Chapter Four

I see light.

It's just a glimmer, hazy and far off, like I am at the bottom of the ocean's abyss, looking up at the faintest traces of sunlight far above. How long was I in darkness before this?

Am I alive? Am I dead? There are no senses but that tiny, distant light.

I want it. I don't know what it is. I don't know where I am. I don't even know if I still have a mind, but I know that I desire that light. No… not just that – I need it. I must be alive, or at least conscious. I can see the tiniest bit of hope before me.

I make a thought to reach towards it, but I feel nothing, no outstretched hand before me splitting the shadow between the light and I. Have I lost my body? Am I nothing more than a consciousness, or perhaps a soul, lost and wandering, without a vessel? Or is this… this light… is this the one sign left that I still exist, somewhere? I think to turn my gaze in different directions, but what I see does not change.

The abyssal ocean threatens to swallow me again. It sends its gloom into my mind, permeating my thoughts with despair and hopelessness. I fight it. I have to. I refuse to be lost in this endless darkness, possibly for eternity. What can I do to stop it though? I try to grasp the quiet light in the darkness, but am rewarded with the same fruitless result. That does not stop me. I try and try again. I will have it.

Wait.

Did it just… grow?

Is the light a bit brighter than it was a second ago?

Yes! Yes, it is! I reach for it again. I don't care if I can't feel or hear anything, I can see it! I can see the light, growing larger by just the smallest increments possible… but it is growing!

The suffocating shadow's grip is loosening. The light is larger, and color has emerged within it. It is a faint reddish hue, like the last embers of a fire that need only be gently cared for in order to return to life. For just a moment I stop my frenetic chase-in-thoughts towards the light. Am I there? Am I free? No, not yet.

Then, movement begins. It is barely noticeable – blurs of slightly different shades of red slowly interacting with each other like tired amoebas. I think to run after the red glow and the movement becomes more animated, quicker, as though it was responding to my thoughts. I think to wave my hand in front of it and the blurry blobs of light turn to swirls that mingle and mix with each other like a blend of dyes. I want to make out shapes but it's all madness.

But it's something. Though it is still a dull light, it has almost entirely overthrown the darkness that now is hiding in a defiant last stand in the corners of my vision. Even though I cannot feel any body to associate with these thoughts of movement, I still think to flail my arms around and run in a mad dash.

However, this time I hear something. It is extremely quiet, almost silent. An undulation of sound cries softly through the hazy redness, like the sound of whales or the eerie resonances that emanate from Saturn. Then, it evolves. It becomes more concrete, more discernable from the silence, though still muffled, like sounds from behind a thick glass window. What I hear coexists with what I see, dancing in strange discordant noises alongside the swirling movements of red light.

This is all so strange and otherworldly. I can remember the last thing that happened to me. I had just reached my house when I collapsed and blacked out. Am I still there?

Then, I feel the sensation of touch. It is only a single neural spark, but I feel it with the intensity of a pin prick. That one touch is immediately followed by a dozen, then a hundred, then too many to count, and I am filled with the feeling of numbness leaving the body, thousands of pins and needles. It is simultaneously painful and joyous. It invigorates me with hope; there is no doubt left that I am not still alive. I can feel my body take its form in my mind; simple like a stick-figure at first, then slowly growing more and more complex. It feels both familiar and alien, just like the watercolor blurs and dissonant sounds.

My mind is racing. I need to calm down. I tell myself the danger is gone. I just need to wait, and relax. I can't rush this, right? I need to take things slowly. I must just be waking up from this sickness. It must have had me near death. Perhaps… perhaps I'm even cured? I don't even see how that would be possible, but that doesn't stop me from thinking about it. It certainly doesn't stop me from wishing it to be true.

That's… not the case however. I'm not sure how I know it, but I do. I'm not cured of the infection.

In fact…

I think… I think …

…something more happened.

I can't seem to put my mind on why I think that. Something… just doesn't feel as it should be. There is something terribly foreign in these senses, basic and befuddled as they are, that gives me this unrelenting feeling of estrangement from myself. I can make out almost entirely the feeling of my body, down to my hands and feet, but some of it just feels off. Perhaps it's the lack of an environment to ground myself against, but I feel an awkward loss of balance. Though I cannot see them, my arms feel heavy, like I have weights attached to my wrists. And while I'm at it, why do I only see the color red? I can make out objects, fuzzy squares and circles, but they are all different hues of red. Why is everything becoming clearer, save color?

Is that… is that a bookcase in front of me? Y-yes, I think it is. I try to reach out for it. I see a blur move in front of me and make contact with it. Is that my arm? I feel my fingers make contact with the books I can just barely distinguish from one another. Sound has fully formed into what it should be. I hear a few books fall, and feel one brush my leg.

I think I know where I am. I think this is the bookcase in the hallway. How did I get from outside the house to here? No matter. There should be a battery-powered lamp in my room to the left here. My eyesight is still a terrible muddy red mess, so I navigate my way along the wall by touch, but it feels different, like I'm scratching when I should be rubbing. The distance also seems different. The hallway seems narrower than I know it to be. Stumbling to get onto my knees, I am able to reach the shelf where the lamp resides. I can't seem to get my fingers around it like I would – like I'm trying to turn it on with chopsticks.

There! That's the switch! I turn it on.

Light!

Blinding light! It's too much! Horrible, white, bright light floods my eyes, scorching them with its intensity. It hurts… my god it hurts! Get it away!

With one hand shielding my eyes, I swat at the lamp with the other and it shatters upon impact. The pain, the fear… it's gone. I try to calm down. My heart is beating madly in my chest, and my breathing is hurried.

"What the fuck was that?!" I shout. I'm too distraught to notice my voice has changed. I blink my eyes several times, and my vision finally comes to focus.

I am in the doorway between the hallway and my mother's room. The pieces of the lamp are scattered across the floor. Everything is colored red, like I'm looking at it through a tinted glass. My hand is still in front of my face; it's –

…

Oh god… what… what is this?

This is not my hand this… this… WHAT IS THIS?

It's still a hand… I think. The skin is still infected gray, but the fingers – they are long, far too long, almost a foot long, bony and smooth, with dreadfully sharp, pointed ends. My mind won't register that they belong to me, but… they do.

"No!" I yell, and tear them away from in front of me. My right hand grazes a wall. My fingers sliced through it like a hot knife through butter. Why is this happening to me, I… what is happening? I fall back to the carpet, shaking and distraught. Mirror… I need… I need to move I need to see! What is this what happened?! I frantically crawl to the bathroom and pull myself up to the porcelain sink counter with my elbows. There is no light in the room, but I can see my reflection perfectly. I am still horribly infected, but my appearance has changed. The reflection of a girl younger than I looks back. Her hair is no longer curly and wild, but straight and lifeless. I slowly come to a stand. My balance is changed a bit. I am slightly shorter. I put a hand to my cheek to feel it, like I'm making sure I'm not seeing a strange illusion in the mirror, but I am not used to these long fingers, and I make a small pierce in the skin with the pointed tip of a finger.

I pull the hand back automatically. A small drop of blood seeps out of the wound. Carefully keeping my fingers away, I wipe the blood away with the back of my hand. My cheek stings.

"What on Earth is happening to me?"