Eternal night. Emptiness. That's all there was left to feel.

No matter how hard I tried to swim away from the darkness, the anchor chained to my feet only grew heavier. Every attempt to escape was only met with more resistance. It was a losing battle. It always had been.

Perhaps that was the point: I should give in. That realization simplified the struggle. I was no longer fighting against some unknown force, but rather welcoming it. The further I sank, the more comfortable the numbing grew.

A true end, at last.

Or so I thought. The weight pulling me downwards suddenly disappeared. I was no longer shackled to the anchor. Instead, a piercing jab near the palm of my hand propelled me back to the surface at an uncomfortably fast speed. "I'm sorry," a voice whispered through the silence. I didn't have time to understand; another sharp stab on my arm jolted me awake. My eyes flashed open for a moment, but I was met with more darkness. I couldn't see anything. The breathlessness inside my lungs shortly returned before a more intense ache– no, a burn– overpowered my arm. While the two stings felt pointed at first, they rapidly grew into a rolling boil that was spreading under my skin.

"It burns," I muttered to myself. "I know," the voice replied.

Before long, a thrashing wave of fires hit me. My upper body tensed as the heat lashed at my fingertips. I dug my hands into the cot beneath me, but I might as well have been pressing them into a hot oven burner. A piercing cry came out of my mouth. My voice was raging and uncontrolled, incapable to make any sort of coherent sound. Through the screeches and groans, I pleaded for help, but my efforts were stymied as the burning encroached my throat.

The fires felt like a condemnation. I wondered if something I'd done particularly warranted an entry to this endless purgatory. I did not get very far before another series of sharp pangs attacked my upper body. My chest thrusted upwards while my neck craned back abruptly. Everything ached, but I could at least feel my throat opening momentarily. I gasped for air and tried to speak again. "Make it stop!" I begged, "PLEASE."

"I'm so sorry." The words were pained, desperate. "I promise it will pass."

The statement meant nothing when I could still feel the searing heat throbbing inside me. "It's burning!" I yelled. My vocal chords fried with every strained effort to speak. It felt as if my upper body was trying to get away from its lower half to no avail. Regardless of what I did, the torture continued. I could feel myself writhing, trying to expel the pain, but it only festered inside me. My eyes strained to focus unsuccessfully; the black haze shrouded everything. Unable to see, panic coursed through me. What was happening? Was this torment eternal? Why me?

Just when I thought it could not possibly get worse, the heat brought my blood to a broil. I begged for the numbness to return. I would do anything to let the infinite night take me away. I simply wanted to rest. At that very moment, the terror of feeling nothing sounded more pleasurable than the insufferable agony of being burned alive. Another agonized scream left my lips, but the calming voice no longer answered. I was truly alone now.

I drifted back and forth as the pain assaulted my consciousness. Thin fragments of childhood memories and images of my parents occasionally entered my thoughts as I thrashed from the abuse. In those sparse moments, I felt like I could find some sense of comfort in those recollections. But just as faintly as they would appear, they'd quickly dissolve from my grasp.

Prepared to face another wave of flames, my body stiffened defensively. They had made their way down my spine and into my legs. Everything was on fire now. I couldn't remember ever feeling this much pain before in my life. The torture was too intense, too unnatural. I'd convinced myself that someone had to be responsible for it all. If this truly was hell, then this must be the devil's own perverse form of greeting his new guests.

The heat continued flogging my lower body, making me wish I could go back to when only my arms had felt the flames. I tried to writhe away, but was suddenly frozen in place. Of course. The numbness I'd so desperately begged for finally returned. If I could laugh, I would have– its untimely arrival felt like some sort of twisted joke.

I cried for help again, but was met with more silence. My lips were sealed shut. With no outlet to redirect the fires, all I could do was allow them to run their course. This new layer of helplessness prolonged my anxiety. Every ligament in my body was now screaming to be absolved from the torture. Desperate for a solution, I wondered if I could find a way to manage the pain.

No, that was foolish. This pain had proven itself to be inescapable. Just then, the heat tore through my limbs again, making me yearn for the chance to scream so I could release some of the tension. The useless idea popped into my head again and I reconsidered. Perhaps I could handle the fires better if I understood how they worked and moved within me.

Scrambling to place my thoughts in order, I focused on the first bouts of burns I felt when the torture began: my palm and my arm. It seemed ridiculous to dive further into the thing I so desperately wanted to rid myself of, but what other alternative did I have now? Thinking about those two places, I tried to feel where the fires felt the strongest now. Strangely enough, I was able to pick up on the differences.

The burns had their own nuances. Their intensity grew closer as they reached my core; coursing vibrantly through my veins as they snaked themselves between every minute tissue of my body like an intricately woven tapestry. What was once debilitating gradually began to feel invigorating. The pain never truly went away– if anything, it doubled– but at least I could momentarily shift my attention to the ways it was affecting me. I deliberated whether my body was finally atrophying or not. The paralysis certainly felt like a product of that. Yet, all the other things warring inside me indicated otherwise.

