As the Crow Flies

Barriers

The cold steel of Phil's sword slid smoothly through Wilbur's chest like his skin was made of melted butter. He felt his heart stop and everything below the neck go completely numb. He tried to speak, but instead of words, his lungs poured warm streaks of blood out from the corners of his lips. The light started to dim around him and the world became a soft blur of color and noise as he felt himself slip away from his father's cradling arms. His head rolled back towards the sky and fireworks flooded his deteriorating vision. His soul tried to strip itself from his body, but he grew panicked and afraid. Instant fear and regret crawled under his skin and up into his brain. His mind tried to save him, but the blood wouldn't stop spilling.

Then, he began to hear a chorus of instruments start to play over the desperate screams of war in the distance. A symphony. A song just for him. This was it. This was the part where he died and became the martyr for all those ignorant revolutionaries. The war would continue without him. He could finally let himself float on the soft vibrato of warm strings and low tones of vibrant brass. A strange sense of serenity swept over him as his soul slid into the music's comfortable embrace. Death's dark wings fell like a heavy curtain over his eyes and the orchestra drifted into the decrescendo of its final note. The long awaited conclusion had finally arrived. The symphony was finished.

Wilbur waited for the release of the last note, but the orchestra continued to play long passed anything musical. The note swirled in place like a loose piece of string caught in the wind of a quiet mountain range. Then it started to rise in volume. The violins pressed the hairs of their bows hard into strings of steel and the trumpets blared over the loud tuba dissonance. The piccolos started screaming in sharps as the trombones rolled in harsh flats. The music boiled over, mixing itself into a terribly brash noise that cut through the air like wind through a tunnel.

Wilbur's disoriented soul fell apart like tulle and then wound itself as tight as a spring board. He was being pulled apart at the seams and stitched back together over and over in rhythmic disarray. The noise continued to echo all around him as his senses began to collect themselves in the aftershocks of afterlife. Florescent lights flashed quickly across his otherwise blind eyes and he felt himself being pushed against some centripetal force. There was a loud thumping in his ears and a deep sickening pain in his chest. He couldn't decide whether to scream or vomit. The noise grew louder and louder until Will was finally able to open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a stream of grey concrete rushing past a glossy rendition of his own bug-eyed reflection. He was sitting in a polished silver seat at one end of what appeared to be an empty underground train car. The smell of grime and polisher woke him from any leftover sleepiness, but he remained frozen in place. His limbs felt like gelatin and his chest was weighted as if it had just caved in on itself. He sat there for god knows how long just watching the concrete walls flood along. The sound of the train screamed in lengthy breaths that faded in and out with high-pitched squeals.

After a while of traveling, the tunnel that the train was speeding down opened to a wide empty station. Wilbur flailed for the railing of the seat in front of him as he was lurched forward due to the train's screeching halt. All was quiet for a few moments, then Wilbur jumped at the hissing sound of pressurized doors opening. He stayed in his seat for a while, fully confused. Perhaps this was all some sort of strange dream one might have before the neurons in their brain stop firing and they died for good. He didn't have long to wonder about it as a disembodied voice came on to the loudspeaker. The only words he could make out were "get off", and the rest were nothing but indistinguishable radio chatter.

Wilbur obeyed the voice. What else could he do? Stay on the train? He clung to the seat in front of him for support as he stood up in a dizzy haze. His body felt thin like paper. He had to look down at the floor to make sure his feet were grounded, otherwise he might assume he'd been floating. Wilbur made his way to the double doors, frantically clinging to each seat along the way as if he would get swept away like sand in the wind if he didn't. When he finally made it to the doors, he paused to take one final look around the train car. There was absolutely nothing here. Wilbur swallowed in uncertainty which only made him realize how dry his throat had become. He turned around and peeked his head out just beyond the barrier doors. It seemed same as the train with nothing out there, completely abandoned. He took a cautions step forward, like a fawn venturing out into a questionable field. He would've kept one foot on the train, but the doors closed as soon as Wilbur was far enough out.