Alethea has always been awkward - eccentric, even. On a typical day she spends her time cloistered inside a tiny apartment hiding from the world she doesn't really understand. When her therapist encourages her to push herself outside her comfort zon...
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A strangled gasp coughed up from my throat and I convulsed from pain. I cracked open my matted eyes and blinked repeatedly in an attempt to make sense of things, but there was nothing. Inky blackness surrounded me and I began to hyperventilate as I realized I might be blind.
Taking deep breaths, I tried to get a hold of myself. My face felt bruised and there was a constant ache in my back. Reaching around, I rubbed the area in hopes of relieving some of the pain, but stopped when my hand touched something wet and sticky. As I brought my hand to my nose and sniffed, my stomach churned and my head began to spin – it smelled like blood.
"Oh God," I whimpered aloud.
"Sorry to be the one to tell you..."
A deep voice reverberated from somewhere in the depths of the darkness making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
"But there are no gods here. Only monsters."
Immediately I found it impossible to take a deep breath; I reached for my inhaler, but it wasn't in my pocket. The muscles in my throat began to constrict and my lungs burned from lack of oxygen.
I'd always thought the feeling of an asthma attack was a lot like having your throat and chest squeezed by a Burmese python: the harder you fight the tighter and more painful it gets. But this time it was worse - much, much worse. I sank to the ground as the pain in my throat and tightness in my chest continued to intensify.
I had to get out. Find a way to escape. But my vision had begun to darken around the edges and I knew I didn't have long before I was completely unconscious. As I fought to draw air into my lungs a pair of hands latched onto my legs and dragged me deep into the dark. I tried to scream, but considering I couldn't breathe at all the only sound I managed was a squeaky gasp similar to a creaky door hinge.
It was the last breath I managed before I felt the darkness close in and suffocate me.
Waking up felt like dying. I panted for breath and coughed repeatedly. Blood splattered from my mouth onto the stone floor and I had to turn away to keep from getting sick. Everything on my body hurt, especially my lungs and throat. As I rolled away from the blood and onto my back, I noticed the room I was in was no longer dark.
I also noticed – it was hard not to – a ridiculously large throne situated dead center in the room. It was unoccupied, but I imagined whoever usually sat upon it thought very highly of him or herself.
"I have to get out of here," I whispered.
During my last therapy session my doctor had tried to explain to me why talking to myself was a bad idea. She claimed it made me seem "unapproachable."
At the moment, I considered talking to myself the very least of my problems. If I somehow managed to wake up from this dream-hallucination thing, the first thing I was going to do was get a new therapist. I had decided this entire thing was her fault. The new drugs she had given me had to be to blame for this bad trip.
