started to spill out of my mouth as I was planning to ignore the egregious accusation.

"Yeah! Now that you mention it, I saw her escape over the southwest walls when the King's guards did a surprise sweep for the assassin!" Inturrupted another with immense accuracy. "My buddy says she's got the Fang's Mark carved into her back!" Fingers no longer plucked the chords of the interlude, but the song went on:

 And every place like this has got a sheriff-
Now ours is hangin' on the wall.
Because of her,
He doesn't speak,
He's not alive at all-

More and more of my fans began to shine spotlights on my sins. All accusations were true. I was guilty. Below the balcony raved a sea of my fans who transformed into an angry mob. Several times, I offered- no, begged to play whatever they wished for in attempt to soothe their anger, but none even heard me. My voice was lost among the endless vivid threats and allegations. Not even my exemplary mental callus could prevent the tears from streaming down my cheeks as I lent my head on the head of my guitar in defeat. My love and my muse. No amount of pain I endured would let me hurt you.

Across the enraged ocean and through foggy eyes hung a motionless shadow that should have moved with its owner, but did not. It stood there. Midnight black and unnoticed as if it was a gash in my reality. Standing still, yet somehow volatile. Staring with no eyes. My song skipped a beat, returning to repeat the last lines of the previous verse, except they morphed into:

Hangin' on the wall-
(Distorted, bone chilling sounds)
She doesn't speak,
She's not alive at all-

I blinked a couple times while sobbing to clear tears from my foggy vision to find the shadow vanished. Was probably something in my eye. Guards were charging their way up the stairs. Footsteps pounded in my head as if they were already here. A hand immediately dug its nails into my shoulder until blood was drawn, threw me around and pressed my spine against the balcony's banister. Everyone below could see the vivid marks borne on my bare back, for I was naked. I stared at a hazy shadow, its nose only a few inches from my own as I wrathed around and tried to scream. Tried to breathe, but could not. My free hand tried to tear open my mouth for air, but the hole on my face was stitched up. Sewn shut so I could no longer sing. The shadow then screamed my lyrics as he proceeded to push my defenseless body over the railing:

She doesn't speak,
She's not alive at all
She doesn't speak,
Hangin' on the wall-

My song scratched as I fell, crackling, and repeating the last two alternative lines again and again- lead the orchestra of human screams, pounded footsteps, and endless cries of my prior sins. A rope caught my neck, finally jolting my guitar from my pale dying hand and splintered across the dusty ground as a final tear dripped down my cheek.