16 A Lost Prisoner

Flo opened his eyes to a sky of unending, tainted whiteness, rolling over the heavens like a gray blanket. Gray mist and smoke danced lazily around the still air, Flo feeling the air around him dead.

He roused to sit cross-legged, turning his head left then right, scanning the field of gray patches. Flo was on a boat, skimming across the eerie waters like an innocent water sprite on deadly swamp territory.

Flo tried to speak, only for him to hear himself say nothing. He tried again, but to no avail. 

He couldn't hear.

"Where am I?" Flo muttered, although all he heard was the voice inside his head. 

He tried to touch the water below. As he dipped his fingers through the surface of the waters, it felt only like mist, Flo unable to feel the coldness nor the wetness of it.

Something popped in his head as he then looked behind him, only to see wooden barrels and coiled rope on the boat, no sign of Kara nor Gard. "Where are they?"

Flo shook his head in confusion.

What happened? The last thing he knew, he was talking with Kara as he then, out of nowhere, fell to deep sleep.

He stared at his left thumb as he then lifted it to his mouth, taking a small nibble out of it, seeing the crimson color of blood seeping out from the wound.

"I can't feel the pain," Flo thought, staring at his fingers. "But at least my blood's red."

All of Flo's senses, aside from his sense of sight, disappeared without a trace. He didn't know why nor how it came to be that way, but for now, he had to at least understand what he's up against and what his current status is. 

It's a basic rule of survival.

Now, Flo had to come up with something, at least something to get him back to the right track. Staring at the vast expanse of nothingness staring back at him, it's right to say that Flo felt much uncomfortable with all the mist hanging around.

What should he do then? He was stranded, seeing the boat ever so still floating above the waters.

"The engine."

Flo thanked his quick wits. He then scrambled for the rear of the boat, seemingly hearing in his head a school of footsteps passing the helm and reaching for the engine. As Flo opened the compartment, a train of gears dotted the shell of the contraption, seemingly intimidating Flo's will.

He had to make something out of this. 

He scanned the machine, looking for anything that could at least do something. He then saw a strip of black string, and with desperation, he pulled on it.

Nothing happened.

He pulled on it once. Twice. Thrice. But it was to no avail, Flo not sure if it even did anything. He couldn't hear the engine, nor feel the vibrations of the contraption. The only thing he could do was look over the boat and see for himself if the vessel had started to wade over the waters.

It didn't.

He was still stuck afloat in the middle of nowhere.

He fidgeted with the many parts of the engine for many, many hours, but it was pointless nonetheless. He couldn't make the engine roar.

Flo then tried something else. He took a wooden barrel from the boat, got on top of it, and jumped overboard. It was a stupid idea, but nothing else came to mind. He surfed the waters as he rowed his makeshift raft with his hands, heading to the unknown parts of the mist.

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For the first few hours, there was mist.

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For the next few days, there was mist.

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For the next few weeks, there was mist.

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After a week of tiresome wading, Flo finally saw a figure over the distant waters. He felt a deep sigh of relief, thinking to himself that he was finally getting out of the mist, as it was something other than white nothingness -a passing boat maybe, or a friendly dolphin hitching him a ride. 

But no. As he neared the figure, the look on his face turned upside down. 

He was back where he came from.

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A month had passed with Flo looking over the white horizon, curled up like a ball.

He stared at the whiteness nonchalantly, wondering why this was happening to him. He didn't recover his senses, still lost in the nonsensical rollercoaster he was in.

"Don't worry," Flo reassured himself. "I'll find a way out."

He then pursed his lips, almost regretting what he had said, raising his left palm as he traced it along the edges of the boat. Flo didn't want to admit it, but he was scared; scared for what was to happen next. 

"Will I... spend my life here?" Flo thought, clutching at his chest as he gritted his teeth. Apparently, he didn't get hungry nor thirst for water inside this mist prison.

It was like he became a prisoner. 

That was what clicked inside Flo's head. He felt just like one, a prisoner living his life void of all manners of freedom. It almost felt like he was back to square one, being back inside the arena.

He raised his two palms, staring at the scars on his wrists.

"Not again." He said as he cast his face down, shoving himself between his arms in a tight embrace, seeking for a nonexistent warmth. A tear streamed down his cheek, vanishing as fast as it had appeared.

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"Help."

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"Somebody."

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"Anybody..."

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And with that, a figure lay asleep on a boat, out far floating in the middle of soundless nowhere.