Tainted Lenses Part 1

Chapter 5 - Of Clay and the Mind

 I found myself after her disappearance thinking about the one thing that had been itching under my mind, scratching like a hungry creature trying to get out of its cage and feast upon anyone who had been staring at it. One thing I dreaded the thought of since my time at this 'Sanctuary' had begun.

I sat in front of Haven's grave.

This one person had been my one true friend in this abyss of a land that was swallowing us into the clutches of death, one by one. And then suddenly, she was gone.

Any memory I had of her seemed distant, faded, nonexistent. Were it not for this grave, could I have forgotten her?

No, surely not! We were friends! We had been together since the beginning of our time trapped, the two who always looked out for each other! And yet, it ended like that. Some of the last words she had said to me were the fact that she and I could trust no one. Not even each other. We didn't know each other. I didn't even know myself clearly.

But there had been trust between us. Undeniable understanding somehow. So which was better, to live in fear of the people I resided with, or to trust them, even if I got killed?

I laughed at the thought of death. Oh how much comfort Haven must be in. That depended however on who's description was right.

Madame Botot always told us of a resting place, a castle in the sky that would glow and bring warmth, take away all your fear, all of the stress, free you from the terrible clutches of this world. She clearly wanted to give us hope, and to embrace the fact that we would all die.

Was death worth fighting, or was she right, it is better than this world? Then why did we all hold on? What hope of a better life did we have?

Then there was Weston's description.

Weston's description of death is only what I can imagine as how the disease must feel. As though that strange H.R.V. were giving a piece of what Weston said.

He called death endless torture, claimed he had been there in one of the night's storytelling sessions. No one believed him of course.

He said that death brought pain to anyone who was greeted by it and to live our lives as long as we could because that was the last thing we wanted to see. And it would have to be.

I didn't know which one, or if it was something entirely different, that Haven was going through. I only hoped things were ending for the best for her.

As I thought about Weston's teachings, I began to worry more about Haven. Was she okay? In endless torture or in a innocent and happy freedom?

Ahh to be free from this world.

Either way, Haven had been killed mercilessly by the disease. According to Wilmer, someone had done this terrible thing to her.

I remembered my last view of Haven. The look of pain in her face, the gashes in the wall from where she had collided...

I wasn't solving the mystery anymore for myself and the living, I was solving it to avenge my friend. I wanted to kill anyone who had done this to her. Caused me this much pain.

Because now, inside, I realized now just how much I had been hurting for far too long. It wasn't for anyone else that I was solving what was happening here, I wanted to solve it for her.

That night, I had a dream.

I imagined a woman, tall and pale, her long black hair flowing in every direction. It flowed in this dreamy reality as though it had its own mind, own will, reaching for everything and yet nothing at all.