AN: A little more abstract from my usual work. Inspired from how I was perceiving the world during and after my surgery last week. I wasn't sure about the motives or what was happening until I reached the last few lines, and ended up surprising myself enough to think about sharing it.
So, let me know what you think! I've put a bit of an explanation at the bottom in case anyone is left confused.
Summary: With all resources exhausted, there are some people who refuse to give up hope in order to bring those they love home.
Humming white blotted out the surroundings, spots of black painted in at uncalculated corners. Light as air, limbs moved slow like lead; how cumbersome. Strange noises filled the air, distant and muffled.
Focus.
Limbs fell numbly to their origin, colors now streaking through the white as the head was lolled back and forth. Motor skills were lacking, tongue parched as it moved without feeling against cracked lips. Eyelids fluttered shut, the will to open them fading away along with the over-stimulating whiteness.
Where are you?
Pure strength of mind forced skin to peel back from cerulean blue, the eyes uncrossing as they tried once more to regain understanding. A thump clambered through the room, an absentminded afterthought linking it to the arm flailing about as the body tried to lift itself. There was a weight being applied, and things were getting farther away again.
No!
Lack of sensation, no feelings as strong arms came into view—your arms—swatting away the white hands with sharp objects and strange vials, throwing someone to the ground while the world was righted. Everything seemed to be unbalanced, toppling sideways, until—
Get up.
There was no indication of where the blood was coming from until a cough evacuated more from a raw throat. A choked noise was emitted, the floor being placed beneath two unsteady feet as the room came into view again. One of the people in white was clutching at their shoulder, red spilling from around the sharp tool they had held close to the wrong person. A shaky footstep and the body moved forward, albeit unsteadily.
Who are you?
Glancing down, crystal blue eyes take in the appearance of this body. Strong, well-muscled arms poke out from the flimsy white garment, the pink skin continuing around mid-thigh. Bare-foot. Soft, gently rounded breasts. Hard, calloused hands. The fingertips cannot sense that they are being pressed together, nor can they interpret the shape of the face. The room comes back into focus when the hand is dropped to the side, the perpetually humming lights doing little to lessen the reflective glare bouncing off of the others. Once trained feet now step back shakily, instinctively trying to distance the approaching person from this body.
".. o—y."
Squinting didn't help make out the words, the cool of the wall flush against an arched back now. Flinching in surprise, the person used this opportunity to rush forward. The wrists couldn't feel the pain, no; the brain wasn't capable of processing it, not now. But a shrill cry pierced the dead air all the same, muffled by plugged ears. These limbs did not calm until the sharp, clear green met with the scared blue. Those clouded eyes darted to their lips as they moved in speech, the words sounding as if underwater. Somehow it was still understood.
"It's okay."
He's lying.
But the body wanted to give in, to believe this man. The mind muted the defiant screams echoing inside the skull, allowing the body to relax into this person's arms. The eyes turned back, welcoming the darkness all too calmly.
Blinding white. Irritating hum. No sensation, no feeling. Heartbeat thudding loudly everywhere. Arm to face—
You're trapped!
The heart quickens, a cool sensation flooding the body in warning, unable to move under apparent restraints. The world is cloudy, hazy under the bright lights. Deafened murmurs as white beings edge closer, peering down. The glint of the sharp tool catches the mind's attention, the smell of the liquids overthrowing the remaining senses. A hand connects gently with the skin of the face, the heart still racing. Green meets blue.
"I'm sorry."
The body contorts in retaliation, whether by reflex or in an attempt at escape, all is lost in blackness once more.
The body awakens, but the mind instantly forces it to feign sleep. Listening carefully through the muddy static, a high pitched pattern is noted. The fall and rise of the chest quickens, faint memories flitting past the mind's eye. The pattern changes. It takes all focus to keep the eyes from darting beneath thin flesh as soft trebles interrupt the otherwise silent room.
"Is she awake?"
"No, I don't think so. Must be REM."
"Should I dose her?"
The heartbeat quickens, the chest tightens. Her—female, yes; like they mentioned—breath comes in chillingly sharp gasps through her nostrils. She listens patiently, the steady beep daring her to fall back into slumber. Shuffling snaps her mind back to attention, the intensity of metal on metal nearly jarring her from her façade. Soft mutters beneath the breath were left without enunciation, her ears straining for any hint of conversation. Her mind was up and down, the sensations—or lack thereof—increasing the difficulty of staying awake and alert ten-fold.
You have to get out of here.
The reflex to jerk was unrestrainable as a click resounded, presumably a door. But had someone left, or entered? More noises—the wheels of a chair, the squeaking release of air from a cushion, the padded taps of shoes on linoleum—her eyes wanted nothing more than to flicker back and forth between the disturbances. The muscles beneath pale pink skin stiffened upon the contact of heated puffs washing down in waves, an intoxicating smell overpowering her senses as damp cheeks were tickled with light brushes of hair past ears.
"Soon. This won't all be for nothing."
Everything flew in fast forward, the pristine metal tray clashing with the stark floor, syringes shattering and painting the white with an array of concoctions. White and green flashed past her eyes, obscured in places with wild pink, veins bulging against scrawny wrists as she fought him to the table. His eyes flashed with fear, a silent plea as she pinned him down, choking him with his own tie.
"What?"
It wasn't until she threw him violently against the metal surface and tried to demand answers once more that she realized her voice was nothing more than a hoarse croak. Growling angrily, brilliantly blue eyes scanned the horridly plain room for an alternative. Those eyes landed on another table, and strong arms unceremoniously threw him over to it. His cries were muffled, the world still hazy in this delusional state.
