Empty: Book 1

24 : Dead Call

PANA

This first sleep I obtained served as my first substantial rest; not a break from collapse, not injected. But I woke up in the same corner with a narrow experience of living matter, for no one told me that being resurrected is as well refreshing an age, for I'm feeling like a child who's motherless and unfed.

My vision finally found my dress that had been taken out of my body in replacement with this patient's suit. It was folded on the couch a few steps away from my bed, looking clean compared to when it was on my body and used. I step down my feet to the ground, never expecting a sound of pain crossing my lips from the sore of my hidden wounds, with the upsurge of throbbing bruises as a result of the wrong move I took. How long can a human body withstand pain throughout its life? Can we make it through the night?

Careful as the most fragile, I walk near the couch and take off the plain garment for my precious dress to be valued again. For this full-length mirror to welcome my reflection of a lady, an alive lady to behold.

Skin perfectly seamless...

Skin beautifully pale...

Skin delicately tender...

I dare this beauty to make my life easier, or I'll be willing to trade any of my pieces for any of one's smartness if not. I'm longing it is possible.

Stroking my cheek, caressing my edges, indulging my own as I marvel at my own reflection that's all I see. I'll never miss the hideous rots no matter if they've been useful, it's gladdening they left this body with no scar, deceptive almost. Is it all my dead traits left? I aimed to wrench my bones by bending my head back for the reinvention of flexibility— slowly— and suddenly.

"Ah!" an additional pain tormented my whole being to the worst as the consequence, cackled by the awful crunch of these fragile bones I instantly failed. I lent a caress on my nape preventing it from ripping in two while promising not to make fun again of my newly acquired state.

A wet sensation between my legs disturbs my enduring moment, getting its way of discomfort to a new feeling. Of curiosity, I let my two fingers slide down inside my dress, where afterward, a white glutinous liquid stick in appearing a smooth creamy wetness with a smell openly indescribable. Guessing I could familiarize myself with a flavor, I laid it at the tip of my tongue and a sense of blank confusion asserted to this face in the mirror. I don't have the brain to judge, but the taste confuses my tongue as it's neither bad nor delectable.

My mind pulls my hand out from dipping another, by the recall of thought of Dr. Wolf claiming every particle of the human body has its own job to have you alive and some weren't meant to be eaten or seen by anybody for the term of self-respect. Perhaps it does as well, this matter.

It's undeniable and more incredible, equivalent to how complex it appears. Beyond all the changes, the irony of being alive in a feeling of the dead remains unchanged. My soul, my past, my mind, my selfhood.

A deep breath automatically soothes my state. I can breathe now, leastwise. And also... have the ability to make sound into a word. "Be...au...ti...ful. Beauf---" my mouth left open in a failed humorous attempt. It's underwhelming that my voice sounded better in my head.

"Say it again and again," a man's voice entered the room. The confidence of the tone is recognizable as Yakun's. I spun around and it was ascertained. I don't know how and why he's here, leaning in the doorway edge with a smile and motive. "...in order to say a word clearer, you need to be confident with it first."

In my stillness of hidden puzzlement, my ears were waiting for him to expose everything himself as he fixed his stance, trailing his way closer, "...so, who's beautiful?" he asked. But I remain in the tide of suspicion over his being, being in here.