Forever Alone... Or Not

Chapter 24

3rd person

He laid against the icy floor. Frost and rust nipped and tore his skin, leaving more blemishes than before. For a while, he sat against the bars of his cell. Now, he could barely move his arm to rest his head upon it, let alone sit up.

Another wave of nausea rushed upon him. As the dizziness made his head spin, his stomach began to do the same. His dry scratchy throat was forced into convulsion and he was forced to his forearms, as his body repulsed. There was no longer anything solid in his stomach, so instead of vomit, burning stomach acid, salty saliva, and congealed clumps of blood slapped and pooled on the floor. Almost like the yolk of an egg, the clumps bled, mixing the clear liquid till it was a murky wine color. He questioned the blood. Where did it come from? My stomach? My throat? Am I finally dying? Is it even my blood?

He soon collapsed, centimeters away from the mess he left. For a few moments, it was calm, until another wave hit him, and as if he was drowning, he began gagging again. This time he couldn't lift himself, so he pathetically turned his head and prayed that it'll choke him.

For days he'd been kept by his lonesome. The girl that occupied the chains across from him was long gone. Long forced to accept the hand of death. Although the smell of her entrapment combined with his own was putrid, the company was well-missed. Like his body, his mind no longer had the strength to think, to distract, and to avoid his oncoming insanity. Already, there were dancing figures that waltzed across his cell.

The figures flowed in and out. Their transparent and illusive bodies moved through the bars easily. Earlier he had tried to slither through them, but he only ended up hurting himself. How he wished to be a figment of one's imagination. To move freely from captivity and freedom. If only it was that easy to move between life and death.

As much as he wanted to live, wanted to be with his lover, his friends, and what family he had left, death seems like such an appealing option at the moment. To finally be free. Life was not kind to him. It no longer seemed worth the effort. Even the ghost of his lover bent over, brushed his hand against his jaw, and smiled. He was so bright like he was made up of the essence of the sun. Then the figure, still smiling, talked about how good it would feel to let go, to be free. Almost as if he was telling him to die. That smile was so convincing, so comforting, and he reached for it.

Shaking, he was able to lift his arm. Slowly but surely his hand got closer and closer to that smile. As it grew brighter he thought this was it. It was the beckoning light of heaven. And it was his lover beckoning no less. The pain in his body faded, leaving a simple null ache. Almost there, and I'll be free, The man thought. Using the minuscule amount of energy he had left to lift his shoulders off the ground, trying to get closer.

The extended hand finally reached the man. For a moment it felt like contact, like there was warm, live, skin against his. Just for a moment. Then the image of his lover, with his touch, dispersed. Almost like the paint stemming off a brush dipped in water, he wisped away and the light was gone.

His heart collapsed just a moment before his body did. With the mirage gone, he stared at the ceiling. Tears seared his eyes, but he could no longer blink. Falling to the side heavily, his arm landed in his mess. It was still warm. He didn't move.

Yet again, he had been tricked by his hallucinations. Tempting him with love and sweet release. Life was heedlessly cruel.

Who knew a family gathering could end with his imprisonment. And eventually-hopefully- his death.

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POV: Michael

When we first entered -what I assume was a banquet hall or ballroom- there were maybe 15 others. Now, on the other hand, there were at least three times that amount. All of them regally dressed bestowing twisted smirks and harrowingly dark eyes. It was very intimidating. All these beautiful people who could easily kill me. No pressure whatsoever.