Nirvana
Six-hundred and fifty... Cole pushed his arms upward and let in a gasping breath, allowing streams of salty sweat to enter his parted lips. He dropped back onto his stomach slowly, every muscle in his shoulders and back screaming in agony.
Six-hundred fifty-one... he pushed up again. He knew he was near collapse. That was the best part, when the pain was so widespread that his mind could focus on nothing else, and his body fell to the ground like a discarded, dying ember from a fire. That was the whole point of this self-inflicted exercise torture; to be so exhausted that he forgot about his life's problems, at least until he fell asleep. After that, he would have a nightmare that brought him right back to the real world.
Six-hundred... Cole's bare, sweaty arms trembled as he lifted himself up again. Fifty-two... He had shed his shirt after finishing over eight-hundred sit-ups. That article of clothing now sat soaking in the cold spring to relieve it of the stench of his over-exerted body.
He had sweated a lot. More than could possibly be healthy for a man who had not allowed himself a drop of water since Kai fell asleep. He was overly dehydrated, and he knew it.
It was wonderful. He lived for these workouts. They kept him from slitting his own wrists from the pain and turmoil in his mind.
He never worked to gain more muscle. Becoming stronger was an unwanted side effect of his workouts. The stronger he got, the more time he had to spend working himself before he collapsed.
Six-hundred fifty-three... Blood oozed from the sword wound on his back that had been given to him by Kai so many days before. His blood mixed with the sweat, only intensifying the wonderful pain. It would have healed long ago if he'd been more gentle with his body, but what did he know about gentleness? Let the wound fester and swell up, he was out of ointment anyway. There was nothing he could do about it besides wash it in his spring and keep it clean.
Six-hundred... A loud moan, birthed by his parched throat, reverberated through the room. His fingers dug into the soil beneath his palms, muddy from his sweat. His right shoulder- the cut one- quivered and locked up, sending his face into the sweat-soaked dirt beneath his body.
He finally allowed himself to rest, shutting his eyes and gagging on the humid, nearly rancid smelling air. He rolled onto his back and felt the dirt dig into his wounded shoulder.
A feeling of absolute pleasure and satisfaction filled his being as he sat up slowly and sat on his knees, chin tipped toward the ceiling, Adam's apple bobbing with each heavy heave of his chest. This was his nirvana; his state of absolute peace and happiness. The one time when he could focus on the pain of his parched throat and burning muscles and forget about the world outside of his cave.
He sat like that for many long minutes, knowing that he had all the time in the world. It would be several hours before Kai woke up, and hopefully days before they would need to relocate to keep the Overlord off their scent. He had plenty of time for these simple pleasures.
After his breathing transitioned from a gasping, animalistic heave to a more steady and deep panting, he got to his feet and walked over to the pool of water, drinking long and fast to make up for the water he had lost through his hot, sweaty pores.
He wrestled himself out of his sticky, wet pants and set them aside, then grabbed his shirt from the pool and used it as a towel to scrub himself and rinse away the impurities of his many weeks aboard the Bounty. He untied his hair and let it fall down his back in a wet, tangled mop. Gradually, his heartbeat settled down as he sat in the cold, shallow water and concentrated on his breathing.
After looking at his reflection in the pool for a long moment, he decided that it was about time that he trimmed his hair. It had grown a lot in the last few months, and he knew there probably wouldn't be too many opportunities in the near future to worry about such trivial things. Give the Overlord a few days, and he'd start to stew so hard that Cole and Kai would constantly be on the run from stone warriors.
He walked over to a stack of crates against the wall and opened the top one carefully. Instead of finding scissors, he saw towels and other articles of clothing. He set that one aside, knowing he would need it after he was done grooming himself.
He looked at the next box and frowned slightly. He knew what was in that one, and it was certainly not scissors. He picked it up and set it aside gently, not wanting the contents to break.
"Ah-ha." Cole muttered under his breath triumphantly as he opened up the next crate and pulled out a pair of scissors. He replaced the lid on the box and went back over to the water. He sat on his knees again in the pool and stared at his rippling reflection. It was hard, trying to decide how much he should cut off. Right now, it hit him mid-back. He was not sure where he wanted it to lay.
After some consideration, he ran his hands down his hair and held it just below the shoulder, measuring how much of his damaged black locks would be cut away and carried off by the stream, if the length pleased him. It looked to be about six inches that he'd be cutting.
He gnawed on the inside of his lip and contemplated it for a moment before lowering his hand a bit more. Now, he'd only be cutting off about four inches. He took a deep breath and held up the scissors. After another deep breath, he made the cut. He felt the hair in his grasp go slack, and the wet hair still attached to his head relaxed and fell down his back and shoulders.
