Bed of Ashes

Chapter Two: Burning Snow (Lennox Thrice)

I've unwillingly imagined my death countless times before, envisioned exaggerated scenarios and preposterous happenings without conscious volition. Sometimes when the light is thin and the silence is thick I tap my foot to the sound of my own fancifully imagined requiems, the wordless dirges I write for my own personal gain, based on the monotonous beat of my fading heart.

Sometimes the world opens up and spits me out like cold rain, and I freefall with the animosity of a discarded angel, keeping my acrimonious resentment to myself as time slips by, drifting down and down and down, plummeting.

Sometimes the sky is falling and I'm not strong enough to hold the clouds in the heavens above. And sometimes the ground grinds its teeth, parts its earthen lips and swallows me whole. But never have I ever felt this resonating tremor of sickening fear that travels from the pit in my stomach, shackling me in place.

A gathering of moving images force their way before my eyes without my consent.

I see myself from afar, like I'm trapped in one of those unique out-of-body experiences. Cloaked in scarlet silk and satin, my body's draped over the carcasses of several uprooted saplings, tied and trimmed at the ends to form a makeshift raft, where I gently sway atop the rippling surface of the sparkling ocean; the scent of kerosene permeates just a hint stronger than the peaceful odor of salt, unpleasantly burning my nose. My face is hidden, shadowed by my hood, and no matter how close I get, wadding into the sunlit water, I can't see my eyes.

A whistle breaks the silence that the lapping waves couldn't, and a silvery-red gleam shoots past me, imbedding itself into the raft beside my body. A fire-lit arrow. Instantly my body flares up and fire invades my skin, flames dancing steadily atop the water.

I watch from a short distance as my body smolders beneath the setting sun, turning to ash.

I jolt from my reverie with a gasp, beads of sweat trailing down my face. My knees quiver beneath me until they give out and I fall to the floor, my heart beating sporadically alongside my infrequent pulse. I press my sweaty cheek to the cold hardwood floor, waiting for my body to steady before moving.

Expecting the world to tip upside down, vertigo an often visitor, I clamber to my feet with little to no problem. I stand, my hands fisted at my sides, and glare at my reflection in the glass doorway leading out into the real world—the scary, dreadful realm where lies are your only saving grace; your only freedom.

Fear and panic wade into the sixty-percent of water consisting of my body, and they swim in the darkness of my soul, thicker than thieves.

By staring at the shell of a human before me, I've come to the realization that my body is nothing more than a mess of coiled up barbed wire, while my hair, auburn and curled, is simply a jumble of briars amidst a valley of wilted roses. The tears of those who've ever tried to get close to me cover my skin, forever streaking down my spiraling net of thorns like dew on a summer's morning. I know nothing I can ever do will wash away the blood from underneath my nails, for I am so close to Death's doorstep; all I have to do is knock on his chamber door and this will all be over. All I have to do is call out his name . . .

Today is my seventeenth birthday. I've been alive for exactly six-thousand-two-hundred-nine days. I've been breathing for precisely eight-hundred-eighty-seven weeks. I've felt breathless for approximately two-hundred-four months. I can't remember a single moment spent ever feeling thankful for the life I was given. How can I be happy with what I am? With this affliction I've been given? How can I stand to live when I am so alone?

I have nothing but these four falls that pass the time by closing in on me day in and day out, and these glass doors, shuddering in the windiness of winter, holding back the powerful magnitude of my screams. I have no one but the voices in my head, gauchely stitching back together the seam of realism running through my veins, resurrecting my faithlessness in my humanity.