Rogues

Episode 41 | Naphula

'To die by the match is better than to live burning'

Naphula had spent her whole life hearing that scripture. From survivors, from revolutionists, from teachers. But she'd never wished to understand the kinds of experiences that brought forth such a phrase.

Needless to say, the teaching had never made more sense to her as it did after her operation, as she knelt on the cold stone floor of 'Fixing'.

Tearless sobs wracked her body as she tried to pull away from her own hands, tried to pull away from the chains that bound her wrists and suspended them in the air.

Her fingertips dripped with liquidized skin and she could feel every atom of water in her body rushing to her hands. She choked on the dryness of her throat, certain that she wouldn't last till morning if this kept up.

She knew the others were watching. She could feel their eyes, their pitying gazes, trained on her and never faltering.

Surely they knew she was dying. How could they not know? With every sob and rough, dry breath, she grew closer to passing out and she knew it showed. Her whole body was trembling and - had her hands not stolen every ounce of hydration she had left - she knew she'd be drenched in sweat from the effort of staying alive.

Trying to swallow back her cryes through a brittle throat, Naphula let out a guteral scream of frustration, her voice hoarse and cracking. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the coarseness of her own eye lids and instantly regretting the tiny movement. The chains rattled as she yanked against them, tensing her muscles and trying to force whatever accursed ability she'd been given to obey her. The dripping finally stopped and, for an instant, Naphula actually let herself believe that life was still within reach.

Her hope was torn from her again though as the infectious sensation of dripping moved to her palms and enveloped her whole hands. She could feel her skin moving and melting, losing shape and sliding across her flesh.

Near silent sobs ripped through her as her momentary control slipped away, any illusion of survival crumbling before her eyes. All she could hear was the rattling chains, the dripping of her own hands onto the cold floor beneath her, and the dry scratching of her clothes against her skin as she shivered in pain.

And then another sound. Movement. Slow and cautious but close. She could feel one of the others settling down beside her, shuffling as close as they could without touching her.

"Don't shy away from it." Between her own sobs and their damaged voice, she could barely understand what they'd said. The voice was stiff and muffled, like they hadn't closed their mouth as they'd spoken. "It might feel uncomfortable. It will not be pleasant for you. But you won't be hurting anymore."

Desperate for any kind of respite and completely ignoring how little she believed she still had any hope of life, Naphula fought with herself not to hide from the dripping. Instead, she welcomed it.

The more she stopped trying to pull away from it, the more it consumed her. The more it dispersed throughout her entire body, infecting every inch of flesh and fading in intensity as it went. The more it spread, the less she felt it. But the more she became aware that it was everywhere.

By the time the dripping had completely stopped and some semblance of hydration had been given back to her body, every atom of her being rippled with the subdued sensation of flowing water.

It was uncomfortable. It wasn't pleasant in the slightest. But it didn't hurt. And she was alive.

"Is this how your flights usually go?"