Tsureteitte
Tusbasa: RESIVoir CHRoNiCLE
By Unfinished Song
Part One: Endless Road
Cold...
The cold soaked through his cloths to his skin, freezing him and making his body ach, but it wasn't the only cause of his discomfort. His right hand and left foot throbbed in time with his heart, the near numbness of the cold rain not enough to disembody the pain that resided in each, especially his right eye. It felt like the entire right side of his head was going to explode from the agony and if it wouldn't have caused him unimaginable pain him he would have curled into a ball simply to protect that one hurt from the elements. If that eye had hurt anymore he wasn't even sure he would have been able to think.
It hurts…
He didn't know he'd entered the darkness of his inner mind until he found himself awakening once more to the same scenery that had greeted him. Coming into awareness once again from the darkness of the strange dreamless sleep, he automatically attempted to open his eyes, only to be greeted by the searing torment of pain that flooded the senses of his right. There was a soft sound, high and hitched, and in his delirious state he didn't realize that it was him: crying from the pain.
Frightened by the unknown and determined to see, he tried to open just his left eye, but despite his effort to keep the right shut, the lid caked with dried and fresh blood twitched harshly against its reflex action, sending a new wave of pain through his head under the rubbery cold blanket of cold and numbness. His voice whimpered with the sound of hurt, but he was so confused by the swarms of sensations and incomprehension that he tried again, painfully clenching the hurt eye shut to pry open his left so he could see. He only managed a bare slit, a feeling of weakness so strong and agonizing it made the light burn through his one good eye, making his head hurt all the more. Again on reflex he found himself closing his eyes almost too tightly, sending a new wave of pain through his right. Even breathing was making him hurt.
Why am I hurt?
For a time he chose to just lay there. He wasn't sure how long he stayed still after his first try to get control of his body. He hoped in not moving maybe the pain would ebb enough for him to open his eyes with ease, but the longer he lay there the colder he could feel his body becoming from the relentless rain. He knew he couldn't stay there. Though he couldn't grasp the concept of death in the strange blankness that shrouded his thoughts faintly with panic he understood that his body was getting colder and though it did take away the pain, it took away his normal senses, too. If he got too cold, maybe he wouldn't be able to get up. That is if he ever managed to gather the courage to face the pain and try again.
Deciding on a new approach, he kept his eyes shut as he tried moving his arms and legs. The pain thrust anew through various wounds he hadn't realized were there other than that of his right hand, right eye, and left foot. Each intake of breath hurt, his left knee had a grinding sensation when he pulled it in a half bend, and his back muscles twitched from where they'd been pulled to the point of strain. He felt as though he had been beaten brutally, left to regain consciousness, then beaten again repeatedly.
Still, this effort was proving to not be nearly as bad as when he'd attempted to open his eyes. Being sure not to grimace his face and cause new pain from the wound of his right eye, he carefully pulled his hands under his shoulders, his right not moving quite as easily as it should have. Tensing his legs, he lifted his upper body and pushed the weight so that it was balanced on his folded knees and hands. His right hand pounded with agony, but he wasn't on the muddy ground anymore. With a push he felt a surge of small triumph when his upper body left the weight of his hands and settled onto his hips, finally sitting in a slightly slouched posture. His left leg complained bitterly to him, the grinding sensation in his knee becoming a constant pain that cut like a knife each time his weight moved even just a little. He was feeling dizzy and his stomach churned from the pain placed on his limbs, but he knew he couldn't stay where he was.
Where… am I?
Determined to open his eyes, he brought his right hand up and carefully brushed it against his brow, testing just how much it hurt. The bare brushing of his hand over the closed lid stung sharply, but his determination was strong. He wanted to see where he was.
Only giving his body a moment to brace itself he forced the heel of his hand against the wounded eye. Pain stabbed into his skull like a hot poker through where he should have been able to see, yet he ignored it, adding more pressure so that his hand could hold the eye firmly shut. Though his hand was half numb and hurting, it didn't stop him from feeling where blood slowly oozed from the injury, crossing over a layer that had congealed into a solid rough mass down his cheek and part of his neck. Taking a deep breath that made his ribs hurt he pushed harder, knowing somehow that the action would help ebb the bleeding.
Unfortunately, despite his resolve his body trembled from agony and finally his stomach refused him, forcing him to balance on his left hand while his belly emptied itself of its contents, which was nothing more that a bit of bile, leaving him to suffer through the dry heaves that only helped add to his suffering.
He was still dry heaving from the agony of holding his hand over his eye when he finally opened the left without even thinking about the action. He saw the yellowish stuff that had once been in him mixing with the mud and the rain water. Its smell and sight was enough to send him into another set of dry heaves, making his stomach clench and his sides ripple with pain.
As the wave passed he found himself balancing on his arm in a slumped position, his hot forehead touching the cold mud. It would feel good to just close his eyes and sleep… go back to the darkness he knew before waking to this agony…
But… if he stayed here wouldn't his body keep getting colder and colder? What would he do if he woke up and couldn't move because he was so cold his entire body had gone numb? No, he couldn't just go back to sleep. Not yet. With another surge of determination he forced his feet under him to push up, lifting him to stand. Again his stomach clenched but he forced it down, knowing there was nothing left for him to throw up.
The surroundings that greeted his sight were dreary and dark, the rain making everything seem a little fuzzier than normal. He was on some kind of dirt road beside a river, the waters already higher than normal, making the current unusually quick. Slowly he turned in a circle, but all he saw was the road, the river, and the rain. Nothing or anyone was around, and there was nothing he could use to try to figure out which way to go. Disheartened, he looked down to his feet.
The crimson mixed with the mud surprised him.
All around his feet where he had lain for an unknown span of time was blood mixed with the moistened soil of the roadway. It expanded in little rivulets, tenting the puddles it touched pink and stretched too far. Seeing the amount of blood that had come out of his body made him start shaking and hurting anew, his teeth chattering harshly as he shivered from both cold and pain. Maybe he was also shivering from blood loss? His mind was too young to comprehend that as another reason for his trembling but he did understand that the amount of blood on the ground was his and that large amount wasn't a good thing.
With no guide, he picked a direction and started to slowly limp down it, his left leg sending a sharp punch of pain up his heel and toes to merge with the pain of his grinding knee before it traveled along his nerves. He hugged his free arm around his sides in an almost automatic motion to comfort the pain of breathing. The jarring motion of each step hurt his eye, which he made sure to force his hurt right hand to stay over so he could hold his left open with ease to see.
But he couldn't stay there. If he lay down to sleep there on the road he would probably wake up too cold to move, and there was no one around to ask why.
I don't understand… Why am I here? What happened?
With his determination and resolve as his only weapons, he continued to trudge down the rain ridden muddy road, leaving dribbles of blood behind like the bread trail from Hansel and Gretel.
He was too young to really understand the truth. Or maybe he knew and just didn't remember. If he lay down to sleep the truth was he would probably die of hyperthermia. If he hadn't covered his head injury he would keep losing strength from the blood that continued to flow from the wound at a constant tap.
He was too young to understand that with each drop of blood he lost from his hurts, he was another minute closer to greeting the darkness of eternal sleep.
Oblivious to it all, he kept on walking, leaving only the drops of blood behind as he traveled down the seemingly endless road.
