Ruins

4

Ever woken up to the sound of pleasant bird chirping, the soothing gnashing of waterfalls, the slight hum of nature, and the sound of a half-censored screaming in the distant background? Don't worry, there's always a first time.

Wooziness crept into his mind, and he was sure that he could see doubles; unless there were actually two waterfalls, two pairs of feet, and two middle fingers in one hand. His clothes were in tatters, and something was squirming inside his shoe, bobbing and wriggling like a maggot– Across the board, he did not feel fabulous. His body was tired of feeling tired, but at this point, he'd begun to equate weariness to the new normal.

He tried to sit up straight.

The prancing sunrays flashed like a mono-coloured disco ball– somehow, they seemed impossibly incandescent. Torrents of water teased his feet, nearing and retracting to a ridiculously inapt distance, over and over. It was strange how the same water body, which had decided that drowning Mac was a fantastic idea, felt nippy and cold against his damp skin. The bank had that after-smell of a monsoon shower and was moist and slippery. A sparrow, perched atop a column of stone, studied him with great curiosity– "What kind of a horrid-looking beast is this?" It must've been thinking. There was an instigating breeze billowing through the grass, which was really useful when you were lying on the ground face-first, butt-up. All this, countless hours after being surrounded by controlling waves in the deep waters... was overwhelming.

He felt as if he'd debunked a rocket ship and entered the empty, vast space– The fact that in the tremendous nothingness, he was a nobody, not even a speck of dirt, hit him like a rocket. He was free. Healthy (sort of). No more choking to coma. But then why did he feel so vulnerable? Like a vital something was torn apart from him?

His memories were fuzzy. He could remember handful scraps of his past experiences, and it was unclear whether or not he'd suffered permanent brain damage. There was no extra-large, extra-swollen bump on his head, so that would be a no. Apart from this image of a dark-skinned boy with these glowing emerald eyes and another one of a furious old lady with a dangerous-looking spoon in her hand, it was hard to differentiate anything.

Helloooo, A shrill female voice suddenly blazed inside his skull. Anybody there?

He needed more rest. End of discussion. Haltingly, he lay back down again– There was nothing better than the realization that you were going crazy.

That was just a formality, boy. I know you can hear me, The voice toned down to a mediocre grumpy old hag level. And respect your elders, you maudlin! I can hear your thoughts!

He stared at the sunny, blue sky, as one does when one encounters positively weird shit. For a moment, he just wanted to let the river bank be his active grave, but the thought of being this close to the Seri, even in cessation, was enough demoralization. Using his hands in place of half-crumbled pillars, he propelled himself into a kneeling position and timidly got up. His hands were shaking so much that he began to question whether the cause could be an actual earthquake.

Mac felt strangely uneasy– He had definitely forgotten something. The thing about forgetting stuff that you don't even know what you're missing until it's too late. Getting out of here was your mediocre option– Be it that he had to rent a helicopter, drop a couple bombs and skitter out, the urban style.

That's actually the hooligan style, The voice chimed inside his head like a pair of annoying ringing bells. But the enthusiasm is appreciated.

"AggH- That brat is escaping- get him!"

Huh. Bizarre. Was that an actual larva wriggling in the soil? He reached out to touch it then realized that might not be the best course of action. The question was not about a fucking larva underneath him this whole time, but that his first instinct was to touch it.