Christmas in July

Metamorphosis: One

Welcome to the mind of Yelena Belova. And here's your accompaniment.

https://open.spotify.com/track/66TMmu4ve50PliM4314Vqd

A light flickered at the end of the darkened corridor. Yelena shielded her eyes from the visual assault. Every flicker was blinding, every rhythmless pop and buzz of electricity made her flinch as the sound crawled underneath her skin. The moment her eyes would adjust to the darkness, the fluorescent light would flash brightly overhead once more, and her vision would burst brightly with stars, only to fall quickly into a state of absolute, blinding darkness.

The assassin pressed herself against the wall, she would have to feel her way to the door that she knew was there, the door that she could see in her mind's eye. Even if her eyes refused to show it to her, it couldn't elude her; she'd walked through it many times before.

She reached with a bloodied, outstretched hand, flat against the wall, fingertips taking in the rough and familiar wallpaper. Next was a light switch. She knew that flicking it would be no good, she knew what would happen, but her left hand fought against her logic. Flip the switch, you'll be able to see her if you just flip the switch. As always, Yelena couldn't resist the compulsion.

The explosion shattered her senses, and she cried out as crystalline teardrops rained down violently from above. Instinctually, she dropped to the floor and threw her arms up in a desperate attempt to protect herself from the barrage. Ice cold droplets bombarded her skin, soaked through her tactical gear, through her flesh, through her bones. Her chest became tight as her body temperature plummeted, and Yelena could see her breath clearly. Get up. You know you can get up. She rose to one knee, put a steadying hand against the wall and began to haul herself to her feet.

Another flash of white and another flood of light burned her retinas, but it wasn't going to stop her. She'd been here before, so many times. Everything was familiar, but everything was unexpected.

Just find the door, she's here, just find the door, Yelena told herself as she urged her body to move further down the corridor. With her eyes closed, her hands felt for the picture rail which was now wet with rain or her own blood. Yelena wasn't quite sure which. It wouldn't matter anyways. All that mattered was finding her.

The sound of gunshots rung through the air as the light flashed once more. But it was no longer the flash of a fluorescent light, it was a muzzle flash. Another concussive shot reverberated down the corridor and a wave of sound threatened to send Yelena back to where she'd started. But in the flash of the muzzle, she'd seen it. She'd seen the door. Yelena wasn't turning back. Another flash and it was clearer this time, as the light escaped momentarily from under the doorway. She had to persevere, just like she always did. She would reach her, this time she would reach her in time.

Yelena staggered forward against the shock and awe that was bombarding her body, with new found purpose. She could make it, she could. Another flash and the door was closer, another shot and the handle was just within her reach.

Brass found her fingertips. The corridor fell silent. The light flickered for the last time and then fell to black. Yelena took a steadying breath, gripped the handle with intent, and turned it. Once released the door swung open. She could hear her heart, it beat slowly, always slowly. She'd been here so many times, nothing came as a surprise anymore. The kitchen stood empty and still. Crockery lay smashed, cutlery littered the floor. The gas hob was still lit, and flickered in the breeze from the smashed windows, but the water, and the pot intended for it, lay discarded and pooling on the linoleum floor. Water met red watercolour, and the two danced and intertwined, until they became one whole, in the shadow of the last chair left standing.