Sick on a journey:
Over parched fields
Dreams wander on.-Basho
When I think of pain - of anxiety that gnaws like fire and loneliness that spreads out like a desert, and the heartbreaking routine of monotonous misery, or again of dull aches that blacken our whole landscape or sudden nauseating pains that knock a man's heart out at one blow, of pains that seem already intolerable and then are suddenly increased, of infuriating scorpion-stinging pains that startle into maniacal movement a man who seemed half dead with his previous tortures-it "quite o'ercrows my spirit." If I knew any way of escape I would crawl through sewers to find it. But what is the good of telling you about my feelings? You know them already: they are the same as yours. I am not arguing that pain is not painful. Pain hurts. That is what the word means. -C.S. Lewis
Chapter 7
Pain
When, at last I escaped oblivion's pen, I had no idea how long I'd been there. Gazing around, I tried to get my bearings. Dawn peeked over the trees, casting the sky in brilliant peach and gold. A hazy fog hugged the ground. The forest was rife with the song of birds, and the air was clean and fresh and contained an early morning chill. I took a deep breath of the bracing air, and slowly eased my aching joints into a seated position.
As I sat there, still gasping in pain, my thoughts swiftly flew to Mac and I remembered her body laying deathly still the last time I laid eyes upon her. But she had disappeared. I had to find her!
My hands seized upon the cold metal of the plane, and I gingerly rose. Standing there for a moment, I leaned my head against its hardness and sucked in large gulps of air. Pain shot through my nerves, fraying the ends into throbbing masses of torment. After several minutes elapsed, I attempted to walk forward. Agony wrenched me fitfully to the ground. Ingesting dust into my lungs, I coughed spasmodically.
After several failed attempts, despair began to overtake me, when suddenly I saw several fallen limbs scattered about the ground. An idea struck me and I began to stretch out my hand toward a rather long, sturdy looking branch. Once my hand finally grasped around its bark roughened surface, I used it to rise unsteadily. Finally, I was able to slowly make my way, crawling like an ape, dragging my necrotic limbs with the stick, through the trees.
It didn't take me long to find her, laying in a motionless heap in the dirt. I could tell that she'd dragged herself to this place. Not sure whether fatigue or death had brought her to lay there, sprawled out on the earth, I reached out a querulous hand and felt for a pulse. Then, kneeling down next to her in astonishment, I laid my head onto her breast and found her heart pumping strongly and her body warm. She seemed to be in better shape than I was.
Lifting my abject head, I examined her body to find dried blood in several places on her exposed skin. She was also severely bruised. I gently moved her arms and legs, and pressed against her rib cage to assure myself there were no broken bones. Relief poured over my body, and suddenly I felt weak. I looked at my leg and found mud-caked blood all over. I hadn't noticed the bleeding had resumed. I decided to lay down next to her and rest.
Later
I wasn't sure how many hours I'd been asleep. I had dreamt of her. It was the same dream I had, had of her in the past. Us sitting in front of the fireplace, drinking wine, looking at each other. I could hear Mac calling my name. She wanted me to wake up. Nevertheless, I could not force my eyes to open. The fire seemed so real. It was crackling and I felt its warmth flushing my body. She placed something soft under my head.
Sweat poured out of my fevered skin, but I felt so very cold. I heard a slosh of water and she smoothed a cool, soothing cloth across my brow. Then I felt her rip the leg of my jeans apart to get to the gaping gash in my leg. Excruciating pain seared a rampaging path through my body, and the last thing I saw was a blinding white flash behind my eyelids and then nothing.
Sometime Later
When again I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I couldn't hear anything but the fire and the rustle of something next to me. The air smelt of burning wood and fresh earth. This time I felt enough strength to open my cumbersome lids just a crack. I saw the orange glow of the fire. But, I didn't see Mac. Then I heard the rustle again, and a sniff. I strained my fuzzy, barely ajar eyes to the place next to me. There, staring at something on a sheet of paper, was Mac. I didn't know what it was, but it had moved her. I could make out her tears soaking the blood stained page. She looked at me a few times and back at the page.
Burying her face into the letter and her hands, I could hear her muffled sobs, and saw her small shoulders wracked by her sadness. There were no words to describe the hurt that swelled overpoweringly within me at seeing her like that. But my eyes felt so torpid, and they clamped shut like two heavy doors. I felt her move closer to me. So close, I could feel her breath caress my ear.
"Oh, Harm, I wish you had told me earlier. I can't believe you left everything for me," she said. Her voice quavered, and I felt her wet cheek pressed to mine.
I longed, at that moment, to be able to think clearly, but my head felt like it was stuffed with wool. Nothing seemed real, it all seemed so far away. Perhaps this was just another of my fevered dreams.
