Burning.
Everything burns.
How was I still burning?
Why hasn't it stopped?
When will it stop?
The burning keeps going, and going. Who I am doesn't matter. Where I am doesn't matter. When doesn't matter. All that matters, everything in the world, is the burning.
Somewhere, some when, the burning starts to pull back from my fingers and toes. I still have fingers and toes? As I watch the fire pull back, I become aware of more and more. My arms are not spread out, or tied down, but wrapped around my middle. My legs are not kicking in pain, but tucked up over my middle. My eyes haven't burned, they are closed in pain, and leaking tears in agony. My voice is there, but locked up, preventing the screams that, suddenly, I know are pointless. All of this seems strange, somehow.
The burning continues to fade, pulling back into my middle, and I find more I am aware of. Nausea. There's more. Weakness. There's more. I am lying down. There's more. My heart is still beating. There's more. Isn't the steady heartbeat supposed to stop at some point?
Someone speaks nearby. "Any signs of life?" What are they talking about? Could they mean a vampire? Pointless to ask. But voices are something new in this endless burning.
Someone responds. "She has a heartbeat still." Is someone dying? I sure feel like I should be dead.
Someone else speaks. "None of this is making sense."
Silence. The burning goes on.
Again, speaking. "We should call Carlisle." What kind of name is Carlisle?
"No."
"But Sam-" What kind of name is Sam?
"No."
"He will have a better idea of what is going on right now. We are-"
"They are in Alaska visiting some friends." Alaska? Where's Alaska? "How will he have any better idea of what is going on than us? I'm not gonna interrupt their visit because of this."
"But Sam," Sam is such a strange name, "This is not normal."
"Emily, we are not like them. But none of them would be our definition of normal." What kind of name is Emily?
"You're not my kind of normal either, hun, but that's my point. We are out of our depth here." What are they talking about?
The distraction of conversation is not enough. The fire burns on. It also continues to fade. I feel more and more tired as the fire fades. It's as though I am the fire, and with it's retreat I am loosing my life, my strength. With the fire slowly extinguishing, the nausea starts to be the focus of everything. I try to control it, and keep the bile from rising from my stomach. But the fire is centering on my stomach, and only making the sick feeling worse. I feel so weak that I am unsure if I can pull myself up off the soft comfort beneath me.
My stomach makes the decision for me when it twists violently. I bolt out of the bed, opening my eyes for the first time in a long time. Staggering to the door, wrenching it open, looking for a bucket, or bedpan. Cloudy daylight is visible out an open door on the other side of the room. I lurch toward it, trying to keep down the bile that will no longer stay down. I barely make it outside. My eyes hurt at the weak sunlight, and my legs no longer support me, as I fall to my knees in grass, and vomit the contents of my burning, twisting stomach. I can feel tears falling from my eyes. I hate to vomit.
I feel my braid sliding off my back, and someone grabs it, pulling it back from falling into the vomit on the ground. They scream in my ear, and I fall sideways instead of scrambling back from the screamer. My body isn't working the way I want it to. I didn't want to fall near the vomit.
It takes a few moments for my mind to catch up with the words being screamed. "Sam, call Carlisle! She's vomiting blood."
I vomited just now. Did I vomit blood? That can not be good. I manage to find my eyes, and as I open them, I do see something red near my eyes. My eyes can't focus properly to bring shapes into clearer focus.
It's too much effort to keep my eyes open. As I close them again, I become aware of cool rain, falling on my cheek. The cold water feels nice.
A thought occurs to me as I give in to the exhaustion. My heart is still beating.