Prologue: Delicate Sound of Thunder
So, so you think you can tell Heaven From Hell?
I hate waking up; I'm just not a morning person. One can't be fabulous 24/7, so I do excuse myself for any unsightliness that may occur within the first 45 minutes of being roused from slumber. But I have to admit that I'm feeling particularly horrendous this morning.
I can't seem to open my eyes and I am most certainly suffering from an atrocious bout of Xerostomia. I swear that it feels like I spent the night with my mouth stuffed with cotton. And my tongue actually feels as though it's swollen and is several sizes too big for my mouth. I can only imagine how revolting my morning breath must be. Forget Dragon-Breath, I'll venture it's more like Nine-Headed-Hydra-Breath judging from the way it feels.
At least Finn has his own room now and I can brush my teeth before he bears witness to my sheer…ickiness. And it's not just my breath, I realize as I shift uncomfortably. I feel…sticky. And just generally gross.
I must be sick, I realize. I've probably got a fever going up and down, which would explain why it feels as though I've been sweating all night.
On the plus side, though, being sick means that it's okay if I just lie here for a few minutes listening to the delicate sound of thunder rumbling in the distance and the soft patter of rain against my window. I can delay getting up. Quite possibly I can delay it until my father comes down, finds me in my horrifying condition.
Except…I really do feel gross. I want to get up and shower before I go back to sleep. And I must have fallen asleep in my clothes. I wince. If I'm still in my clothes that means I didn't even do my moisturizing routine last night! There's no excuse for that! I literally can't even remember what I was doing that made me so tired that I fell asleep without properly preparing for bed.
I still can't seem to open my eyes. It's like they've been glued shut.
I try to raise my hand to my eyes. My arm feels…heavy. Like I've somehow gained at least forty pounds overnight and it's all settled in my right arm. My left seems to have gained a few pounds as well.
Something is really wrong.
"D-" I try to call out for my dad, but all that I can manage is an odd little croak. Like my mouth, my throat is completely dry. I'm so parched I can't even muster up a tiny bit of saliva. I gasp as my tongue touches against my lips and I can feel how dry and cracked they are. Even with my best moisturizer it'll be days before they heal. And…there's an odd coppery taste. Blood.
What…what's going on?
I try to sit up, but almost immediately my head comes into contact with some sort of padding.
I force my arms to rise until they, too, are pressed against a padded surface.
I'm not in bed.
I should have realized that sooner. I am clearly not lying on my silky sheets and the pillow under my head is much softer than the extra-firm support I'm used to.
Where am I?
I can feel my heart speeding up and become aware that my breath is starting to come out in short pants.
Where am I? Why can't I remember…anything? I don't remember going to bed, I don't even really remember getting home. But I must've…right? Because otherwise…
Don't panic. There's a reasonable explanation.
Experimentally I slide my hands outward, along the padded surface and feel ridiculously like a mime as they come into contact with more padding to the sides of me.
I force my eyes open and blink rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes. Even with my eyes open I can't see anything but pitch darkness. I push against the padded surface, but there's absolutely no give.
I'm in a box.
Don't panic.
It's a padded box.
I gulp for air, but it's not coming easily. My chest tightens and it gets even harder to breathe. I push harder at the sides, but when I still can't budge in either direction I focus my efforts on the roof…the lid of the box. But it's no use. It's stuck tight. Maybe there's a latch or handle or something…? My hands fumble against the padding, seeking any sort of lever or button or…anything. But there's just more padding.
Don't panic!There's an explanation. It's probably Finn with some terribly misguided sibling-rivalryish prank that Puck came up with. It's not funny, Finn.
"Let me out!" I manage to choke out, my voice hoarse as though I've been screaming for hours.
My chest begins to burn as my heart pounds faster and harder and my breath is becoming more of a wheeze. I wonder if I'm having a heart attack. I feel sweat dribbling from my forehead and down my neck.
I have to calm down. Have to think. Have to concentrate on breathing. I fold my arms across my chest and close my eyes against the darkness.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm down. Deeper breath. In. Out. Ohgodohgodohgod. In. Out. Inoutinoutin…no…In…out. Focus on the sound of the rain and let it soothe you as it…rain…as it…as…it's not…ohGODOHGOD.
It's not rain. Any progress I made in calming myself down is obliterated as I realize what the sound actually is.
I'm in a padded box…a coffin…and the pattering sound isn't soothing at all.
It's got to be the most terrifying sound in the world.
The sound of dirt raining down on the lid, sealing me into my tiny prison.
I curl my fingers into claws and begin tearing at the padding. I can feel it ripping away from the lid.
"Naaah," I croak as I feel my fingernails ripping against an unyielding layer of wood. It hurts but I can't make myself stop. "Nnnn…"
I roll slightly so that I can try a different approach; maybe the side will be weaker. There's got to be thinner wood on the sides, right? I scrape frantically at the padding but find that once again I reach an impenetrable wall. I has to be made of glass, I determine, because although for the most part it's still just pitch black, I can see a tiny red dot of light. Like…a camera? I feel sick considering the idea that someone could be watching me. Some sick freak is watching me!
I can't think about that now. I have to get out.
I begin beating my fist against the glass, praying that it will break. I ignore the pain that goes racing up my arm and spreading into the rest of my body. "G…g-uhhh…" It's not working! But here has to be a way out. There just has to be.
I can barely force my fingers to close on the padding as I strain to rip it from the wall. My effort pays off as I feel a slight breeze filling the coff…box. A breeze means an opening. I slide my hand along the wall seeking that opening. It's quite small, I discover…I can't even fit my hand into it. Just a few fingers. And no amount of clawing will make it any larger.
But there's a breeze so it must go somewhere. "Please…let me out," I plead with whoever is doing this to me; whoever is still piling dirt on top of me. But I only hear more thumping as whoever it is buries me deeper. "Please," I beg for my life.
But whoever is out there ignores me.
Who is out there? Obviously it's not Finn; there's no way he'd take a 'joke' this far. Not even Puck would do something like this.
Why is this happening to me? And why can't I remember what happened…? How I got here? Anything?
My dad must be frantic by now. I have no idea how long I've been…missing? Am I missing. I'm missing. God. How long? Dad must be…looking for me. Oh, please, Dad, find me. Help me, Dad…
I begin frantically clawing at the wood again. I have to get out. I have to fight. I can't just lie here and let some…bigot . It's got to be a bigot right? I'm just a random target picked because I stand out in a crowd just for being me. This isn't about me. It can't be. I haven't done anything to anyone…well…okay I'm not perfect and I can think of a few people who might hold grudges with reason. Somehow I can't imagine that Rachel Berry has anything to do with this. I try to laugh at that thought, but it comes out as a sob. And then I can't stop sobbing.
Help me, Daddy…find me, please.
I can't control my body as it's wracked by shivers and sobs. I can feel the snot and blood and sweat and tears as I kick and punch and claw and thrash and scream and…
I'm not sure how long it is before my voice finally gives out and though I go through the motions, can feel the air rushing from my lungs, I can no longer produce a sound.
Worse, I realize as I collapse onto my back, I can no longer hear anyone outside. The dirt has stopped raining.
I was wrong before.
The scariest sound in the world is
silence.