End of chapter 7
Over parched fields
Dreams wander on.-Basho
When I think of pain - of anxiety that gnaws like fire and loneliness that spreads out like a desert, and the heartbreaking routine of monotonous misery, or again of dull aches that blacken our whole landscape or sudden nauseating pains that knock a man's heart out at one blow, of pains that seem already intolerable and then are suddenly increased, of infuriating scorpion-stinging pains that startle into maniacal movement a man who seemed half dead with his previous tortures-it "quite o'ercrows my spirit." If I knew any way of escape I would crawl through sewers to find it. But what is the good of telling you about my feelings? You know them already: they are the same as yours. I am not arguing that pain is not painful. Pain hurts. That is what the word means. -C.S. Lewis
Chapter 7
Pain
When, at last I escaped oblivion's pen, I had no idea how long I'd been there. Gazing around, I tried to get my bearings. Dawn peeked over the trees, casting the sky in brilliant peach and gold. A hazy fog hugged the ground. The forest was rife with the song of birds, and the air was clean and fresh and contained an early morning chill. I took a deep breath of the bracing air, and slowly eased my aching joints into a seated position.
As I sat there, still gasping in pain, my thoughts swiftly flew to Mac and I remembered her body laying deathly still the last time I laid eyes upon her. But she had disappeared. I had to find her!
My hands seized upon the cold metal of the plane, and I gingerly rose. Standing there for a moment, I leaned my head against its hardness and sucked in large gulps of air. Pain shot through my nerves, fraying the ends into throbbing masses of torment. After several minutes elapsed, I attempted to walk forward. Agony wrenched me fitfully to the ground. Ingesting dust into my lungs, I coughed spasmodically.
After several failed attempts, despair began to overtake me, when suddenly I saw several fallen limbs scattered about the ground. An idea struck me and I began to stretch out my hand toward a rather long, sturdy looking branch. Once my hand finally grasped around its bark roughened surface, I used it to rise unsteadily. Finally, I was able to slowly make my way, crawling like an ape, dragging my necrotic limbs with the stick, through the trees.
It didn't take me long to find her, laying in a motionless heap in the dirt. I could tell that she'd dragged herself to this place. Not sure whether fatigue or death had brought her to lay there, sprawled out on the earth, I reached out a querulous hand and felt for a pulse. Then, kneeling down next to her in astonishment, I laid my head onto her breast and found her heart pumping strongly and her body warm. She seemed to be in better shape than I was.
Lifting my abject head, I examined her body to find dried blood in several places on her exposed skin. She was also severely bruised. I gently moved her arms and legs, and pressed against her rib cage to assure myself there were no broken bones. Relief poured over my body, and suddenly I felt weak. I looked at my leg and found mud-caked blood all over. I hadn't noticed the bleeding had resumed. I decided to lay down next to her and rest.
Later
I wasn't sure how many hours I'd been asleep. I had dreamt of her. It was the same dream I had, had of her in the past. Us sitting in front of the fireplace, drinking wine, looking at each other. I could hear Mac calling my name. She wanted me to wake up. Nevertheless, I could not force my eyes to open. The fire seemed so real. It was crackling and I felt its warmth flushing my body. She placed something soft under my head.
Sweat poured out of my fevered skin, but I felt so very cold. I heard a slosh of water and she smoothed a cool, soothing cloth across my brow. Then I felt her rip the leg of my jeans apart to get to the gaping gash in my leg. Excruciating pain seared a rampaging path through my body, and the last thing I saw was a blinding white flash behind my eyelids and then nothing.
Sometime Later
When again I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I couldn't hear anything but the fire and the rustle of something next to me. The air smelt of burning wood and fresh earth. This time I felt enough strength to open my cumbersome lids just a crack. I saw the orange glow of the fire. But, I didn't see Mac. Then I heard the rustle again, and a sniff. I strained my fuzzy, barely ajar eyes to the place next to me. There, staring at something on a sheet of paper, was Mac. I didn't know what it was, but it had moved her. I could make out her tears soaking the blood stained page. She looked at me a few times and back at the page.
Burying her face into the letter and her hands, I could hear her muffled sobs, and saw her small shoulders wracked by her sadness. There were no words to describe the hurt that swelled overpoweringly within me at seeing her like that. But my eyes felt so torpid, and they clamped shut like two heavy doors. I felt her move closer to me. So close, I could feel her breath caress my ear.
"Oh, Harm, I wish you had told me earlier. I can't believe you left everything for me," she said. Her voice quavered, and I felt her wet cheek pressed to mine.
I longed, at that moment, to be able to think clearly, but my head felt like it was stuffed with wool. Nothing seemed real, it all seemed so far away. Perhaps this was just another of my fevered dreams.
End of chapter 7
