Dissonance - Book One

twelve

The scalpel is cold against my skin. I feel the razor sharp blade as it slices into my neck. I can't see, but I can hear my mother whimpering as my father comforts her and says, "it's for her own protection." I'm screaming internally, but my mouth does not open. They can't hear me. They can't hear me! I try to pry my eyes open, but my eyelids are like heavy weights. Slowly, I manage to get one lid open, ever so slightly, and then the other, as light floods my vision. It's blinding, like staring directly at the sun. The sun. It warms my back as I walk slowly amongst the cornstalks, which once towered over me, but not anymore. I'm taller, older. The early morning light dances in between the tall green stems. It flickers on my fingertips as I tickle the stalks, now blood drenched in the shimmering sun. That's when I see them walking amongst the crimson plants, ghosts of my past, haunting me. I can't look at their faces. They are the faces of those I love the most. The faces of those I couldn't save. Make it stop. I want it to stop! I bring my hands up to my face to cover my eyes, to block out their faces, but when I pull my hands away, they are covered in blood. Thick red blood, which drips from my fingers onto the earth. Their blood is on my hands. It's my fault. Mine! I scream at the top of my lungs and it echoes, reverberating off of the walls of an endless pit. Downward I spiral, into the deep cavernous dark. Running. Running. Little now, younger. Chasing the girl that I can't ever reach. She laughs at my struggle, but not in a malicious way. She's enjoying it and so am I. We're having fun. Then why does it feel so scary, so ominous? A pungent odor, like that of rotten eggs, wafts through the air as snowflakes lightly fall from the sky, but it doesn't feel like snow. I rub it between my fingertips. The texture is grainier, like salt. A dense fog rolls in and blocks my view of the girl. I push at it with my hands, willing it to move out of the way, but the fog is much too thick, not like fog at all. It fills my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I gasp for air, but my breathing becomes labored and wheezy. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe!

***

I awake to darkness. My eyes blink rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. It takes me a minute to realize where I am. I try to slow my breathing. I should be sweaty. I'm usually sweaty after these nightmares, but instead, my breath floats on the frigid air like a leaf blowing in a gentle breeze. For the first time ever, I long to go back to my terrible nightmare, at least there I was warm.

"Wyler?" I whisper into the darkness, but there's no response. "Wyler?" I repeat again, but again I'm met with nothing except stillness and the soft hum of the wind whipping across the roof of the vehicle. My heart races. Panic rises within me. I know he's here because I can feel the heat radiating from his body, unless....no, he can't be...

How long have I been out? Has he frozen to death already? Is what I'm feeling the residual heat of his lifeless body? I try to adjust myself, but I have little strength. It's all I can do to push myself up slightly and turn towards where I expect his body to be, wrapped around mine. I inhale sharply as I turn to find him gone.

"Wyler?" I say again, louder this time, but my cries go unheard. The truck is empty and a blanket of thick snow wraps around it, obstructing my view of what lies outside. Did he leave me? How could he leave me here? Did he go for help? What was he thinking? He'll never make it back. He'll freeze to death out there and I'll be left here to die, both of us alone in our final moments. My pulse quickens. I try to make sense of what's happening. Am I still trapped in my nightmare? Wake up. Wake up! It's useless. This is real. I can tell by the throbbing pain radiating from my abdomen, which I refuse to look at because it will only worsen the panic that is consuming me. I have to keep my head on straight. This isn't the time to freak out. My eyes scan the vehicle looking for some sort of note or something he may have left to let me know where he's gone. How could he leave without telling me? Unless he did tell me and I was too out of it to remember.