Dib awoke that morning. Blurriness, pain, haze. His senses were reeling, but he was barely awake.
He went to peel back the sheets. That's when he noticed. His hand was cut. Badly. So were his chest and his face. Then he remembered. The broken mirror. He broke it. Last night. It was now early morning, still dark. The moon was shining its pallid light upon his bed. As if the black light didn't make him with the dried blood allover and the crimson-stained sheets look eerie enough. He was sweating, and panting. He put his hand to his forehead. Hot. Very hot.
He was very thirsty as well, and needed something to help him cool down. He tried to get up to get a glass of water. He couldn't. He struggled for a while, and then realized his attempts were in vain.
"Dad! Gaz!" He tried to yell, but it came as more of a hoarse whisper. 'Great, just great,' he thought sarcastically. He tried to call to them again, but ended up in a coughing fit. His chest was hurting even more now, and he could feel blood running down his body. The heaving of his chest caused by his coughing had caused the cuts to reopen. His breathing quickened, and became more labored. He couldn't see a thing; his glasses had fallen off while he slept.
He turned to the side. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain on his side. He had rolled onto his glasses, and they had broken. The jagged edges were cutting into him. He swore, but he could barely hear his own words. The cuts were deep; he was becoming even weaker by the second.
"Glass…" He whispered hoarsely. "The world is made of glass…" He began another coughing fit. When it was finally over, he concluded, barely hearable to his own ears, "My world…is made of glass…it is broken…the jagged remains cut into me…" He looked up at the moon, just a silver-white blur of hazy light to him. The last light he saw. Blackness.
The last thing he remembered was the light when he awoke. He was awakened by a crash and a surprised scream. It had sounded female.
Shocked, Dib turned to the place where it had sounded it came from. He just saw a blur, all he knew was it was a human. He squinted, trying to see better. But to no avail.
"Oh, god, Dib… What did you do?" The person said sadly. Yes, the voice was female. And vaguely familiar. Where had he heard it before? He was sure he had. Somewhere. But where? And when? And how did he know her anyways?
The person sighed, and then sat down beside him. She put one of her hands on his forehead. It was cold, and Dib flinched.
"My goodness…you're burning up. I'd better get you to a hospital." She said. "And I'd better get you some glasses, for that matter." She mumbled to herself. "Now where are those spa- Aha! Here you go." She put the glasses on Dib.
His world came into focus. The sunlight was streaming through the window, and the clock said eight a.m. He looked at the person. It was his mother!
"Mom!" He exclaimed, quite excited. "Mom!"
She looked puzzled, and then shook her head sadly, realization dawning.
"No… You're just delusional." She said, biting her lip. She then bolted out of the door.
The brief happiness Dib had felt, the torrent of emotions, was gone. In his rage, and because he was delusional, he tried to get up. He succeeded in falling out of the bed, hitting his head on the bedpost, and rubbing against the carpet. The delicate, frail wounds reopened from this activity. Pain alive and exuberant, he passed out in a heap on the floor.
About a few minutes later, the girl came back inside, screaming.
"Oh no! The ambulance had better be quick!" She said worriedly. She went over to Dib and arranged him in a better position. She held his head up, cradling it in her arms. Her eyes shone with concern.
Suddenly, she could hear sirens. She ran outside to greet the ambulance, ushering the doctors into the house.
"Is there a parent or guardian present?" Queried one of the doctors, a large man.
Gaz sighed sadly. "Dad's working." She said quietly, her eyes downcast.
She watched as Dib was brought onto a stretcher and carried into the back of the ambulance. She climbed in after him, gingerly picking her way through all the equipment. She watched as he was given a shot of Penicillin, to ease the pain and fever. She touched his forehead with her cool hand once again, making him flinch. She drew it back quickly. Little did she know what was going through his unconscious mind, the horrors that were being uttered in his head.
