Frozen canvas
How? Why? What Is this frozen image in front of me? Piercing my eyes with its brutally twisted visage? Bodies shredded, painting these narrow walls with their mounds of torn flesh, maimed beyond any and all reasonable recognition, chunks of teeth and bone stabbing through this dark crimson canvas lit by the silver moon and the soft red from the streets beyond this unimaginable animalistic carnage, wha...? Harry... Harry! Is Harry here? Is he... no, no no no, NO! But he was just... just here... right? Or did he perhaps *Ourgh!* No, no way, He could not have, Harry isn't like that. Ah... the stench, the pungent odor stained with iron, decay, and bile drowning my nostrils, driving my... my head... dizzy. I need to, I need to move, Harry must have escaped somewhere ahead... huh? My legs, they won't move, they won't let me... carry... why does it feel like I'm floating? There's a tight pressure enveloping my right arm and thigh, the wind flowing, breezing against my face like I'm moving against its flow, yet this image remains in front with its vile smearings soaking into the whites of my knees and hands, crawling upwards, slowly enveloping me, pulling me into its malicious darkness, void of any humanity, any compassion, an all-consuming chasm of death.
Trapped within this sensation of vertigo, my surroundings pressing like I'm submerging deeper and deeper into an unknown void waiting to consume all I am... my mind... drowning, overflowing with a colorless fog pouring out from every pore, seeping from my soft skin holding those malevolent shadows around me at bay, spinning, embracing my every inch... lukewarm senseless... cotton? Yes, that should be the closest descriptive, a protective shield of wool withholding the untold dangers beyond threatening to tear me apart.
Time? Why did I just think of that word? The notion of continuous passing, ever-present, ever-changing, yet is time even passing here within this drab monochromatic cocoon? Can it even be present within this guarded reality? I don't know... but I wonder. There's no sound, no way of telling where this haze begins or ends, within? Around? No, it is all the same, everywhere, yet nowhere. Wait... somewhere, within or beyond, I swear I can hear something scraping against this shell, remnants of words, floating, passing with every chip.
"Khat" Whose voice is it? I'm not sure, I just can't, it is all so quick, like a singular tiny gust of wind brushing against my bare neck making me wonder whether it ever existed in the first place or was just merely a fleeting thought, yet, trough this flow of sensation and noises I can feel my heart throbbing in response to some of them, mere whispers, but I recognize them, fragments of memories, times where the two of us would just talk... just that, noth... nothing more than, that, my eyes, will they completely flood over due to these perceptible grains of sound? Not that it changes what I see, but it hurts, not only around the eyes but deep within, a painful lump growing within my throat pressing up against my pounding chest.
"Khat..." There it is again, that voice calling my name, beckoning for me to leave the sanctity of this shell behind fighting through the pressing nightmares beyond, the obscured creatures cloaked by the abyss, crawling, gnawing, scratching away at whatever they can get their feet's or talons on within their grand sightless existence. The fogs dispersing clearing way for the horrors past its coating, the pressure returning with full force, squeezing the air out of my lungs, my left arm and leg instantly bridled, threaded by needle-like claws sending waves of fire through this darkened mind, forming spears of light ripping through the obsidian depths, incinerating it all into a true blazing white.
Ceiling, brown... blinking, slow, heavy, every motion scraping against my eyes sore lenses, body numb, like I'm trapped within an invisible barrier keeping away any and all movement, except my neck and eyes, they must be exempt from this almost... relaxing paralysis, ough, my head feels funny. There are some shapes moving at the edge of my vision, one of them is seeming pretty close, if only I can nudge this neck of mine, just a bit to the side, then I should be able to spy who it is through this blur. Hair radiant as sunshine, moss green eyes wretched with concern, both his hands clasped tightly around my right hand... James? Just how long was I out this time? That unclear chestnut shape behind him standing close to a tall silhouette must be Mary... and Abel, I've yet to see anyone taller than him so it should be, they're standing so close after all, how could it be anyone else?
"Hey, hanging in there?" His voice, so calming, making me feel secure, safe, some of this strange weight seem to shed, my lungs and mouth, filling with the sweet scent of woodwork and herbs, lighting me further, my neck, it is gaining more mobility, like something unseen has just let go freeing me enough to respond, I'm not completely sure, but nodding feels right.
"Good, that's good. You must be feeling a bit confused, but I assure you it's all going to be fine." The shape of Mary, slowly and undecidedly edging forward, her voice almost as uncertain and meek as our first meeting.
"Are you certain, it doesn't hurt anywhere right?" Why would she ask that? Outside of the smell, everything else seems dull and lessened, I should just shake my head and make sure she...*!*... STABS! BRIGHT! BURNING! PIERCING! Infernal prickles constantly threading the flesh of my left... Oh! The pain, as scalding as when the brand when Oculus unveiled itself to me, the edges of my nerves melting into this blinding inferno, two sets of hands forcing my limbs still, someone shouting something unintelligible in James's voice, quick steps ensuing, and somewhere far beyond the scorching pain sounds the slam of a door.