Moving forward, moving onward...

* * *

I stand up from the desk, holding the chair as if its the only thing preventing me from falling. I walk, having to use my arms as a form of balance, and arrive back at the bed. My father had bought me a small sword that I could use as a cane a few days ago, but I haven't gotten around to using it yet. For a time, I just lay there and look at the ceiling. I can't tell if I'm thinking or not, more just sat in stasis, waiting for the next event that requires my participation... back to the grey, I suppose.

I roll over onto my side, gazing out the open window and into the fields of green. I certainly could get up and try to walk further, but that would hurt. I don't want that... but I know that it's not helpful to just sit here and do nothing. Lazing around like this will do nothing for me.

Regardless, I decide to close my eyes for a while and just focus on the mental side of things. I have that... weird fire deep down in me. That unknown motivation that I haven't felt in years, the feeling that I can accomplish things if I try.

I can't help but feel afraid of it.

* * *

It's been 2 weeks since I got here... and I'm getting really tired of this room. There's only so much time you can spend in one place without getting bored. I've read through maybe 60% of the journal, but most of it wasn't very helpful besides making me feel sad for the original Arthur.

I stand up from the bed once again, grabbing onto the hilt of the small sword I was given as a cane. I suspect I was given a sword instead of a cane because the original Arthur wanted to be a swordsman, but I cant be sure. It's definitely an odd thing, giving your 15 year old son a sword... not like I'd turn the thing down. I've tried to pull the sword from it's sheathe, but haven't managed it yet. The vacuum seal on the sheathe is stronger than what I can currently muster... it's pitiful.

I walk to the door, rousing the spirit to open it. My hand shakes as it reaches for the door nob, but I eventually grasp it and begin to twist the nob. My hand's are sweaty, as if I'm racked with fear. I open the door and... am greeted with a hallway. There's a staircase downwards, a door to my left and 2 doors to my right. No boogieman to stop me, my nerves relax. Why was I so scared to do that?

I step forward and close the door behind me, leaning on the sword heavily as I walk. I stand before the stairs, hesitant to even try. These wooden stairs look like an impossible obstacle for me, like something I can't even surpass. I can't remember if anyone is home to help me if I fall, so I just have to not fall.

"Haaa..." I breath out heavily, grabbing onto the rail of the stairs. I take the first step down, my own weight combined with the downward motion rocking my pitiful and sickly body forward. I set the tip of the sword's sheathe on the next step this time to brace myself and ease into the step, making it much easier.

I go to move the sword down to the next step again... only to drop it down the stairs. Even though it's a fairly small sword, it still weighs at least 2 pounds which is far too heavy for me. My heart beats out of my chest, which causes pain. My legs feel like they're bearing the weight of the world, so I lean against the rail even more to take the weight off.

'I can't do this, this was a mistake. I'm gonna fall and hurt myself. What if I hit my head and waste my second chance? This can't be happening.' My thoughts are in disarray, more than halfway towards a panic attack. The fear in me is a bruised purple.

My breath is heavily speeding up, further making my lungs burn as I stand. I'm holding onto the rail like a leaf in the wind, as if it's what's saving me from falling... because it is. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but this feels impossible. I hold onto the railing, slowly lowering myself down onto step and sitting down on the staircase. There's no use in trying to move further when I might fall. If I wait long enough, Mom or Dad will show up... I haven't known them for that long, but I'm sure they'll turn up soon... they have to.

I begin to take deep breaths, attempting to soothe the tremendous pains in my chest. It feels like my ribs get constricted with every breath, like I'm being squeezed to death by some invisible force. I should've just stayed in my room... I should've never opened that door. I got too confident just because I could walk a little. This is the most painful moment of my life.

What if they don't show up?

My breathing stutters, giving me a fresh dose of pain. I can't just stay sat here, I have to act for myself, that's the only way I'll ever mean anything. I grab the railing tight as I set my feet on the next step, slowly sliding myself forward and onto the next step... then the next, and the next. I don't think I have it in me to go any further. 

My head feels so light, everything hurts and I feel like I'm going to vomit. I'm a bit more than halfway down... I have to go further. I manage to get down to the next step... only to find that I let go of the railing. I topple forwards and down, wrapping my arms around my head to hopefully bolster my durability.

The moment I hit the first step on the way down, I pass out.

* * *

I open my eyes, now back in my bed. It looks to be about 7 PM based on how dark it is out the window. That's weird... there are 3 people around my bed this time. There's my dad and my mom, but who's this lady with the staff? And why can't I remember what I did today?

"Sandra, Thomas, he's finally awake," The woman says, crossing her arms and looking to my parents. Blonde hair and green eyes, a pretty combination... I probably would've asked her out in my past life. She has the staff set to the side, likely already finished using it.

"Oh thank god..." My mother says, somehow looking relieved and disappointed at the same time. My father doesn't look far off, although he's definitely a little more open with his frustration.

"Arthur, what the hell were you thinking?!? You know you're in no condition to walk yet! Why the hell would you try to-" Thomas pauses, realizing his error. I'm sick and injured, already going through enough physical trauma.

Thomas pinches the ridge of his nose, attempting to cool his displeasure and just be happy that I'm still here. Both my mother and this strange woman look at my father, slightly scornfully, before looking back to me. The new woman clears her throat, looking at the ground and then back up at me.

"Arthur, I'm sure you remember me, but you took a hit to the head, so I'm not exactly sure if you do. My name is Marsha Botswam, I'm the towns healer and priest," She pauses, allowing time for the information to be processed. "Your mother came home to find you collapsed at the bottom of the stairs. You hit your head when you fell... you also fell on top of your sword and broke a rib, so there's that."

Honestly, She looks pretty pissed at me, but less outright with it than my father. Now that I think about it, I think I do remember a little of what I did earlier. That was pretty dumb of me, wasn't it-

"Do you have ANY idea how lucky you are that I exist, young man?!?" Marsha asks, leaning forward and giving a heavy glare. Maybe I was wrong about her being less outright with her frustration. I only now realize that I haven't said anything.

"Thank you for healing me, Ma'am-"

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, you idiot?!?!" She asks, interrupting me. What did I do to you, lady?!? I... I actually feel a little irritated myself right now. I sit up in the bed, furrowing my brows as I get in her face just as much as she got in mine.

"If you'd be quiet and let me speak, then yes!" I say, my voice still scratchy due to how little I speak. I've talked maybe 6 times since I arrived, so my vocal chords are definitely a little dusty.

My mother lightly gasps, my father's brows raise up and his expression softens. Marsha just looks confused, not that she seems like the type of lady to be easily shaken. They all look shocked in their own way, so I lay back down and pretend like I didn't just raise my voice.

"... That's the loudest I've heard you in months..." My mother remarks, holding my father's hand. Ah, so that's why they're surprised.

The original Arthur would've never talked to someone like this, something I learned from the journal. I mean, I could probably go with the brain damage route as an excuse. Marsha finally gets out of my face, looking neutral rather than surprised or angry at this point.

"I mean... He did just hit his head after he fell down the stairs, so it's not like I'm surprised," Marsha states, looking over at my mother. Man, I didn't even have to lie, she just made the excuse for me.

The fact that I have a blank stare at basically all times should help sell the act too. I suppose that looking brain damaged isn't the most flattering thing, but I'm not great with expressions.