'Oh, god. Someone help me. Someone give me a story, a reason. Someone tell me something that will make me want to live. Please, anyone. Tell me, help me. Explain to me why. Why must this be? Somebody…tell me that someone is there. Tell me that that someone has endured a hell greater than mine, a beating more brutal than that of a shattered world of glass… Please. I want to live…. But I'll need a reason first. Anything… Just let it be real… No disillusionment this time… No deceiving… No false love with underlying despise… Just give me someone to live for. Give me reason!'
His mind was plaguing him as the thorns of his pain and sorrow were digging deeper into him, causing him more internal pain than he was feeling physically. The dreams. The dreams caused this. They had a sort of disturbing power over him, ravaging his mind in a way like nothing else could. Because of them he got no rest at night; only fright. Only problems.
He didn't know, but as he thought, he was actually saying as well. Gaz heard this. At that point, he was on a stretcher, being hauled into the hospital. They went through the doors, to an elevator, and through winding hallways, then even more doors. It was a big hospital.
When they finally reached the room that Dib was to stay in, they bandaged him up, gave him some medicine, and placed some cool, moist cloths on the tiny bedside table.
"... Someone give me a story, a reason. Someone tell me something that will make me want to live…" Dib was muttering as Gaz placed a cloth on his brow. She held it, Dib still murmuring hoarsely.
"You want a story?" Gaz asked, although she knew there would be no answer.
"I'll give you a story." She began.
"When I was four mom died. You remember that part though.
"That day, I promised I wouldn't cry. I was determined not to. I don't even know why now; but that is not important. The important thing was that I bottled up my emotions. In doing so, I withdrew into myself, suffocating myself.
"I saw only pain in the world after that. But that's because, fundamentally, that's all I ever felt. Burning pain. It consumed me. There was no way out. But then, came the GameSlave.
"That was all I did after I got it; play it. That's all I thought about. It was so much easier to destroy pixilated figures on the screen… As if they were the cause of my pain, as if by destroying them I would destroy my pain. There was many a time when I really wished that were how it was. If only I could be the hero in the game of my life. If only I had all the tools, all the weapons. All the guides and strategies I need, within my reach. But that's not how life is. You do have all the skills you need to solve your problems; but most don't know how to use them. That's because you don't think so. You don't believe in yourself.
"Well, that right there is part of how you become successful. Believing. Knowing. Watching, looking, listening. Learning! All you need is you, nothing else.
"Anyways. So, I would just play GameSlave. I bottled up my emotions, and let them loose full blast upon my family with only the slightest provocation. I couldn't live like that. I went more into myself, seeing only pain for myself in the real world. Only abandonment, only rejection."
She sighed deeply, sounding rather wistful and melancholy. "What I didn't know was…was that by doing that, I was actually wallowing in the nightmares of the world. I was soaking myself in pain, in sadness… In everything I was trying to rebel against…I…I was just making it stronger within myself. I, in a sense, allowed it to manifest itself in me."
She reflected for a moment, tears of remorse staying in the place where it felt like there was nothing, in a place where her heart was supposed to be. "Life went by before my unseeing eyes. I had my eyes squinted all the time. Do you know why? I couldn't bear it; I couldn't bear seeing this messed-up world. A world where everything must die. Including good memories. Including the music that our souls sing to tell of our lives. Including us. We are dust. Dust in a sea of sand, in a never-ending desert.
"But you know what? We create the deserts. It doesn't have to be there. We put it there. We create it. With our ravaged, tortured minds, we create it. We create the silent void that is us; the void where, if you scream for help, no one will hear you. Where you can't hear yourself. All you hear are the monsters that live within you.
"AARGH!! I keep getting side tracked. Okay. So. Yeah, life went by before my eyes. There was nothing to see anyways. Or…that's what I thought. But there was stuff to see. Maybe…maybe. Or… I'm sure there was stuff to see… There had to be. I know it. I missed it though. I missed out on all the chances to live."
