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Dying/Awakening

She's a goner.

By Davina KaurPublished 7 years ago 12 min read
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It is her eye sight that she loses first, dark brown eyes that were once able to see the world, rendered useless.

Then it is her sense of smell.

So in turn, her sense of taste, she could no longer taste the fear in the air, in her heart.

Ears clogged.

Lungs full.

She was a goner.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t breathe.

She was a goner.

She couldn’t breathe.

She – She – She – She was – Gon –Breath – She – She – She- She

Breathe Goner Breathe Goner Breathe Goner Breathe Goner

BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE BREATHE

BREATHE

GONE

There she goes.

Falling into

A Void

Abyss.

History makes fools of us all, in the Void Lands.

She gasped quickly.

Her lungs filled with air.

Then she groaned in irritation, her breathing rough against her throat, her chest wheezing. She didn’t open her eyes just yet, rather she unpeeled her fingers, one by one, from clenched fists pressed against soft sheets. She felt the bones click and crack as she flexed them, shaking away the stiffness. She lifted them slowly to her face and touched her own cheek, as if she wanted reassurance of her existence, of her own reality. She was expecting to feel the same skin she had felt there for the past 19 years, the same familiar spread of acne against her caramel skin, instead, she felt what seemed like—chips, and cracks. Her skin was like the desert ground after months without water, it felt like her skin was turning into stone, and was being slowly chipped away.

Shocked, she reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes, then glanced at her hands, expecting to see them dry and dirty at the tips, and bewildered when she found the surprisingly supple, and her fingers just stiff from being clenched for so long. How long?

She looked at her surroundings and found herself lying on a bed, in a white, sterile, square, and windowless room. Everything was white; the walls, the one chair, and table placed painfully neatly into a corner, the framed mirror on the left side of the wall, and the door, right in front of her. The intense brightness of the room disturbed her, as if it was trying to suffocate her, it made her eyes ache.

A sense of self-awareness jolted into her, and she leapt off the bed onto shaky legs and made towards the door. She pulled on the handle, but the door was sealed shut and wouldn't budge no matter how much she tugged and pushed. She gave up and started beating the door with her bare hands, her palms burnt. “Hey! Let me out! Where the hell am I?”

She kept banging on the door, yanking on the steel handle, she yelled and shouted till her throat was even hoarser than before. Till she started coughing.

She broke away from the door to cover her mouth, as coughs were yanked from her throat. Her lungs burned, her chest wheezing as if she had been held under water for too long. When they finally subsided, she reached for the chair and leant against it, trying to get her breath back. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so weak. She shook her head and lifted the chair slightly so the front legs were off the ground, and she dragged it towards the door. She felt its weight in her hands and flung the chair into the door. When that didn’t work, she took the chair again and flung it into the handle, only for it to fall straight through, the handle de-materialized and formed once again, little particles breaking apart only to come back together in a span of 30 seconds, and there wasn’t even a dent.

This is ridiculous, she thought. She reached out to feel the handle, the cold steel was still pristine against her hands. She glanced at the chair lying haphazardly on the floor, also still intact.

Realizing she wasn’t going to be getting out anytime soon, she abandoned the chair and walked to the mirror, dreading whatever she found.

Confusion washed over her when she finally looked; her hair, rather than the brown, greasy clumps she expected it to be, was freshly washed and ran down her back, her clothes were brand new, a loose white t-shirt with thread cotton trousers, and her feet were bare. She looked clean and refreshed, as if she had slept for days. That was when she noticed them.

She felt goose bumps rise up her back as she leaned forward, her nose nearly pressed into the glass. “That is impossible,” she whispered. Little cracks of stone formed on her right cheek. What was strange, was that her skin around the cracks was perfectly normal, what was abnormal was the patch of grey rooted within. She felt her cheek again; yep it was definitely real.

This had to be a dream, because that was the only possible explanation, she couldn’t think of any scientific reason as to why she would have cracks in her cheek, she didn’t have a skin disorder, and if she did it probably wouldn’t have developed this quickly, although, saying that, how long had she been unconscious? And where was she? Where was her family? The last thing she remembered was-

What?

She shook her head but all she could come up with was: Blank.

It was so strange, she remembered the simplest of things; her family members, the last time she ate, the last time she prayed, normal facts, her life till a certain point, but after-

Nothing.

“Shit, what is happening to me?”

“Well, it could be a multitude of things.” A new voice, slightly deep but full of cockiness had slithered into the room, forcing her to twist away from the mirror.

The voice continued: “It could be a figment of your imagination, this could all be a dream, or it could be, you know, the ever present feeling of death, but whatever, am I right?”

The stranger looked young, but he dressed like an old man; he was lean and wore a white lab coat with a blue waist coat underneath and brown khakis. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, his fashion sense was old but his face and hair were not. His hair was shaven on the sides in an undercut, the rest caught and tied at the back of his head in a small knot. He was probably Japanese descent and was wearing a smirk on his face.

She wanted to punch it, until she noticed his right cheek, with the same scars and cracks that she had.

Instead, she moved towards him, question upon question falling out of her mouth.

“Who are you? Where am I? Why are you keeping me here? And what the hell are these things on my face?” She backed him up into a wall, her hands pushing against his chest, and what was surprising was that he let her, there was no defense. His face was now one of contemplation, but at least the smirk was gone.

