He didn't know where he was. All he knew was that he was cold and wet. He couldn't see anything; he had tried opening his eyes several times but... his eyes... they took his eyes...
A sense of... heaviness surrounded him. He felt too weak to move much, and when he managed it did him little good. He wasn't sure why he was trying to move, only that it was difficult, and he was too tired to think about it much. Only a sense of not wanting to be there lingered in him, though he didn't have the slightest idea where that might be. Somewhere cold. And wet.
The few times the boy had managed to shift his fingers about he had felt what seemed like damp earth beneath him, though he could've sworn he was floating. Floating slowly down, down, down, never really landing yet never really falling, his descent fluid. His throat burned, his chest hurt. His mouth was open - when had his lips parted? - letting icy cold into his body. He felt so heavy yet felt so light, drifting down with the subtle grace of a feather. His arms were reaching up, yet they felt suspended in that position, for surely he lacked the strength to hold them there. He was reaching... there was faint light above - but, no, surely... his eyes... gone... Was this.. a memory?
But it felt so real. He was falling, falling, down, down. So tired. He felt the earth on his back yet he was still falling. There was only black, but the light above... he could see it... couldn't reach it... No... don't close... eyes... Dark fades to black...
He never feels when he touches the bottom.
Eyes never open, black never goes to light, but he can feel again. Was he asleep? Why is he on the ground? Ground... yes, it is ground. No longer floating, no more heaviness, no more pain.
Still tired, weak, he rolls on his side. No more floating, but he's still cold, and wet. The ground is cold and wet, too. There's liquid running out of his parted lips. It's cold, just like the rest of him.
He thinks of warm. He thinks of... his mother. How he wanted her to find him, wherever he was. He wanted to be back home again. Please... he wanted to go home. He'd do anything to go home. He'd clean his room, he'd finish his dinner - every night! Please, please, he'd do anything. He didn't want to be alone here, cold and wet. He started thinking... Every terrible thing he'd ever done came replaying itself in his head. No... no, he'd be a good boy! He'd be the child his mommy always wanted him to be... please... mommy... come back...
Cold is running out of his eyes and down his face. But he can't be crying... his eyes... gone...
He can't stay here. Too cold... He has to... he has to go home. Pushing himself up on shaky arms, he half crawled half dragged himself forward, anywhere but where he was. It was cold beneath him, a little wet... like mud. He kept going on for a bit, slowly but determined to get home, before he set down a hand in front of him to support himself that submerged in icy cold.
Cold.
Water.
Lake.
Drowned.
He screamed as he pulled back, landing on his backside again and scooting away as much as he could before curling up in a ball. He was scared, lost, and alone, his whole world a solid pitch black with only cold and wet as company. Mommy wasn't coming, was she? He curled up tighter wishing he had his eyes again, if only so he could cry. Cold waterfalls fell from the hollow sockets in his head but it wasn't at all the same, and only made the waterfalls come down harder.
It was over. He was going to be forgotten here. He could never tell her -
He stopped. His sobbing, his shaky breaths, this thoughts, everything, stopped. He listened. Footsteps? Coming closer? Mommy? Is that you?!
He managed to pull himself into a sitting position, turning his head this way and that as if he expected to see her coming. What would she think of him? What would she think of her little baby? With no eyes... no - no! She'd love him no matter what. She promised.
"Mom?" His voice cracked, and it was difficult to get out anything intelligible. "Mom, please, where are you?"
The footsteps stopped. He listened. He was about to call out again before he heard them again, slowly coming near him. They were only meters away when he got a dreadful feeling. He didn't know how to describe it; he couldn't see a thing yet somehow he knew - that's not mommy.
His breath hitched and he tried to move away but the footsteps were right in front of him now. He tried to back away but knew the lake was at his back. With nothing else to do, he curled up in a ball again. What was going to happen? Who was this person? What...?
It had been quiet for a while. He peaked out of the confines of his arms, though it meant nothing now whether his line of sight was blocked or not. He heard a slight shifting of fabric. It sounded like someone had knelt down in front of him. But moreover, he had somehow... sensed the presence draw nearer to him. Before he could figure out what exactly that meant, he felt gloved fingers touch his cheek. It was impulse to pull back, but he couldn't explain why, at another curious touch from the person across from him, he did not pull back. The touch was gentle, reassuring, but it did little to douse his overall fear.
A hand of his own came up to take the outstreched arm of the other, not wanting to feel completely helpless in the situation. The fingers on his cheek stopped all movement, but there was no other reaction from the figure.
Who was this person? The arm in his weak grip didn't seem feminine, and the material that covered it was soft and thick. His fear temporarily set aside, he let go of the arm and reached out for the person's face, wanting nothing at the moment than to get some clue of who this was. The other made no move to stop him as his fingers met his face. Only... it wasn't. The surface under his fingertips was cool and smooth, like ceramic. Was it... was it a mask? Why a mask? It wasn't at all Halloween. Then... why...?
He found his answer as his fingers slid upward. He finally found a hole in the mask, his fingers exploring with some desire to find a person rather than a creature under a mask when... he felt nothing. But... how...?
It was then that the other figure's fingers - of which had never left their original position - ventured upward to where the boy's eyes should have been. He flinched. He didn't like the reminder that he didn't have... eyes...
Bringing up his other hand to the figure's mask, he confirmed that there was another void hole in the depths of its mask. He understood.
"We are very much alike, you and I," a low and disused voice came from the other.
It was only moments after that having been said that he felt a stabbing pain in his lower side. The last thing he heard was his own screaming before he heard no more.
I'm glad you did that... Jack.
Dawn of A New Day.