Tell Me... Is It Over Yet?

Crystal Determination

        I open my eyes with a gasp, my heart pounding in my ears. My hands imediatly fly to my face, hiding the tears that stream from my eyes. I curl into a ball on the cold floor, not caring enough to wonder where I am. I stare blankly through the gaps in my fingers, feeling empty. The tears continue to run silently down my face, the only physical reaction to my rattled state. I feel empty, yet full. Full of pain, sorrow, weakness... I swallow after a moment, feeling my dry throat.

        It takes me a moment to realize I am not breathing. 

        When this discovery breaks through to my consience, the peices click together. 

        I am dead. I fell. I was murdered. I am dead. I am dead. I am dead... I died.

        The tears dry onto my face, no longer followed by endless crying. I feel my heart harden in cold blood. There is no heart beat. I no longer have to fear death. I died. 

        Fire runs through my veins, replacing the pumping of blood that I can never feel again. 

        I push myself to my feet in one smoothe motion, no fatigue riddleing my bones, no aching mucles to hold me back.

           You cannot kill what is already dead. I feel invincable. 

        I finaly take in my surroundings, my mind clear of the weak ,miserable state I had been in. 

        I am in a cell, with stone walls and floor, and an iron barred gate. There is no widow. No bed. Nothing but stone and iron. It was bleak to say the least, and obivously ment for those who have lost all hope. 

        I don't need hope. I need vengence. 

        I press myself against the bars, reaching my arm through them up to my armpit. I can allmost reach the other wall in the narrow hallway. Pulling my arm back, I look down either end of the hall, seeing by nothing but a continuous ,faint purple glow. 

        Nightvision. That could be useful. 

        I back up to the far wall of the cell, bracing myself. With a deep, unnecissary breath, I launch myself at the bars. 

        I hit them with a painful crack, breaking my arm on impact. With a groan, I clutch my arm to me. 

        Panting, I back up again, bracing myself, then launching again. I hit the bars with another crack, and the protests of the rusted iron. 

        I groan again, trying to ignore the pasin, my arm broken in atleast two places.

        With a scream that could raise the dead, I push my arm back into the correct position, my snapped bones grating against eachother. Being carful to hold my arm in the proper position, I grit my teeth as pain lances through me.

        This is nothing compared to the fall.

        After what seemed like an eternity of clutching my arm on the floor, I begin to notice the punctured skin slowly knitting back together. With pain filled awe, I watch as my arm fixes itself, slowly easing the pain to a dull throb like that of stubing a toe. 

        Self healing. That would have been nice to know. 

        Taking a deep breath, I brace myself against the wall again. In a twitch like motion, I was running at full speed, determined to break through. 

        As I hit the bars for the third time, my brain flickers, remembering a similar moment.

        I was running at top speed, straight to a tall window. I was going to break through them, falling from dizzying hights. Yet I was going to be safe. 

        I blink back into reality when the pain hits me again, this time in my other arm. I gasp, stumbleing back slightly as the bar cracks, pulling down the top bar, and along with it the rest of the barrier.

        I growl at my arm, trying to rush along the new sensation of skin knitting back together. 

        I sigh when it is finnaly over,looking up at the fallen bars for the first time. Taking a step out of my cell, I feel a rush of acomplishment. Its not over yet. Not until I get my vengence.

        They obviously expected the dead to be too weak to try escaping. There isn't a single guard, torch, or door way. Just an endless hall, thin and linned with cells. Withing the cells is everythin from sobbing people, to shifting shadows and deamons of every sort. 

        Not one of them looks up at me as I walk by. They have given up hope, assuming me to be an illusion their hopless minds conjured. As I continue walking, I notice that some of the cells are slightly different. 

        For instance, one had bars wrapped in chains and covered in locks, another with ingravings covering every surface. They must be the more dangerous of the dead.

        It sets my veins boiling agin that they didn't think of me as a thret, whoever they are.

        They will see. 

        I continue walking, the dull throbing of my arms fading away the warther along I get.

        After a while of dull, eventless walking, my eyes begin to hurt as a light ahead flickers through a doorway at the end of the hall.        

        The dead in the cells near the light are the most viceous. I find this out as I try walking by them and they reach out their harnds, grasping at my slightly torn clothes. 

        With a growl and a glare at the two, they both back up into a corner, obviously intimidated and unused to a fiery personality in another dead.

        I take the final step through the doorway into a room lightly lit and covered in mirrors. The soft glow of light takes some adjusting to, but whe my I can finaly see clearly, I wish I couldn't.

        My reflection stares at my from every angle, forcing me to see the visual effects of being dead.

        This room was obviously ment to scare any dead to make it this far by making them face their situation first hand. 

        Instead of fear or weakness, I feel curiosity. I look closely at my violet eyes, a beautiful, mysterious color, sure to strike fear into anyones heart. My clotes consist of thin leather, not quite enough to be armor, with small blood stains on my arms and ripped portions from breaking down the bars. The next thing I notice is that my hair, formerly a fiery red, is now pitch black and shorter then before.

        Honestly, I look awesome. There is a more elegant look to me over all, made fearsome by the way my hair falls behind my back.

        Perfect for intimidating my killer.

        I turn, along with the millions of reflections, and walk out the next door in the small room.

        After all, I want them to know what they did to me.