oblivion(#wattys2015)

chapter 8: The ring

It wasn't as I expected. I didn't need time to adjust my eyes. The room was pretty dark. At first I thought it was night-time but the little light that fluttered in through the cracks where the curtains met disagreed with that fact.

I was also not held hostage on that comfy bed by tubes and hospital machines connected to me, in fact there wasn't a single machine around my bed.

My head spun a little, but it was so negligible, it could totally go unnoticed. I tried to sit up in my bed. Apart from a little spinning I was fine.

I sat up properly and saw Alex leaning against the wall hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on me. A smile lightened up his cherubic face as he began to stroll towards me.

In the back of my mind I could feel a constant present. Constant, but week. It was my sister. I turned around to look at her peaceful stature lying in the bed adjacent.

Her feelings broke loose inside me as they entangled with my own. Skylar? I asked her. I asked her to grant me permission to enter her head. I noticed how her resistance became gell like in consistency, molded around me, and carried me into her head.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I could feel arms curving around my waist. I could feel my head fall back on a chest. I could hear the soft rythim of a heart beating.

I couldn't see the room anymore. My mind was not with my limp body. It was in my sister's mind.

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I was standing barefoot in a beautiful meadow. The grass was fresh and flowery. The environment was soft, warm and pleasant.

I was wearing a white knee length dress, hung onto my body with straps. My dark brown hair was open, and flew hither and thither with the light breeze.

The sun spread a warm glow upon the whole field, radiating warmth and comfort from it.

The environment felt nice and warm and a rich feeling of happiness and freedom and eternal beauty hung in the environment. It made me happy and forget all my worries.

I began to move. The soft, wet grass caressed my feet better than fluffy feather cushions would have. A pleasant smile was permanently plastered on my face as the breeze lifted tufts of my hair and then let them fall.

A few butterflies flew in the air at a distance. A soft glow was emanating from them. The intricate designs on their wings pulled me to them like a magnet would attract iron.

I followed them, wounding twisting paths through the grass as I did so. I don't know how long that went on for, but suddenly, the air changed.

The warmth was seeping out of it, cold filled up the miserable vacuum around air. The whoosh of air was unpleasant. It bit on the skin and made it feel dry and raw. The feeling of warmth, of happiness, of content was minimising. Danger, trouble, fear, sadness gripped the environment and left a lingering ache in my heart.

The butterflies were changing. Their beautiful wings turned plain to look like pencil shavings. They were turning into moths. Moths that flew about in agony. Moths on fire.

I backed off in disgust and my eyes fell on the main cause of all of this. A ring, Jason's ring, Jason's ring with the ruby in it lay on the floor. The ruby had a small opening in the middle like it had been cut up there.

A sort of whirlpool had formed at the opening. It was sucking the happiness and the warmth out of the environment. At the base of the whirlpool, in long slithery snake like shapes, cold and feelings of disgust whooshed out into the environment. Unharmed, in any way, by the whirlpool.