“Answer me! Where the hell am I? What are you planning on doing to me?” Her voice cracked as she felt the shock of fear and reality hit her as harsh as a bullet. Finally, the stranger’s face fell and he looked, sympathetic. This didn’t sit well with her either, she didn’t want sympathy. She wanted answers. And she wanted them now.

Before she knew it, the stranger had her hands gripped tightly in his own, preventing her from pushing his chest, he looked into her eyes.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, what I am about to tell you is going to change everything you have ever known in your entire life.”

Typical, cynical and had obviously been reading too many YA novels were the first thoughts that came into her head.

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes and instead she held his gaze and nodded quickly, as if to say go on then and make it quick.

Her height to her annoyance only made it to his Adam's apple, and she watched it bob as he swallowed. His hands still held hers in a vice like grip. He craned his neck so he looked down towards her and he whispered “You. Are. Dead”

She blinked, once, twice, the annoyance must’ve shown clear on her face because the stranger sighed and tried to start again, but she didn’t let him.

She moved her head, fast, till she felt her forehead connect with his chin. For once in her life she was thankful for her short height as he fell away, he clutched at his chin and groaned.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear that right, so I am going to give you one more chance to explain.”

His obnoxious smile returned to his and little rumbles fell from his small mouth, his shoulders rising up and down with them, why the hell was he laughing?

“Sorry, but could you sound any less than a part of a mob than now? Seriously, someone should give you all of the awards.”

She grit her teeth, “Do yourself a favour and go fuck yourself.”

The stranger held his hands up in a placating gesture and he took a small step forward, his chin didn’t even have a mark.

He forced her to move with him, taking deliberate steps forward. “I know this is strange and I’ve never had to explain to anyone before, so bear with me okay?”

She did the opposite and walked backward to the wall, making sure to drag the chair obnoxiously across the floor with her. She tapped it against the floor in front of her, her intentions were clear, she was prepared to knock this bastard out if she had to.

Sensing her obvious defiance and knowing it was probably best not to make his way towards her, he stopped and lowered his hands down to his sides, wiping them against his lab coat. His demeanor changed all of a sudden, from one extreme to another, his cocky face fell into placating and then into a turbulence of emotions. He took a shuddering breath while she waited, bewildered at the sudden change. It wasn't that she didn't understand anxiety, but the people she surrounded herself with; her family didn't like to show what they considered as weak emotions, she wasn't used to watching it face to face.

“Let me t-t-try again, you have made a sort of tr- tra- ansition, from o-o-ne life, to another-r, I stutter when I get nerv-vous, ha, I would-d ap-pologise but why ap-pologise for who you are right-t? Anyway, this life ironica-ca-cally is your death, so to speak, I mean- you died to transition to you-your new life. Which is here, the new life here, no-now, life now.” The man finished, his breaths were long and deep, he licked his lips, his hands were clasped together in front of him.

Her mind was in a state of obscurity, words upon words stacking and then crumbling in her brain, pain building behind her eyes, she let the chair drop to the floor completely, then spoke clearly, her voice unshakeable, “I don’t know what you’re on, but I am not dead, that is impossible, I am living, breathing, and talking to you, if I was dead I wouldn’t be able to do that, so, therefore, you are wrong and I want to leave this nut house now and you are going to let me.”

Shaking his head again, the stranger moved towards her and reached out and tried to take the chair from her hands but he was too late as she swung and caught him, straight in the chest.

He let out a whoosh of breath but it still didn’t stop him, much to her chagrin, he reached out once again and grasped the chair leg in his grip, but he didn’t pull, he just held. “Don’t go on a mad one and listen to me, how else would you have gotten here?” he asked.

“Here? I don’t even know where here is!” She pointed out, albeit slightly hysterically, she felt the urge to rip the hair out of her head, her fingers itching to be put to use.

“I am getting to that.” He sighed and wiped his hands again. “Look, you have tried to remember before this right? And it’s just a complete blank?” He inquired, she didn’t admit the truth, she just held onto the chair just as firmly, like she was grasping her last sense of sanity and this man was trying to take it away from her.

“How else does it explain the marks on your skin? They couldn’t just appear overnight if you were alive,” he argued.

“Skin condition,” she spat out.

“Trust me when I say that no skin condition in this place causes your cheek to turn to stone.” he finally let go of the chair and it slipped from her grasp, they watched it fall to the ground with a sickening crack as it smashed into splinters. How the chair didn't survive when the door handle could de-materialise was another thing on the list of things she didn't understand.

“That was a perfectly good chair that you just wasted,” he stated.

She looked up at him with relentless irritation, till he met her gaze, he continued. “I know this is strange for you, I get it, but strangeness is a continuous theme here, and if you still don’t believe me, try to find your heartbeat.”

She looked away and considered ignoring him, living in a constant state of defiance and denial couldn’t be that bad, but the truth was, she was scared of the possibility that he was right, what if she was dead, her whole life had been focused on her future academic or domestic choices, the deal was she didn’t have to think about it when she was dead.

If she pressed her hand to her chest, her fingers to her pulse, what would or wouldn’t she find.

“Just tr-try it.” His voice interrupted her stupor, she lifted a shaky hand slowly to her chest, and pressed it against the fabric of her crisp white t-shirt, cold, and starch under her fingertips, she felt the tremors of her breath rising to and fro from her lungs, each breath like a countdown to the inevitable. She felt all of these things and more, but what was absent from the home of her chest was the usually ever present feeling of a pulsing, beating, heart.

fantasyscience fiction
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About the Creator

Davina Kaur

YA writer/blogger/reader/student

"Do it for the words"

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