The Broken Link

One

Fire is deadly, and yet I play with it. Why do I play with it? I am surrounded by fire, so I should escape.

But why doesn't this fire burn me? It is everywhere. I should be dying.

I am not dying. At least, I don't think I am. All I am aware at the moment is how much pain I'm in. Imagine being submerged into acid. Then being stomped on by a hoard of elephants. Imagine feeling the pain of dying, but being alive to feel it.

Now times that pain by ten.

My body is writhing on the ground. I want to see it. I want to open my eyes. But I'm afraid that if I do, this fire that I feel will engulf me.

How did I end up like this?

There is something looming over me. Even with my eyes closed, I can sense a shadow covering me. Should I scream? Do I run?

Neither of those options can work. I am immobile. My arms are useless pieces of rubber at my sides. My legs have all but vanished. I cannot move a muscle, but all of those muscles are screaming in pain.

The shadows beckons forward, and I want to shy away. Something slips under my torso, lifting me up. It becomes clear with this notion that I must have been laying on the ground. But with this notion comes another realization. Something, or someone, is picking me up.

Is this it? Is this how I die? Being hauled off in a strangers arms, not knowing where I was or who I was?

A black tide sweeps in, enveloping me into darkness. The fire still burns, but I know that soon I will succumb to the darkness.

As I drift off into an oblivion, one thing comes to light. No, I don't know where I am. Or who is carrying me. Or who I am. But I do know my name.

My name is Merida.

***

"Don't touch her!"

"Where'd ya find her, Hiccup?"

"That's a lot of hair."

"Quiet! I think she's waking up!"

The black tide pulls back, bringing me into the light. Am I dead? If so, who are those voices?

Only one thing I am certain of. I am still Merida. I hold onto my name like a life jacket, hoping it will pull me out of this ocean of loss and confusion I am in.

"Maybe we should call the doctor again."

"She looks like she's dead."

The voices have begun to argue amongst themselves. I had worried that the voices were from inside my head. At least I'm not going crazy.

Or maybe I am. Maybe crazy people don't know they're crazy.

And another thing. A voice had said that I looked dead. If I looked dead, did that mean I was still alive? The fire that had burned me earlier had vanished. I wasn't in so much pain anymore. Could I really be alive?

I feel something press on my wrist. Two lumps. Two fingers.

"She's not dead. She has a pulse."

"Why don't you lot give the girl some space? Don't crowd her when she wakes up."

So many voices. I can't separate them all. But I know some of the voices are leaving. I can hear them grumbling as they exit wherever I am.

As I listen, I can hear roaring sounds. Are we under attack? I want to start running, I don't know from what.

I decide that opening my eyes would be a good start. As I repeat my name over and over in my head to keep me sane, I open my eyes.

At first, it is bright. I am under a wooden ceiling, on top of a lumpy mattress. I turn my head to the left, and see my body. No, it has not been burnt. Which is odd. I was on fire before. I felt fire before.