"Please, we're trying to help you! I—!"
With surprising ease, his pale wrist was secured in the thick leather straps, effectively binding him. Staggering backwards, the overused muscles began to wane, screaming out in protest against the sudden exertion. Several more instruments fell to the ground with an echoing clash, the hum of the overhead lights muted momentarily as she steadied herself against her previous resting place. Just when the room refrained from its manic swirling, an alarm sounded. Through pink curtains, the worn body watched as the pummeled one wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand, arm stretched hap-hazardously above him as he sprawled on the ground at the foot of the table. Something tugged inside her being when they locked eyes.
Where are you?
"Who are you?"
Her voice was surprising, trembling fingers brought to pink lips. The floor was beginning to get all too close—
You missed your chance.
Grunts and yells pierced tired ears, the sounds growing distant as sapphire spheres disappeared behind clenched skin. Looking up from the tile, they locked onto deep emerald before falling shut into an ephemeral darkness.
Who is he—to you?
Beep. Beep. Hum. Voices. Clatter. The chest expanded, welcoming stale air deep inside the cavity. The weight of breasts beneath the thin curtain of privacy reminded the mind of the vessel.
You were a soldier, once.
"She's awake, sir."
Fingers twitched in anticipation, a jitter in the calves as they ached to be stretched. Thunderous heartbeats echoed throughout the skull, their pattern calm and steady. Eyelashes filtered the aggressive lighting conditions as the lids parted slowly, carefully.
"Very well, we'll start early. Vital responses?"
She lay still as white hands poked at her foreign body and lights were shone into her eyes, blinding her no more than the ever-humming fluorescents. Her tongue was compressed, stomach raked and bicep wrapped and squeezed. Her mind wandered, wondering what the point of continuing to live, continuing to fight was. Her eyes snapped up when the same white haired, green eyed man came into view.
He's keeping secrets from you.
She watched him carefully as other hands scoured her body, several pricks and prods marring and invading her porcelain skin. He held her gaze for several moments, stony and unreadable before turning away. And then, she was alone.
But you were always alone—
"Stop it."
The voice came out much steadier, much clearer than before. Groaning, she lifted a hand to her forehead, surprised she wasn't restrained. Lowering her arm, she glanced at her wrist, rubbing at the red marks there. Holding herself and shivering in the cold, empty room, she lifted herself before dropping to the cold floor. There was no one here. Turning back to the table, she realized there was nothing here; just white.
"You're all alone."
The woman spun sharply, another woman bare and exposed standing across from her. Raising herself up straight, they stood at roughly the same height. Lowering her guard, she forced the body to relax. The other woman didn't move, her expression remaining unchanged.
"Who are you; where am I?"
"I am but a memory of one who once was before. Through you, I continue to live on. You carry my legacy within your very being."
The weary one faltered slightly, casting darkened eyes to the side already knowing no one was there. The woman in front of her blinked.
"This is a place where no one else exists. This is the heart of my essence. And you, you are now a part of it. You have been made capable of hosting me; one of many, if not hundreds, of failed prototypes. Those who have all rejected me."
"Rejected..? What are you talking about? Who are you?"
Without words, the strange being stepped forward, uncaring of her threatening presence. The body refused to comply with the mind's will to move away; to escape.
"I was once a trained soldier, guardian of the people. After a great war and the fall of the world, I was exalted to the highest standing, as you are now," A hand was placed on a bruised shoulder, the skin immediately healing with the touch, a warmth spreading throughout exhaustedly weak limbs. Realizing her eyes had slid shut with the sensation brimming inside her flesh, she opened her eyes, free of all fear and apprehension.
"And who am I, then?"
The woman in front of her was fading into white, only the cherry hair and cerulean eyes proof that she had been standing here moments ago. A soft smile spread across her rose lips, and then everything was white.
"Lightning."
"Lightning? Can you hear me?"
"She's unresponsive. Get the crash cart!"
"She's not responding to the stimulant."
"Director—"
"Wait!"
"Pulse is back; vitals are stable."
"Should we continue?"
"Are you there?"
"Director—"
The voices were too loud, far too deafening. The lights seared through her eyes, and a groan escaped her lips. A hush resounded through the room, her body heavily numb with sedation. Blinking away the headache, the people in the room slowly came into view. The man with green eyes and white hair stood over her now, his face full of worry and concern. Instead of the stark white cell they were in before, this room was bright and cheery, with soft sheets and flowers. The others in white filed out of the room, taking their papers and instruments with them. She turned to this man once more as he set down the point light and took her hands in his.
She knew who he was now.
"Lightning," his voice cracked, trembled.
"Lightning est heim, Hope."
He cried in their embrace.
She was home.
AN: My idea for this was to be waking up in a strange environment with strange people, all of whom are expected enemies. The host is not Lightning; she is a biogenetically created being intended to exist to house Lightning's being and save her from the timeless fate of Valhalla. The cells were presumably obtained from her knife, which Hope borrowed from her sister. During the growth process, the vessel began to develop its own will, fighting with Lightning for dominance over the body, which are the voices present in the beginning of the story. Near the end, Lightning overpowers that will and coerces the host into believe it is her, which allows her to awaken within the vessel Hope had prepared for her.
'Est heim´ literally translated means 'is home,´ and I felt a little need for wordplay, that's all.