Mr. Trager

Blood Dreams & Barkies

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 21st

All appeared pitch black, so very very dark. An empty void of nothingness, until the pain came. Oh God did it hurt. A pain that ran throughout my pain, bringing nausea in its wake. Everything hurt, especially my midsection, which was torn with an excruciating sharp sensation. I couldn't breath, there was an overwhelming pressure in my throat, becoming more and more forceful. Was I dying?
I fought to open my eyes, gasping desperately for air as realized that I was finally awake. I laid there, panting, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. It still hurt, it hurt like hell. How did it still hurt?
Something was so very wrong.
I lifted a hand to wipe away my fresh tears, but only felt more wetness against my cheek, something warm and slick. I held my hand out in a panicked disgust to find it oozing with thick, red, blood. A scream came to the back of my throat, unable to escape from my choked and aching windpipe. I was bleeding, I had to be, and profusely so.
I moved my body, trying to stand, but I felt so inexplicably heavy. I was so nauseous, so weak.
My tiny pained movements managed to roll me off of the bed, landing me on the cold hardwood with a soft thud, and sending a violent wave of throbbing through my chest. Looking down at the rest of me through my foggy vision, seeing something much more horrifying. My entire naked body seemed to be drenched with warm, fresh, blood. I could smell it, I could taste it. Squeezing my scorched eyes closed, a few more tears escaped and rolled down my neck. Where was it all coming from? It had to be from me, why else would I be in such deep, unbearable, pain?
Somehow, I managed to roll onto my belly, forcing my body up onto my elbows. It was a bit easier to crawl, I found. So, slowly, agonizingly, I drug my wounded body toward the bathroom. Something was nagging at me, begging me to wash off the blood, to get it out of my mouth, out of my eyes. The taste was rising in the back of my throat, my ears ringing, head pounding. The tile of the bathroom floor was somehow even colder than the wood, and slippery from the blood that covered my body. I  thought I was going to vomit; the taste of blood and the ever heavy pain were a dangerous mixture. Dragging my body a bit further into the master bathroom, my bloody arm slipped from underneath me and I collapsed once again onto the icy marble floor tiles. The pain responded to the impact, yet again, sending waves of agony through me. I pushed my body into a sitting position, my back against the side of the garden bathtub, when the blood in my mouth finally became too much. I gagged, my mouth open, and I watched as more blood poured down into my hands.
I needed help, urgently. The issue of what had happened and how were meaningless to me as I laid there. Only one question plagued my mind: Where was Rick?

"Help me..." I tried to scream, my throat still hurting like hell, my voice nearly a whisper.

I could hear movement downstairs, I couldn't be sure who or what it was, but I had to try.

"Rick!" I yelled, somehow reaching a much higher volume this time, "Help me!"

I heard the sound of heavy, quick paced, footsteps growing nearer.
At last I saw Rick, shoving the half open bathroom door with his elbow and rushing inside.

"Mira!" He sounded almost panicked himself, hurriedly coming to crouch by my side. "What's going on? Talk to me! Tell Rick what's happening!"

Could he not see? Could he not feel the blood that drenched me when he placed his hands on my shoulders?

"Why-" I paused, trying to muster some energy, "Why am I bleeding? W-where is it coming from?"

His eyes grew wider at the sound of my words, "You're not. You're not bleeding."

"Then why," I panted, reaching up to grasp the off white sweater that hung around his shoulders, staining it my imaginary arterial red. "Why does it hurt?"

"Shh, I know," he hushed, "Rick'll take care of it, okay?"

He reached up above my head, turning on the facet to fill the large tub with hot water.