No Reason To Cry Wolf, Right?

Chapter XXXII

Cold and hot.

That's what it felt like.

It was a strange mixture, almost numbing. Yet somehow still painful.

Everything felt heavy, like sandbags with iron chains were holding his limbs down.

Everything was sore, he could feel his muscle and bones practically cry out in pain as he tried to move.

Move.

Gods he just wanted to move, he wanted to open his eyes. He wanted out of the darkness that he had been trapped in for only the Gods know how long.

He didn't know when he first saw the darkness when his mind awakened but his eyes stayed close, still sealed shut. Trapping him in utter darkness.

He despised it. It was lonely, every sound seemed to echo around him, and every word that seemed to be spoken around him echoed and lingered, every word torturing him tauntingly.

It was cold and hot at the same time; he was freezing as if he had been submerged in a frozen lake and he was unable to break through the layer of ice that separated him and the air.

Yet at the same time, it was hot, scorching, it felt as though someone had set his muscles on fire as if they had tied him to a stake and set it aflame. It was as if the smoke from that deadly flame would fill his lungs, suffocating him.

And yet he still couldn't wake up.

Every part of his mind screamed, begged, for someone, anyone at all to just wake him up from the hell he was trapped in, the freezing and scorching pain becoming unbearable, yet he had to bear it. The darkness that surrounded him became suffocating, the bone-chilling echo that lingered with every word spoken around him, yet he didn't recognize a single voice, he couldn't breathe.

He needed to wake up.

Though finally, it seemed as though the Gods finally heard his prayers. And took mercy on the poor boy.

He felt it.

His fingers were the first to move.

Just a few small movements, then his hand, then his entire right arm. The limb felt numb, pins and needles prickling on his skin as the blood flow finally returned to his limb, though it was nothing compared to the pain he had been feeling for what felt like centuries.

Next came his left arm, in a similar fashion as his right arm. Then his left foot, he could feel his toes, the icy chill that numbed them making him shudder and groan. His entire left leg then came alive, the same pins and needles prickling his skin just the same as his arms.

His right leg was next, copying its twin as the boy then bent his legs, bringing them up to where his feet rested on a soft yet thin mattress.

Next came his torso, his lungs and throat burned with every breath he took, the icy air around him stinging his poor dry throat. He could feel his heart rate pick up, he could feel his sides shifting slightly.

And finally, his eyes. His eyes were slow to open, dim white light coming into his vision while his eyes tried to focus on the things around him, a bedside nightstand, a vase with a few flowers in it, a gurney with what seemed to be a few sheets on it, and a plain ivory colored door.

The skin around his mouth and eyes stretched uncomfortably, though the slight sting was tolerable, practically unnoticeable, stretching his arms, his muscles tensed and untensed satisfyingly, successfully reawakening his arms fully.

Slowly, he eased himself up, using his elbows as support as he shifted his back to hit the headboard of the bed he was on, the boy licked his chapped lips as he moved the thin white sheet that covered him, only to notice the whitish-teal colored hospital garments he wore. And the tight wrappings that hugged his ribs tightly, along with the numerous amount of bandages that covered his arms, neck, shoulders, collarbone, and feet.