Everlasting (A Greek Tragedy)

Everlasting Ch V

   It was dark. Too dark to visually make out anything.

  All he could hear were the series of leaking raindrops. His body responded harshly when one dribbled onto his bare back. A stinging pain made him shudder; it had been painfully obvious that he bore a rather severe laceration.

   He was numb. Both mentally and physically. Yet oddly, he couldn't recall why. He didn't remember where he was. Nor why he felt lament. A bitter ball of agony rolled in his stomach...Or was that nausea

...?

   Rain.... Had it been raining when he lost consciousness? And if it was, had he been outside? Judging by the fact he was nearly bare and shivering like a billowing sheet in a wind storm, a fever was forming. He had to had been exposed to the merciless climate. The temperature of his body contrasted drastically with whatever cold surface he was laying on. Stone, perhaps? Most likely.

   So this wasn't his fort? No where close. A castle floor was usually paved by marble or lucrative tiles, not stone. Stone was bumpy and nearly serrated. Stone was what prisoners walked upon...

    Prisoners.... A dungeon.

   He was trapped. The air was both thick and musky. There was no sign of light-just a pitch black scenary. A metallic taste occupied the corner of his mouth; the feeling of blood gushed from an open wound.

   Despite the screaming plea of his muscles, he forced himself to elevate his right knee to his chest. It popped and locked in a awkward position causing him to scowl and deject a sharp breath. He stopped there. The pain was excruciating.

  At this point, he felt as if there was no use to move at all. Even if he managed to stand, his knee would most likely give out on him. Even if he could limp, the darkness would void his sight. And even if he could feel against the walls, would there even be an exit? All walls of hope were shattering around him. The urge of surrendering was inevitably filling his mind like a strong, rushing current. The faces of his army, although distant, were glaring at him in his mind. They now didn't just hate him, they abhored him.

  He let them down... All of them.

  "You must flee...."

  The voice craddled him like a mother did her child, soothing over the anxiety that made him sweat and shiver. That voice was so soft... So compassionate and caring. He heard it before. It made him remember who he was... And why he had been there...

  Patroclus...

Suddenly, the prince earned a second wind. He suddenly knew who he was, what he fought for. Who he fought for...

  The last image of seeing the man was now crystal-clear. The blood, his impaled body, the screaming. The heavy raindrops splashing up mini explosions of mud and residue...

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself into a crawling position. Forcefully, he pushed himself up slowly-his brain pounded against his skull...

  "Ugh....Dammit...."

  Achilles then recalled the sharp blade that connected with his temple. The very reason why he had been knocked unconscious in the first place. He had dozed in and out from that point foward, watching the scans of the area in which the enemies were dragging him. Patroclus' name continued to dribble off his lips each time he closed his eyes.

   By the time he recollected his memories, he had pushed himself to stand on his feet and feel across the stone wall until his fingertips bumped against something hard and cold. It was cold like metal and felt like lines of thin poles; there would be no way he could get out on his own. Achilles sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the bars that fettered him..

   However, before his eyes drowned down to the floor, something in the distance sparkled with a mix of orange fire and shadows. The soft tapping of feet and clanking armor killed the tortuous silence of the dungeon cell. He held his breath in fear of it being one of the Trojans coming in order to execute him as his sentence. The thought of Patroclus being murdered then crossed his mind as the figure grew closer.

    "Achilles", it mumbled. His heart stopped.

   He knew that voice all too well...

  "Patroclus...?" His voice hitched in his throat.

   The bronze-clad figure then shifted the light in his hand and illuminated the small slit in it's helmet. A pair of glassy jade eyes peered through.

   "Achilles...It is I..."