Ultramarine -- REWRITTEN

Twenty Four. [c.h.] -- REWRITTEN

          Two men tugged my dirty sheets away, marking the twenty-eighth day mark. Twenty-eight days of mentally straining anxiety that pulled at every nerve in my brain; the last few being more excruciating than the rest. I looked down at my hands, still covered by the ripped pieces of jumpsuit to hide the fact that I had been healed much too quickly. The bruising around my nose was fading more everyday, while the bags underneath my eyes soaked in the darkness. I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling out a decent amount of strands. No matter how much it hurt to feel thin hair, there was nothing I could do.

          "Take her, Harry," Aria instructed as the men exited my chamber. I threw my head back and groaned.

          "What?"

          Harry entered my chamber and grabbed my arm as Aria removed the force field. "There are way too many experiments for one week alone," I complained, standing my ground. Harry began to pull as I leaned the opposite way, my feet sliding against the concrete.

          "I don't have the energy to fight with you today," she sighed, walking out of sight. Harry took a step toward me, his hand gripping my arm.

          "One thing I don't like is how hard you make my job."

          "One thing I don't like is how I'm subjected to torture," I replied lowly. He only sighed and pulled me along. We left the chamber and followed her to my probable death with the sound of her heels echoing throughout the hallway. Like the first experiment, there was a chair that blended into the background. My eyes widened, my heart beginning to drum so hard against my chest that everything began to hurt. They were going to try again.

          My moves were deliberately slow to the chair, Harry having to follow at my pace when he was used to something so much faster. It gave me more time to prepare, to remember the tension so I could hold it there. My wrists were clasped down onto the sides of the chair as well as my ankles to the legs. I took a deep breath, hoping to slow my heartbeat as the doctor placed the facsimile onto my eyes and cubes onto the sides of my temples.

          "I'm not saying anything."

          "Harry, please step out of the room. Same for you, Doctor," Aria instructed. Steps echoed throughout the room. The hesitant ones I identified as Harry's.

          "You don't want them to see me die? How kind of you to spare them that."

          "Shut up or I won't do this."

          "Why would I shut up then?"

          All at once, my eyelids began to grow heavy, and my chest felt pleasantly warm. I sunk deeper into the chair, smooth vibrations traveled around my chest and arms. Everything felt good but wrong. It shouldn't feel good, it should hurt. It should make me sweat, make me sore, make me scream, cry, curse. I should be wishing it was over, not wanting it to go on.

          Wind whispered through my hair and saturated my nose with the smell of salt. I opened my eyes, a fleeting sense of panic and disorientation obscuring my vision from taking in the swaying palm trees and diamonds on the crests of the waves. The sun, out on the horizon, was setting, but had kissed each individual grain of sand that I stood on. The wind lifted the loose grains, guiding them across the shore before becoming lost with everything else.

          I was waiting for the dark turn, but until then I would enjoy the fleeting peace.

          I approached the edge of the world, a clear line could be seen where the waves had cried, knowing that they would not get to meet the sand past that point. White foam from the waves glided with the waves as they approached my feet. The wave stopped, just for a second, before sliding back to the ocean. In result, some foam residue was left behind. Seagulls called from above almost loud enough to mute the voice from behind me. I spun around. My heart stopped.