Tufts of white clouds linger over a dry desert and the warm air smelled heavily of salty dust. Within the barren dessert a young man waited with anticipation. His smooth and child-like face tilted up towards the sky while his pale features burned under the tepid sun. He was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke of certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in his eyes, gazing off onto a patch of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather a suspension of hope.
His eyes fluttered as he listened to sound of wind echoing throughout the wasteland. His breathing hollowed while his heart beat steadily slowed rhythmically. Strands of his soft hair tickle his face while clam winds wisp across his light skin. He closed his eyes as he lifted his hands, feeling the fragments of sand weaving through his thin fingers.
There was something coming to him and he was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? He did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But he felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching towards him through the sounds, the scents and the color filling the air.
Whispered words escaped his slightly parted lips. "Can you hear me?"
Gray clouds gathered, reverberating the sound of thunder while the delicious smell of rain diffused in the air.
Soft, humid rain trickled from the sky and onto the young man's skin. The vacant stare and look of terror faded from his eyes, turning it keen and bright. His pulse quickened and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of his body.
"Will you hold me?" He spoke softly as he opened and spread his arms out.
He knew he would begin to weep when he felt kind, tender hands gently grasp his being. Within this moment his heart felt as if it would burst. A warm smile played at the corners of his lips, tempting him to open his eyes. He breathed a heavy sigh and longing said, "I love you."
Slowly, the feeling of warmth faded as the humid rain distorted into a cold and bitter silence. Whilst his legs trembled he clutched his small frame; the affectionate hands were absent. A severe aching pain rose beneath his chest.
He remained silent as hushed ambient noises drifted into an echoed-filled dimension.
His cobalt-blue eyes snap open as a feverish look escalated across his features; he immediately recognized his surroundings.
He strained against the fetters binding his wrists and legs to the cold table.
A narrow gag cut into the corners of his mouth; moist with own saliva, the cloth assaulted his tongue with an offensive, cooper mix of wet cotton, blood, and bile.
Inhaling deeply through flared nostrils he fought to suppress an acidic gorge rising from his gut. With his mouth held open by the gag, his throat burned with dryness and his jaw cramped with fatigue. The restraints at his wrists, elbows, and waist cut into his soft welts and weeping abrasions. A throbbing in his head pulsed with vengeance, and his eyes were as puffy and bloodshot as a binging alcoholic's.
Then, a hypodermic needle gleamed under the fluorescent lights illuminating the room.
As he continued to struggle his vision narrowed with anger and blurred with hatred. Despite the coolness of the small, concrete enclosure, sweat ran from every pore.
He tried to concentrate on the person holding the syringe rather than the needle itself. Ignoring as best he could the pain cause by his fetters, he focused on the matron holding the hypodermic to the light. He gazed at the familiar figure, bitter tears pooling in his eyes. He could not suppress the absolute loathing toward the woman. Nor did he want to.
Aerith Gainsborough, the petite syringe-bearer, smiled affectionately. "Please don't fight this. You don't want the needle to break off your arm now, do you?" Aerith's voice echoed eerily.
As much as the gag would allow, he uttered vulgar words, but it was lost in the cotton cloth.
"Now don't carry on like that, sweetheart. You will thank me later, trust me."
Aerith continued to inspect the large hypodermic appreciately while humming a calm melody.
Scrubing the injection area with Betadine solution, Aerith said, "This will be over in a bit."
Normally, the musky, astringent smell held a curious comfot of health and recovery to the young man. Now it stank as if the woman had just swabbed his shoulder with putrid sewer water. He shook his head slowly and tried to articulate the words, "Please don't"
Aeirth paused and frowned slightly. "Trust me."
He remained silent, but continued to plead wit his eyes, looking from the woman to the syringe while continuing to shake his head.
Depressing his shoulder, Aeirth isolated an area between her thumb and index finger.
The young man closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The eighteen-gauge needle entered with a vicious bite. A sharp burning immediately flared from the injection site. Scintillating pin pricks crept spider-quick down his arm, across his chest and up his neck while his skin squirmed and crawled.
His face beaded with oily perspiration. Searing specks of heat burst in his blood vessels as the injection spread through his torso and into his stomach. Rapidly, everything seemed to take on a preternatural clarity. He became aware every organ twisting and burning inside his body. The throbbing in his head began to beat in unity with his heart.
Immediately he found his chest tightening and his throat narrowing. Tears streamed from his eyes. His heart pounded so loudly it echoed off the bare walls.
A burning sensation swept through his body, eliciting one muscle spasm after another. He found he had lost all muscle control. His struggle slowed, then ceased. One last ragged breath escape from his lips as his eyes tremble shut.
Zexion woke in a daze. He lied on a bed in a colorless, gray-walled room which seemed to spin, topple and sway like some ill-conceived amusement park ride. He closed his sullen eyes and tried to master his unstable balance- he felt as if he were on the high seas in a small rubber raft.
After a time, he slowly reopened his eyes.
He laid motionless with his head upon the pillow, except when a sob came into his throat - like a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.
Terms:
fetters- shackles, footcuffs or leg irons are a kind of physical restraint used on the feet or ankles to allow walking but prevent running and kicking.
matron- A woman who acts as a supervisor or monitor in a public institution, such as a school, hospital, or prison.
preternatural- exceeding what is natural or regular
hypodermic - adapted for use in or administered by injection beneath the skin
Songs playing an influence the story:
Romèo et Juliette by Aimer
Cool vibes by Vanilla Ninja
Winter Sleep by OLIVIA
Hello Hello SR-71
**Author looks at the computer screen and then faints**
Okay….okay…
Please review and I'm begging you-please, please, please PLEEAAASSEE! help me improve my poor writing skills.
Thank you zexion's lover for your awesome support while I wrote this half-witted story.
Oh, yeah…I own nothing save it be my name.