The reflection and meditation of Edward's life and transformation.
Writer's note: I have done a lot of revisions to the first chapter, and for now I am satisfied with the product. I have started on the second chapter, which I hope will be enjoyable too.
Also, I am a person of little importance and do not own anything but my own imagination. Enjoy!
I did not ask for this strange flesh. I was once young and loved others, and in turn was also loved. The ambitions I possessed were so soon within grasp, though sprung of naivety they were. I lost all these things. They were taken and then flung into some dark abyss. A mother and father were both consumed by sickness, erased from existence one by one. All that remains of them now are pockets of warmth in the deepest part of my memory, and the desperate scrawl that endeavored to remain as their sole breath of life and testament to their existence. Memory presses upon memory, and now that is all left of their remains. Like strata composed of layers, my memories of the years elapsed rested upon a weak foundation of the life I led. I wrote furiously and without restraint upon the realization that my prior life was veiled in a haze that amassed greater and greater. I did not want to forget.. a life I had barely begun to live.
What did I care of life or death? All around me were the cries for God, but I never called upon him for pity. Even in the delirium I kept that one sanity. In the rare moments that I wrenched lucidness from the resisting grasp of delirium, an onrush of pain and exhaustion poured forth, flooding me until I was drowning and desperate for reprieve. The sadistic pandemic destroyed not only my body but tested the fabric of my being. Not only was it not enough to ravage my body, but to endure the grief derived from the knowledge of the fate of those I loved when an ethereal voice whispered into my ear, "Your mother, Elizabeth Masen, has passed on…"
Dear reader, you can only guess as the extent of the grief that raged on within me! The heaviness of emotion radiated from my heart to every fragment of my being. What strength that had remained in me dissolved into bitter gall to poison and undermine. A ringing in my ears grew louder and louder until I could no longer hear those crying out around me nor the doctor though his cool breath grazed my cheek. Louder still the ringing rose and my head throbbed, vision disintegrating into a chaos of colors of no form or structure. Simply abstract. My body betrayed me in grief. Dry sobs escaped from me, I felt my body heave. But for this I may have survived, but what will and strength I possessed became extinguished. What did I care of life or death after this, I will ask you again!
In the onset of my illness, I lay twisting in bed, coughing up choking fluids. The realization of the sickness was set and fear trailed not far behind. Fever burned hotter than the fires of hell as time slipped by. This very same time began to warp and distort gradually as dreams, nightmares, past and present melded into one and the same. What a horror delirium! The anguish of consciousness was unbearable and the moans and wailing of those sick nearby compounded the pain in my own body, goading it to new levels. They were the voices to the suffering I was resolute to not demonstrate…is that not a perverse comfort to take? Pain drove through me in waves, muscles contorting the bones of my body in spasms. Iron bands tightened across my chest, constricting with each breath. Time both skipped ahead and slowed in moments of mania. Here the most sacred angel in the distance and one blink brought me face to face with a demon! Skin stretched taunt across distorted muscle and it cursed me and my own to despair as I cowered in fear against my pillow! One more second elapsed and I beheld nothing before me, only a void. A void that resounded with a crystalline hum and a strange electric energy.
Critical moments arrived swiftly and frequently, maneuvering me to the precipice of my mortality. Still I remained breathing, but these escalations slowly dissolved my bonds to this world. Never was I so cognizant to the beating of my heart as when I felt it begin to fail. I listed to the slower beat and brought my left hand to rest awkwardly over top it to feel each quiver and thump. I remember a joy soaring within me and a smile playing at my lips. I was neither mad nor delirious, rather gratefulness emanated within me. I felt I would never be any closer to knowing both life and death. Dusk began to announce itself and I followed the progression of shadows inch by inch with my eyes across the bed sheets. My survival instincts fought through the cloud of illness. Breathing measured gradually more infrequent, punctuated more often with pneumatic bubbling and wheezing. The fires of fever leapt higher and sweat ran down as a constant stream to cool the burning flesh. Cracked lips and a burning throat thirsting. Now still ever thirsting.
How strangely this world maintained balance. When I had more strength and illness was settling into my body I had lain amongst the very young and the very old, witnessing the progression and the regression of the very illness that destroyed strong and steady hearts. The victims were neither children nor old. Their wane flesh returned to lively hues and fevers broke, relinquishing the threat of demise. I had only grown sicker while children bounded out through the hospital doors. Those of old age crept along to live out their lives a little while longer. The survivors prayed to God, preaching the miracle of his salvation!
"Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!" They called out, thoughtless of the anguish triggered in those who harbored fear and knowledge of the certainty of their own death. God has obviously not deemed them repentant enough to bestow salvation! Sobs and cries hung in the air, drowning out the prayers that weighed down weary minds, half mad and spurred on by fever and despondence.
"We are all damned, can't you see? This is our burden, our blight!" A young man with auburn hair shrieked out in a fit of delirium. His back twisted off the bed with such violence that he tumbled to the ground, contorting and screaming. Wilding gasping for air to fuel his screams…for no other description fits the panic and tone of what left his mouth. Those conscious in the ward simply watched, and those already driven mad joined his screaming with their own heightened cries. Children cowered in their beds and cried silently and fearfully.
"We'll all meet in Hades, you and I…" He choked out. This was a man of God, I overhear from the whispers of nurses and orderlies who huddled nearby, and argued amongst themselves with what to do. They combined their efforts to carry away his limp body, but first silenced his mouth with a strip of leather which held down his tongue. His eyes searched wildly across the room. I shrank back against my pillow, frightened by this forced silence. Bewildered and horrified by a shepard cursing his flock to the wolves, I was adamant on avoiding contact with his burning eyes.
