A MAN WITH NO HOME
Tell me, sweet stranger, do you know the story of Normant Lumensky, the man from a mystical land universes away from Earth? Making an ark out of his chains, he turns from a prisoner of war into a fugitive.
A WOMAN AGAINST THE WOR...
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I DID NOT REMEMBER MUCH from the fall, or from what had followed. In fact, I was pretty sure that even if I tried with all my willpower to find some morsel of vision from that moment in time, I would still fail to remember anything significant. The weird thing was that in that otherwise emptiness of memories and emotions, I could now feel a sharp pain coming from every part of my body, every bone and ligament.
The pain defeated the numbness. It stayed and grew more powerful, more excruciating with each second passing by. I could not really understand what was going on. Not when my body refused to give in to the commands of my mind. My eyes did not flutter open no matter how many times I thought to myself, wake thefuck up. My legs did not move no matter how many times I screamed at myself "Get it together, man. Just get it together."
As the pain expanded and turned inveterate, a soothing force came forward. A gentle touch. A vestal might. A balm made of warm, golden energy.
I did not know what it was. It seemed to me that these days I did not know anything at all. But wherever the pain was, that pacific force went there and alleviated it at once. Again and again. The stronger the source of pain was, the more patient and steadier the response came. There was no rush, no desperation in it. There was only careful effort and this arcane energy slow-dancing around landmines and setting me free.
Setting me so free that I opened my eyes and came back to consciousness.
"How—" I made to say while trying to focus on my surroundings, realize what was real and what was fantasy, what was normal and what was the aftermath of my brain having been paralyzed for too long. Denfer standing before me was definitely the latter.
I shook my head because this could not be real. I could not be anywhere but on Earth, in Greece, in Athens. The crimson red sky, the smell of smoke, the ashes. Jasmine—
I tilted my head to the side, eager to face reality, eager to see Jasmine next to me waiting for me to wake up—always a little later than her. But all I saw was Jasmine lying next to me with her eyes closed, her lips bloodless, her face smeared with ash and gore. A choking sound escaped my lips, then a scream that I could not believe it had come from me.
"Jasmine," I said under my breath and made to reach a hand to touch her, shake her out of that lifeless state of being, bring her back to me. This could not be so hard, right? She was just unconscious because of the fall. That was expected. That was normal. It would be fine. Everything would be fine.
But I could not make the slightest move, my arm was all numb and . . .
The bullet, I realized. I had been shot right before we had started running toward the cliff.
It was all coming together now. The flames burning alive little kids right in front of our eyes. Jasmine screaming because she could not reach me, because the flames were so close to her and she could not breathe. Me turning around and finding her wallowed in dread, which broke my very heart in two and had me taking her in my arms despite the fire and the pain and everything. Us stopping before the cliff, knowing that we had mere minutes before the flames scorched our bodies, and feeling gallant enough to exchange a kiss and promises of infinite care because what else could we do? Jasmine saying that she loved me, and me being unable to keep the tears to where they belonged.
