Spectrum ⇒ Avengers [ 1 ]

Brynn

Is it possible to drown if you're not in water?

Breathe in, gasp. Breathe in, gasp.

True, the water is falling thick and fast, but I've never heard of anyone drowning in the rain before. Perhaps if you tilted your head back and opened your mouth, but it would be suicide-

-and there are easier ways to die.

Breathe in, gasp. Breathe in, gasp.

The ground is slick with mud under my feet, sending me toppling and sliding left and right, my arms wildly swinging in an attempt to catch myself if I fell. Ha. If I fell, I would welcome the ground, which was why I know I can't. If I fell, I'd never get up again. I would bleed into the damp and the soil, my face dripping water, my heart beating into the earth. Its a ready-made grave, waiting for me. Hoping for me. I wouldn't give it the satisfaction. I wouldn't let them win-let her win.

I will not fall.

The rain turns my face to ribbons, dripping off finger and hair and eyelash, seeping into the crevasses of warmth my body has tried to maintain and sucking the life out of them, fingers of cold invading my skin. My own breaths are blue, pale and watery, dancing in my eyes. I ball my hands into fists and take another step, and another, and another. If I am crying, the rain doesn't let it show. Between the blurred lines of the trees, of the hills, of the grey sky, I can see it. A snaking, lazy stretch of tarmac; of road. And where there is road, there are cars. And where there are cars, there are people.

Come on. Come on.
Breathe in, gasp. Breathe in, gasp.

The rainwater trickles down my throat, making me splutter as I skid down the hill, crashing into the wooden fence at the side of the road. It's isolated here. I haven't seen another person all day, nor a house or any kind of dwelling. The closest thing to a building had been a broken, ancient shepherd's hut some several miles away. The only thing it held now was birds- one of their snowy feathers was nestled inside my jacket pocket. But now, a road. And surely, surely a car will drive down this road soon. What else was it here for? I can see a sign and everything.

Caisleán na Mainge
Inse
Cill Airne

I'm still in Ireland- thank God. Thank God and Jesus and and Mary, as mam used to say. If I had ended up somewhere else, what would I have done? I had suspected as much-the scenery is distinctive- but it could have easily been England or Scotland or Wales- or anywhere else in Europe. Didn't Italy have hills like this? Didn't Germany? I guess I'll never know.

I heave myself over the fence, almost falling head-over onto the ground with my own unexpected vigour. Instead I wobble, pulled one leg over, then the other, and collapsed into a heap by the side of the road. The grass is damp under my fingers, and I curl my hands into the mud, letting it slide under my nails with grass blades. It's so earthen, so green. So, so alive. Unexpectedly, it spurts between my hands, and I pull them back quickly, two enormous clods of ground coming up with my hands.

My head hurts. I suck in another breath, taking in more rain, and pull myself to my feet, leaving bloody handprints on the fence as I grasp onto it, my hands as useless as wet fish. Still blue, the sound of my breathing. It's such a weak colour- weak sounds always got as such. It's the loud sounds I have to watch for. The neon sirens and the bloody shouts.

My ears throb in remembrance.

"Brynn,"
Her voice is blood and flame, washing over her.
"Don't fight this, Brynn. It's for your own good."

I shriek, clamping both hands over my ears to block out the colour, the smoke grey lies and the blinding white truths. In the middle of the road, I spin, disorientated, my eyes closing tightly shut. My yellow-bright screams die away, just in time for another noise to take its place.

The orange flash of a car horn.