"Heaven help us, but why this of all things?" muttered a nurse who ran past me to aid the nurses and orderlies, as the pastor thrashed about in their arms with a renewed vigor. His cries garbled but furious all the same. I had heard murmurs of madness from the lips of the nurses. Some people had lost their minds, unable to emerge whole from delirium. I did not see the good pastor again until much later.
Life was plied from unyielding fingers bit by bit. Terrible it was to see those who days ago nursed and cared for the sick upon their own deathbeds. If they would not survive, how could I? Questions of whether they were remorseful of such close contact with the dying, a kindness that was punished instead of rewarded through death. Their faces had smiled to me in life, but look through me in death. I called out to them, certain of my fate to join them. Each of my lapses into unconsciousness and subsequent reawakening only summoned new faces to mourn.
At some point though the throes of unconsciousness and mania; I was removed from that initial ward. The mental exhaustion was less here. The stomach wrenching choleric smells and sights were absent; death came swiftly for those who suffered in that manner and there was no dignity afforded. Quiet danced in the air, aside from the fans over heard that turned. Not a single person within the white walls cried or screamed, rather they lay mute in their agony.
This is where I was brought to die, I assumed. Medicines, same as before, impotent. The nurses spoke to one another in hushed voices. Exchanging furtive glances and fanning themselves from the stale air.
A cool hand touched my arm, and unease swarmed my senses. I looked up in surprise at the doctor who stood at my side. Concern distorted his otherwise peaceful demeanor. Very little of the strain and exhaustion was evident, save for the dark circles underneath his bright amber eyes. I shifted uncomfortable in the bed under his appraising gaze. His strangely chilled hands moved over my wrist to feel my pulse for a few moments and he leaned in closer as if listening to be breathe. I shrank back even more, and held my breath, my heart leapt to life. He inspected the whites of my eyes and pulled back.
"You can rest here a little more, Edward. I can see that your nerves are on end, and I do not blame you." He said soothingly. I nodded.
"Thank you, doctor" I responded, slightly more at ease. He smiled at me slightly, and nodded his head of golden hair.
"We are going to do our best here to look after you."
I didn't reply back. My jaw slackened and I broke into a sweat as a cramping pain, white hot, flashed in my chest. I dry heaved in response, my movement only aggravating the pain. I could hear the doctor call my name with panic woven into his voice, but darkness swarmed before my eyes and I was pulled under another wave of unconsciousness...
When I awoke, haziness clouded the periphery of every sense in my body. Nurses immediately set to work upon me, and drew curtains around. Pills were placed upon my tongue for me to swallow and hot compresses were wrapped against my back and chest, in hopes of loosening the congestion. The nurses held me upright and urged me to cough. Their efforts were only rewarded by scarlet congestion spewed upon the cloths held at my mouth. I gasped for air through the ripping sensation in my lungs from the effort. The offending cloths were disposed of immediately. The doctor set his lips in a firm line at the sight and disappeared behind the curtain to the bed next to me. I could not discern to who he spoke to, or what he said but for the grave, apologetic tone. A woman's low sobbing rose into the air.
The next few moments, my body was focused to the sound of the sobbing next to me, so familiar… The sobbing came to an abrupt halt. Another exchange of words. Then silence like a battering ram. It was in this very ward that I realized my fate, and I learned that of my mother's. The doctor returned to apologize for my mother's demise. Dear reader, you know what became of my resolve, we touched on that before. The curtain was drawn open and I saw a familiar flash of bronze hair and as if on reflex I shut my eyes tight and resigned myself to demise. I refused to watch as she was taken away, I was determined to not allow that to be the last memory of my mother.
I was furious at this doctor, for keeping me oblivious of her presence in the final moments of her life, I wanted to rise out of the bed and strike this man down! Instead I lay consumed by grief, hate, and despair black as pitch. Time trickled slowly. There is truth to the saying that 'life is fleeting, but death lingers.'
This angelic doctor had become a thorn at my side, hovering close yet keeping distant. Watching and waiting for my nature to reach its end, I thought bitterly as I rolled onto my side facing away from him. I wished for sleep… some relief.
I focused my gaze upon the person in the bed next to me. Immediately, I recognized her as having nursed my own father. So vibrant before, now her eyes sunken and her skin paler than my own, glistening with sweat. Days ago, she had comforted both my mother and myself with gentle words of encouragement. When my father passed on, she wept as though a daughter would. I hadn't seen her since that mournful day. Looking at her small form, I knew that if this illness strangled the breath from my body and wrenched at my muscles, it must have been tenfold for her. She did not cry out to reveal her pain or even utter a single word. Her eyes remained shut, and ragged breath rushed past her lips. The sole hint of the tortuous pain she endured was evidenced though her clenched fists twisting at her bed sheets, tendons and veins straining against her skin from the effort.
She was beautiful in a way I hadn't thought possible. Though now, all I can recall of her are slight attributes that made her beauty so paramount. The shock of the mess of her golden hare, wound about her head like a golden halo. The translucence of her skin was both ethereal and delicate. The girl opened her eyes once, and met my gaze. I saw then that her eyes were hazel and with a depth unparalleled. In those silent moments she shared the secrets of her life, demanding and desperate emotions crossing her face .
Within the hour she was dead. The violent motion of her hands eased, as the final breath was drawn. Her eyelashes matted with tears, which ran down the side of her face. At once, I knew I loved her though without ever having known her, or an intimate word between her and I. The moment of her passing was the greatest moment of my life, for it contained within it the greatest intimacy...revealing the most tender compassion within. I could not look away as the orderlies approach and lifted her body. Her hands fell away and I saw the bright scarlet cuts upon her palm, where she must have dug her fingernails. Scarlet unfurled like a slight ribbon down her fingertips, dotting the bed sheets.
I exhaled unsteadily, closing my eyes and when I reopened them she was removed from my life. Soon her memories became diluted as well.