The burning solidifying my muscles, my ability to sense the pain of those fires. I still felt too much.

The petrifying heat repeated its course from the source of the first stings on my arm and hand, through my back and then to my feet. Along the way, it chose to linger inside my lungs. Vague memories of choking flashed before me. The liquid filling my chest had made it almost impossible to breathe. Or were those dreams? It was getting harder to piece what I'd been doing before the fires… The only thing I was positive of now was the way the burning made the fluids in my lungs boil. A blowtorch might as well have been roasting my insides, ready to cremate them.

Instead, however, the flames seemed to be providing a new layer of protection. In a strange way, they seemed to be hardening my lungs… Despite it feeling like I was quite literally breathing fire, the heat was slowly subsiding from my fingertips. I found some momentary relief in that realization until my thoughts instinctively shifted elsewhere: a set of light footsteps.

I could hear them so clearly now. How hadn't I noticed them before? From one minute to the next, my head started registering a slew of now-obvious details with incredible ease. I found it hard to reason why any of this was even happening in the first place.

The tread stopped a few feet away from me. "It's working," the voice whispered in relief. They came back! I was terribly confused, but it was heartening to finally hear someone again. Perhaps I simply needed some time to reflect before the voice could guide me out of this , it could never be that simple. My hearing continued making a sharp recovery, startling me with the acuity of what I was able to pick up.

A loud, sloshing thump rocked my ears. My heart.

It was unnervingly easy to listen to its frantic pounding, especially when every booming beat sounded more like a raging locomotive than the small organ pulsing within me. None of it made sense. I was convinced I was supposed to be dying, not whatever this was supposed to be. The footsteps got closer. A hesitant breath accompanied the motion. "Edward? Can you hear me?" the voice inquired. I wanted to say "yes", but locked under the steel grip of my immobile state, all I could do was remain silent.

"Everything is going to be all right." Their words, though smooth and reassuring, felt like an utter lie in the face of the fires engulfing my heart. "When you wake, you may feel…" The voice ebbed once again as a fresh new wave of pain washed through me.

Even with the new distractions from my surroundings, the blazing acid consuming my body grew more abrasive. I did not think it was possible, but the heat somehow got stronger the longer I burned. Knocking louder against my chest, my heart continued accelerating. With the way it hammered on, I was certain it was bound to explode at any moment. I was hesitant to trust my own feelings. Believing anything would change at this point felt absurd. It seemed every time I regained a new sense, a fresh wave of flames would be waiting, ready to strike me harder than before. I braced for more pain once again, but was met with something different this time.

Light.

The darkness was fading. I could feel the veil's weight lifting itself from my eyes. Eventually, my fingers twitched of their own accord. Unsure if it was just my imagination, I forced myself to focus on the muscles of my hands. I'd gotten so accustomed to being frozen in place that it was surprising to feel them move on command. They shifted slightly again, a sense of comfort washing over me when I felt no traces of the fires left in them.

With the numbness retreating, I obliged more than just my fingers to move. My hands slowly stretched themselves out on the surface beneath me. It felt like some sort of fabric…bedsheets? I was surprised at how rough they felt, almost like sandpaper on my fingertips. They also reeked of salt and something musty. It was a repulsive odor that I couldn't quite place, but something about it smelled wrong. The same steps I had heard before shifted again. There was some hesitance in the way they moved around me, unsure what to expect.

His heart is beating abnormally strong. I hope this hasn't been as intolerable for him as it was for me. Perhaps more venom would have expedited the process?

What did they mean by venom? Again, more movement. This time to my right side. A chair ruggedly scraped on what sounded like wooden floorboards, then the person sat down and began scribbling something onto a notepad with a fountain pen.

180 beats per minute. Poor boy, I can sense his discomfort. I hate there is nothing else I can do to help him.

I wanted to ask, to understand his comments, but I stopped myself from responding. With my body thawing from the paralysis, I did not know if I had the restraint not to stop myself from screaming. That resolution was unfortunately short-lived. The fires picked up, making my heart hammer incessantly as it forced my chest flare out. I was frightened by the growl I let out in response. It was disturbingly loud; almost as strong as the rapid thumping of my heart. Someone might as well have been pounding the intensifying beat into my head. It only got louder and faster as the combustion increased.

The concentrated heat eventually entered a fatal dance with my heart. Every accelerated beat was met with even stronger thrashes of flames. It was a losing battle for the two, but they both continued to compete for the finishing fire took its last surge, sending the rushed pounding to a slowed gallop. My heart took three labored thumps, followed by a faint and final thud. Then there was nothing. No pain. Bliss.

I finally felt the darkness release its grip from my eyes and opened them to let the light embrace me.

Heaven, I thought to myself.


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