Then, she said something most surprising. "My little world is made of glass. Time and time again, the glass breaks. My world shatters in a shower of sharp edges, cutting into me. But, instead of rebuilding it… I just, I just, I just created a new one, going further and further within myself."
She closed her eyes tightly, turning away. She took a sharp intake of breath, trying to calm down. "Dib. Dib, your world was made of glass too. But instead of letting it shatter, you must rebuild it. It may take awhile. And you might need help. I cannot help. I cannot even help myself. It's too late for me. But not for you. You have hope."
She turned to him, with tears in her eyes. There was a lump in her throat, and it was hard to talk. "When people tell you… If anyone ever tells you that…that time heals all wounds, don't believe them. For time heals no wounds. Time cannot even mend itself. Only you can heal your wounds. Because they are yours, not time's."
Gaz said all of this, not knowing that Dib actually heard her. He could hear her somehow, as he lay unconscious. Or, maybe he happened to be imagining the same thing that she was saying.
Gaz turned and began to walk towards the door. She was crying. For the first time since before her mother died, she was crying. The tears were running freely down her pallid cheek. She didn't bother to wipe them away. Right before she went to open the door, she realized something.
"Dib. Thank you. Thank you for being you, for being here. Thank you for listening. Thank you for helping me find my heart today. I hope that you soon find yours. We all need to feel loved, to feel appreciated. That is what life is. That is what makes life worthwhile. When all is said and done, you'll realize that the reason you were alive was for others. It doesn't matter what you did to them; what matters is that there were others there. That you aren't all alone….
"And to think, I needed an unconscious boy who wasn't really listening to learn all of this. Thank you."
But Dib was listening…
…And waiting.
A/N: Whaddaya think now? Like it, hate it? Love it, despise it? Well, I really wanna know, no matter what your respnse. It's good to hear from you.
And... Was the chapter too long? To short? Just right? I dunno, so please tell me. The more ya tell me, the more it'll improve your reading experience.
Well, until next time... Oh, never mind. You're probably sick of me by now anyways.
\m/^.^\m/
He went to peel back the sheets. That's when he noticed. His hand was cut. Badly. So were his chest and his face. Then he remembered. The broken mirror. He broke it. Last night. It was now early morning, still dark. The moon was shining its pallid light upon his bed. As if the black light didn't make him with the dried blood allover and the crimson-stained sheets look eerie enough. He was sweating, and panting. He put his hand to his forehead. Hot. Very hot.
He was very thirsty as well, and needed something to help him cool down. He tried to get up to get a glass of water. He couldn't. He struggled for a while, and then realized his attempts were in vain.
"Dad! Gaz!" He tried to yell, but it came as more of a hoarse whisper. 'Great, just great,' he thought sarcastically. He tried to call to them again, but ended up in a coughing fit. His chest was hurting even more now, and he could feel blood running down his body. The heaving of his chest caused by his coughing had caused the cuts to reopen. His breathing quickened, and became more labored. He couldn't see a thing; his glasses had fallen off while he slept.
He turned to the side. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain on his side. He had rolled onto his glasses, and they had broken. The jagged edges were cutting into him. He swore, but he could barely hear his own words. The cuts were deep; he was becoming even weaker by the second.
"Glass…" He whispered hoarsely. "The world is made of glass…" He began another coughing fit. When it was finally over, he concluded, barely hearable to his own ears, "My world…is made of glass…it is broken…the jagged remains cut into me…" He looked up at the moon, just a silver-white blur of hazy light to him. The last light he saw. Blackness.
The last thing he remembered was the light when he awoke. He was awakened by a crash and a surprised scream. It had sounded female.
Shocked, Dib turned to the place where it had sounded it came from. He just saw a blur, all he knew was it was a human. He squinted, trying to see better. But to no avail.
"Oh, god, Dib… What did you do?" The person said sadly. Yes, the voice was female. And vaguely familiar. Where had he heard it before? He was sure he had. Somewhere. But where? And when? And how did he know her anyways?
