Title: Ishtar
Rating: M for horror, just to be on the safe side
Summary: Within a wall as white as milk, within a curtain soft as silk, bathed in a sea of crystal clear, a golden apple doth appear.
Disclaimer: As if I could touch on Joss Whedon's genius, or Summer Glau's brilliant acting.
Dedication: To Bytemite, for her insight, wit and thoughtful review of my work. Keep flying and stay shiny, bao bei.
All is white around me.
There are walls somewhere, but I can't see them. I know that they are here, though, cold and smooth and white. The ceiling is bright, the lights clear and blinding. I am naked, but it doesn't bother me. Before the Academy, I thought that clothes were pretty. I enjoyed wearing them. After the Academy, they are just another skin to hide in.
But now I am naked, and I feel clean and new. My hair is brushed and shiny, and my nails are cleaner than they've been in weeks.
I look down at my feet. I am surrounded.
Tiny white orbs, smooth spheres as white and pure as the light around me, sitting in neat little rows. They appear to be of organic origin. I see them stretching on forever and ever, like strings of pearls.
As I watch, the white pods begin to absorb and reflect the light, refracting it, a spectrum of colors too numerous to name or even for my eye to perceive dancing and shooting from their surface. I shield my eyes with my arms, averting my face. When the light dissipates I see that the spheres are no longer white. They are… beautiful.
Some are just a single color, but a more pure representation of colors I have never seen. Some are multicolored, combinations of them, two or three or dozens of colors, stripes and dots and so many more. I could count them, if I wanted. Some are jeweled, some have patterns, some have designs… it is amazing. A memory tugs at me, some ritual performed… fertility worship? Hope for rebirth? I do not remember, and I do not care. I am entranced. They are all so different. Each is the same thing, a simple spherical orb, but their designs make them stand out, make them unique and individual.
I walk among them, delighted at each new find. They are so lovely. I am entranced.
And then it all goes wrong.
It starts out as a crack, and then it spreads, until all of the orbs are covered in cracks as thin as hairlines and as intricate as spider webs. Colored light leaks out of the cracks, and the spheres begin to vibrate. The color begins to run, smearing and fading all at once. I cannot move. I cannot even breathe. My chest is still and the air is frozen in my lungs as I watch in horror.
The spheres begin to leak blood.
It runs down them along the cracks, tiny rivers that pool on the floor, spreading and spreading, and then the cracks become fissures, and they begin to scream. It is piercing and haunting and I try to cover my ears, but I am still frozen. The wails go on and on and I realize that these are not the screams of men and women. They are the shrieks of children. Children in pain and fear and dismay, screaming for help, for their parents, for someone to make it stop. But no one comes. Nobody is coming.
The orbs burst open and I see the embryos – no, more than embryos, unborn human children – spill onto the floor along with the blood and bodily fluids. They are so tiny, barely recognizable, but I know them. They are the daughters of Adam and the sons of Eve, just as I am. They writhe on the floor, twisting and shuddering, twitching and convulsing, contorting and jerking. Spasms seize them, their tiny bodies shuddering. They can't take anymore. Why does no one understand? They can't take any more, they're going to… they're going to…
Some of them let out a final scream before dying. Some burst like an overripe tomato. Some shrivel up like the blood was drained from them, leaving them tiny mummies with brown husks for skin. A few simply stop moving, limp and still. Others still melt into mush. Still more bubble away like acid. Each new death is worst than the one before.
And I can't scream.
I'm trying. I'm trying so hard that my throat is raw and scratchy, my neck muscles aching, and my vocal chords are seized up with exhaustion. But no sound emerges, not even a squeak. I am paralyzed.
My body trembles minutely as I realize that I am not alone among the dead. Others are watching. I cannot see them, but they can see me. Why are they watching me?
They caused this. I do not know how, but they killed these children. They took something beautiful and precious and they destroyed it.
Something compels me to move forward. I don't want to move, but my feet begin to take steps. The blood coats my feet, and the dead babies squish between my toes. I shudder, vomit rising in my throat. I am choking in it.
I walk and walk and walk, I do not know for how long, until I reach the end of the blood. It is there that I see it.
There is still one sphere left.
It is sitting there, blue as the sky, blue as the deep ocean, blue as heaven. There are cracks running all through it, but there is no blood. There is no leaking light. It is intact.
"It's a little startling to see, but the results are spectacular. Especially in this case."
They are watching me.
"River Tam is our star pupil."
They were watching all of us.
"She is a genius."
They did this. They took us and they hurt us until we all broke.
"She's a creature of extraordinary grace."
Except for one.
I did not break. I cracked. I am filled with fissures, holes and leaks, but I did not break.
I will not break.
I will never break.
The egg unfolds like a flower, the layers peeling back. It is still whole, and light, blue and pure, shines forth. I lean forward, trying to see what lays within…
"River?"
Simon is leaning over me, a tin of water in his hand.
"You've slept so well this time, River." Simon smiles. "Drink up."
I drink up the water. It is cool and clear.
"Did you have any nightmares?"
I shake my head, like I always do. I always lie about my dreams, so that Simon will not worry. Unless I wake up screaming. I cannot hide the truth then.
Simon smiles even more. "Good."
"River! Simon!" Kaylee pokes her head in. "Hurry up! Shepherd Book got us some eggs – real ones! Inara's gonna show us how to color them so they'll look all pretty 'fore we eat 'em!"
She disappears, Simon grinning after her goofily. He's more gone on her than Alice was down the rabbit hole.
"Happy Undead Prophet Day, River. Isn't that what you always told me?" Simon kisses my forehead. "Get dressed and come down to eat, okay?"
I nod and watch him leave.
I will not break. I will survive, and I will emerge reborn; for the sake of those that were with me – my friends and fellow victims.
They will not break me.
I got this idea for a River character study while I was dying Easter eggs with my family. The paths my thoughts take, right? Reviews are shiny!