If the Boot Fits

Nightmare

Nothing but darkness. And Pain. So much pain.

Fire in his arm, his hand. Ice in his heart. The two played, dancing around his body. Tendrils of excruciating electricity up and down his spine. Relentless knifes in his mind.

Is this what it's like to die?

Memories of Aryll laughing and smiling. Running to her big brother after a skinned knee or a papercut. Climbing trees together. Playing games.

Memories of Mother reading and sharing stories. Adventures from her youth. Teaching her son to cook. Her kind hand. Her brilliant mind.

Memories of Father practicing and training. His discipline and his bravery. His hearty laughter and true smile. Teaching his son to swing and defend.

Nightmares of Mother reading the letter stating her husband was killed in the war, but that he had ended it. Her silent sniffles in the middle of the night, trying to hide her sorrow from her kids. A month later, the news of Ghirahim's proposal. Fake smiles and lies everywhere. After that, her pale face, weak body. She lost so much weight, she was like a ghost of her former self. Then she was. Gone. In the dirt, alone, where Father should have rested with her many years later. Punishments for nothing.

Reliving every punch. Every whip. Every insult, fear, and torture.

It was torture. Seeing the life die from Mother's eyes after she married Ghirahim, before she fell ill. Watching Ghirahim assend to the head of the household. Standing by as Zant and Groose took over their rooms.

He could have done so much more. He could have confessed his opponion of Ghirahim at the start, prevented everything. He could have stood up to him. He could have protected Mother. He could have been the Hero, the one with Courage. Instead, he was a coward every time. He was the bystander.

Guilt filled the places pain did not. He wanted to yell. He wanted to shout. Scream, and relieve his agony, but he was without a body. He was nothing but a soul drifting through darkness.

". . ."

Was that him? Did his tongue shape that mumble?

"no. . ."

A knife struck his brain at the word. It wasn't him. Someone else was there, sharing this darkness. His pain, though it was not as great.

"No."

It felt like his brain was torn in half. His arm ripped from his body. Blinding lights burst from the darkness, enveloping him in white. Wind whistled in his ears, thrusting him over a cliff. His body fell through the endless abyss. Falling, falling.

Suddenly, he struck ground. Everything catapulted at him, shifting, swinging, and stabbing. He was pinned in place. Air forced its way into his lungs, only to leave him again. Gravity pulled, snapping his bones and turning his insides to mush. His chest rose as his lungs ballooned again. This time the air choked him, fighting in his body as he was lifted to the sky, weightless. Darkness seeped into the corners.

The light burst, shoving the dark streaks away and slamming him against the stone wall, squeezing the air out of him. A wall, that's new. Swiftly, three more boxed him in. One wall bled to become bars. The gray blood pooled under his feet, solidifying into a floor. Shadows were cast along the walls, but the light still penetrated from above. Suddenly, that was blocked, too, as another stone slab crashed against the walls, creating the ceiling. The hole thing shook, rattling his bones as he fell. Chains erupted from the floor, locking around his ankles. Manacles shot from the ceiling, catching his wrists and forcing him to dangle while popping an arm out of socket. His body shook, his ears rang. His heart rate accelerated, thundering in his chest and throbbing in his head. Everything swirled, refusing to be calm.