The person sighed, and then sat down beside him. She put one of her hands on his forehead. It was cold, and Dib flinched.
"My goodness…you're burning up. I'd better get you to a hospital." She said. "And I'd better get you some glasses, for that matter." She mumbled to herself. "Now where are those spa- Aha! Here you go." She put the glasses on Dib.
His world came into focus. The sunlight was streaming through the window, and the clock said eight a.m. He looked at the person. It was his mother!
"Mom!" He exclaimed, quite excited. "Mom!"
She looked puzzled, and then shook her head sadly, realization dawning.
"No… You're just delusional." She said, biting her lip. She then bolted out of the door.
The brief happiness Dib had felt, the torrent of emotions, was gone. In his rage, and because he was delusional, he tried to get up. He succeeded in falling out of the bed, hitting his head on the bedpost, and rubbing against the carpet. The delicate, frail wounds reopened from this activity. Pain alive and exuberant, he passed out in a heap on the floor.
About a few minutes later, the girl came back inside, screaming.
"Oh no! The ambulance had better be quick!" She said worriedly. She went over to Dib and arranged him in a better position. She held his head up, cradling it in her arms. Her eyes shone with concern.
Suddenly, she could hear sirens. She ran outside to greet the ambulance, ushering the doctors into the house.
"Is there a parent or guardian present?" Queried one of the doctors, a large man.
Gaz sighed sadly. "Dad's working." She said quietly, her eyes downcast.
She watched as Dib was brought onto a stretcher and carried into the back of the ambulance. She climbed in after him, gingerly picking her way through all the equipment. She watched as he was given a shot of Penicillin, to ease the pain and fever. She touched his forehead with her cool hand once again, making him flinch. She drew it back quickly. Little did she know what was going through his unconscious mind, the horrors that were being uttered in his head.
'Oh, god. Someone help me. Someone give me a story, a reason. Someone tell me something that will make me want to live. Please, anyone. Tell me, help me. Explain to me why. Why must this be? Somebody…tell me that someone is there. Tell me that that someone has endured a hell greater than mine, a beating more brutal than that of a shattered world of glass… Please. I want to live…. But I'll need a reason first. Anything… Just let it be real… No disillusionment this time… No deceiving… No false love with underlying despise… Just give me someone to live for. Give me reason!'
His mind was plaguing him as the thorns of his pain and sorrow were digging deeper into him, causing him more internal pain than he was feeling physically. The dreams. The dreams caused this. They had a sort of disturbing power over him, ravaging his mind in a way like nothing else could. Because of them he got no rest at night; only fright. Only problems.
He didn't know, but as he thought, he was actually saying as well. Gaz heard this. At that point, he was on a stretcher, being hauled into the hospital. They went through the doors, to an elevator, and through winding hallways, then even more doors. It was a big hospital.
When they finally reached the room that Dib was to stay in, they bandaged him up, gave him some medicine, and placed some cool, moist cloths on the tiny bedside table.
"... Someone give me a story, a reason. Someone tell me something that will make me want to live…" Dib was muttering as Gaz placed a cloth on his brow. She held it, Dib still murmuring hoarsely.
"You want a story?" Gaz asked, although she knew there would be no answer.
"I'll give you a story." She began.
"When I was four mom died. You remember that part though.
"That day, I promised I wouldn't cry. I was determined not to. I don't even know why now; but that is not important. The important thing was that I bottled up my emotions. In doing so, I withdrew into myself, suffocating myself.
"I saw only pain in the world after that. But that's because, fundamentally, that's all I ever felt. Burning pain. It consumed me. There was no way out. But then, came the GameSlave.
"That was all I did after I got it; play it. That's all I thought about. It was so much easier to destroy pixilated figures on the screen… As if they were the cause of my pain, as if by destroying them I would destroy my pain. There was many a time when I really wished that were how it was. If only I could be the hero in the game of my life. If only I had all the tools, all the weapons. All the guides and strategies I need, within my reach. But that's not how life is. You do have all the skills you need to solve your problems; but most don't know how to use them. That's because you don't think so. You don't believe in yourself.