He held the four inches of trimmed material in his hand and stared at it for a moment before dropping it into the pool and letting the current carry it away.
He got to his feet again and grabbed his now fairly clean, albeit dripping wet, clothing. He put the scissors away and slipped on a dry tunic and pants from the crate before climbing out of the cave to set his clothing out on the rocks.
The moment that the noonday sun hit his face, he flinched and recoiled. After the many hours of being in the cave, the light of the world outside burned his eyes.
But after his eyes adjusted enough for him to set the clothes on the warm rocks neatly, he found the heat and brightness to be quite enjoyable. He scrambled onto a rock and stood on it with his bare feet, his stiff and sore arms held out wide to absorb as much heat as possible.
His mind felt freer than anything he'd felt since his kidnapping two years before. He did not know how it worked, but the mere idea of not having to answer to the Overlord anymore made him feel like a new man. Even the fears of being recaptured faded in the bright light of his new resolve.
There is only one thing that could make this moment perfect, he thought to himself as he opened his eyes. He climbed down from the rock and slid back into the dark cave.
His eyes wandered over to the crate he had seen earlier, but had not bothered to check for scissors because he already knew what was in it. It had been months since he last opened that one.
He took a hesitant step toward the box. Did he dare to peek inside? That box was sacred and secretive. It was nothing that Kai should see- or hear, for that matter. What was in that crate was definitely nothing Kai should be hearing.
But then again, Kai would not be waking up for quite a while, so he had time.
What was his respite? His break from reality beyond self-inflicted pain? When could everything end, or at least pause, if only for a few short minutes, without excessive workouts and pain?
Pain... Everything seemed to revolve around pain.
Cole took two more tentative steps, putting the box within arms reach. He got down on one knee and grabbed the lid with a trembling hand. He found new determination somewhere in a dark recess of his mind and pulled the top off of the crate.
He peered into the wooden box, wishing that he'd brought his lantern with him to this side of the room as he reached in and felt around carefully for the key that would give him his freedom from even his pain.
After a moment, his hand found a slender, long, and smooth object. Almost against his will, he smiled as he wrapped his hand around it gently and pulled it out of the box. A bow.
But this was no bow of war. This was a bow of the arts. Fragile, willowy and long, this bow was strung with the hair of a horse instead of twine, and was straight as a ruler instead of curved.
Cole ran his fingers down the loosened hairs reverently before reaching for the screw to tighten them. A loose bow would not play properly.
He set it aside carefully before reaching back in for the next and final object. Not as long, nor as slender as the first, he pulled out an instrument with four strings of varying widths that ran parallel up the fingerboard and neck before disappearing into the string box.
A violin.
Cole could feel the anticipation building up within him as he picked up the bow and stood, leaving the crate lid on the floor in his unbalanced, almost giddy state of mind. Until this moment, he had not realized how much he had missed this simple pleasure.
He picked up the bow and got to his feet, fingers shaking with anticipation. He ran back out of the cool, dark cave and back into the sunlight with his instrument. He sat down stiffly on the rock next to his wet laundry and lifted the instrument to his chin. He lifted the bow next, testing the tune of the strings before beginning his song.
The bow ran across the G string in a discordant, cacophonous note that made him flinch. He set down the bow and fiddled with the G knob, then lifted the bow and tried again. After he was satisfied with that string, he went to the other three and got them tuned properly.
Then, when he was finally satisfied with the sounds, he put his fingers on the strings and ran the bow across it gently, transitioning from string to string as the song he played demanded.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the music. His fingers worked on their own to play the melody his mind had created. The song started low, slow and mournful, grieving for times long gone; distant memories and fleeting images of a time before his nightmare. But as his hands went, the song turned into something new; something his mind had not fully anticipated. The bow ran across the strings faster, and his fingers danced on the fingerboard gracefully as the song picked up its pace and sang out its desperation, its longing to be put into words and sung as a song for the lost in need of hope.
This was his nirvana. His moment to take his feelings and let them fly away on the notes of his strings before disappearing into the wind. This was his moment, however fleeting and inevitably short, to be himself and forget about his pain. Not just the pain of his mind, but of his body as well. As his arm manipulated the bow, his mind was lost to the music. His aching shoulders no longer bothered him, and the pain of the scars on his back diminished to nothing.
This was why he was still alive. Not because of any self-inflicted torture, but because of his music. He could not understand why he so often forgot how much it helped to simply pour out his feelings and set them adrift on sound waves that flowed through the warm air around his body. How much it helped to close his eyes and get lost in the melody before finding new hope in the next dulcet, slow point in his song.
This was his dream, being sung out from his heart to bring courage and strength beyond merely the physical.
This was his heart, being poured out in beautiful notes that blended together into a song that healed his mind, as well as his heart and soul.