"Well, that right there is part of how you become successful. Believing. Knowing. Watching, looking, listening. Learning! All you need is you, nothing else.
"Anyways. So, I would just play GameSlave. I bottled up my emotions, and let them loose full blast upon my family with only the slightest provocation. I couldn't live like that. I went more into myself, seeing only pain for myself in the real world. Only abandonment, only rejection."
She sighed deeply, sounding rather wistful and melancholy. "What I didn't know was…was that by doing that, I was actually wallowing in the nightmares of the world. I was soaking myself in pain, in sadness… In everything I was trying to rebel against…I…I was just making it stronger within myself. I, in a sense, allowed it to manifest itself in me."
She reflected for a moment, tears of remorse staying in the place where it felt like there was nothing, in a place where her heart was supposed to be. "Life went by before my unseeing eyes. I had my eyes squinted all the time. Do you know why? I couldn't bear it; I couldn't bear seeing this messed-up world. A world where everything must die. Including good memories. Including the music that our souls sing to tell of our lives. Including us. We are dust. Dust in a sea of sand, in a never-ending desert.
"But you know what? We create the deserts. It doesn't have to be there. We put it there. We create it. With our ravaged, tortured minds, we create it. We create the silent void that is us; the void where, if you scream for help, no one will hear you. Where you can't hear yourself. All you hear are the monsters that live within you.
"AARGH!! I keep getting side tracked. Okay. So. Yeah, life went by before my eyes. There was nothing to see anyways. Or…that's what I thought. But there was stuff to see. Maybe…maybe. Or… I'm sure there was stuff to see… There had to be. I know it. I missed it though. I missed out on all the chances to live."
Then, she said something most surprising. "My little world is made of glass. Time and time again, the glass breaks. My world shatters in a shower of sharp edges, cutting into me. But, instead of rebuilding it… I just, I just, I just created a new one, going further and further within myself."
She closed her eyes tightly, turning away. She took a sharp intake of breath, trying to calm down. "Dib. Dib, your world was made of glass too. But instead of letting it shatter, you must rebuild it. It may take awhile. And you might need help. I cannot help. I cannot even help myself. It's too late for me. But not for you. You have hope."
She turned to him, with tears in her eyes. There was a lump in her throat, and it was hard to talk. "When people tell you… If anyone ever tells you that…that time heals all wounds, don't believe them. For time heals no wounds. Time cannot even mend itself. Only you can heal your wounds. Because they are yours, not time's."
Gaz said all of this, not knowing that Dib actually heard her. He could hear her somehow, as he lay unconscious. Or, maybe he happened to be imagining the same thing that she was saying.
Gaz turned and began to walk towards the door. She was crying. For the first time since before her mother died, she was crying. The tears were running freely down her pallid cheek. She didn't bother to wipe them away. Right before she went to open the door, she realized something.
"Dib. Thank you. Thank you for being you, for being here. Thank you for listening. Thank you for helping me find my heart today. I hope that you soon find yours. We all need to feel loved, to feel appreciated. That is what life is. That is what makes life worthwhile. When all is said and done, you'll realize that the reason you were alive was for others. It doesn't matter what you did to them; what matters is that there were others there. That you aren't all alone….
"And to think, I needed an unconscious boy who wasn't really listening to learn all of this. Thank you."
But Dib was listening…
…And waiting.
A/N: Whaddaya think now? Like it, hate it? Love it, despise it? Well, I really wanna know, no matter what your respnse. It's good to hear from you.
And... Was the chapter too long? To short? Just right? I dunno, so please tell me. The more ya tell me, the more it'll improve your reading experience.
Well, until next time... Oh, never mind. You're probably sick of me by now anyways.
\m/^.^\m/