From Heaven To Hell

Human

Fire burns against my eyelids and knives puncture my brain from the inside.

My body is numb to me but I stretch my fingers out just the same. A reassuring feeling of warmth greets me, spreading from the tips of my fingers to my toes. A small memory comes to me, a flicker of me as a child, coming inside to the warm cabin my parents had rented for a week because of a break from school I had. After being in the snow for hours, my new lavender colored gloves soaked by the icy dust that had blanketed the ground while we were sleeping, my frozen body shivered as Mom peeled off the wet clothes. Stinging sensations burned my body from the blood rushing through them, which hurt more than the cold ever did. But I laughed as Mom made some hot chocolate and eventually Dad tried to tickle me- which made my belly hurt from laughing so much.

I remember that now as my body slowly becomes used to being moved. Instead of burning sensations, my body is achy and tired, much like my head and no hot chocolate is waiting for me. Reaching my hands to my eyes, I shield them from beams of light that make pain ricochet behind my eyes. I tentatively open them, careful not to do it too quickly.

My purple quilt is tucked neatly around my body and although it looks cloudy outside the glass, the sun burns my sore eyes.  With all these observations, I suddenly notice how uncomfortably warm I feel. Throwing the quilt off my heated body, I try to stand up but immediately fall to my knees. My body shakes to stay up with my hands holding onto the wood floor.

Don't throw up, please don't throw up.

My arms quiver trying to hold myself up and I slowly lower my cheek to the floor.

Breathe.

I close my eyes, shutting out all distractions, all the aches and pains, and concentrate. Push up on my hands, get my knees under me, push again. I go through the steps like a baby just learning how to stand up.

My vision swims as I put my weight on my legs, albeit a little shakily. My hip leans against the dark wood of my nightstand that I had thankfully stuck to the ground with little sticky pads (Mom's suggestion, not mine), and silently thank her for pushing them under the door after I told her no. Although, this is probably not what she did it for. I finally stand and bring my chin up.

Memories pop back into my mind. The field, the mud, the blood. The room suddenly feels two sizes too small, just like my throat. My breathing races, making my dizzy vision dangerously near fainting again.

I use the wall as a support, periodically stopping to rest my forehead against my arm as I make my way into the hallway. What exactly happened?

Although I remember myself hitting the muddy ground in the field, my memory gets hazy, like trying to look through a telescope with condensation coating the lenses. The ground was wet and did- did I slip? No other plausible scenarios came to mind but I had the feeling I wasn't remembering it all. But trying to remember was like trying to move a cement wall, unmovable and unrelenting, sharp pains reminding me that I didn't imagine my skull hitting the ground.

As I get to the railing, I hear people talking, both familiar voices.

I carefully make my way down the carpeted steps, my footsteps surprisingly obeying my plan of being silent. Nearing the bottom of the stairs, I can finally tell apart the voices. Mom speaks in a heated voice and the one opposite hers is low and masculine.

Noah?

"-what exactly can we do to stop them? They're getting more and more aware of her!" Her voice comes out in a way I've never heard her speak. Furious and strong.

"Tell her." Noah sounds serious and shivers shake my body.

"That would just put her in more danger!" Her tone makes me feel uneasy.

"Not telling her would put her in even more danger!"

Tell me what?

My rumbling headache makes me lean my head against the railing and the movement makes the wooden post creak with the weight. Any attempts at further conversation is hushed. I pinch my eyes close as though that would make me invisible.

Real stealthy, Izzy.

Taking a deep breath, I stand up and make my way down the rest of the stairs, my hands furling then unclenching. I wipe them on my flannel pajama pants, not yet ready to face either of them.

Entering the small kitchen and seeing Noah with his palms holding onto the counter with my mother clutching her morning coffee, I try not to let the confusion show on my face.

Is it me or is everyone going crazy?

Clearing my throat, I scramble with what to ask first. 

"Tell me what?" My throat is dry from disuse and the question comes out in a squeaky croak. Their eyes connect and settle back on me, the kitchen remaining silent.

"Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on?" Mom's eyes go disapproving. She doesn't like it when I use the word "hell" but at this point, all of my manners escape me and a sense of rage makes me clench my fists.

"Lizzy-", Noah starts but I stop him. "I'd like to hear her say it." My mom's shoulders slump in surrender.

She nods her head to the counter, where I let my weight settle onto an uncomfortable wooden stool, my body still aching. The lights in the bright kitchen do a number on my throbbing head, making me wince and grasp my forehead. Concern laces my mother's features but she must see the determination in my eyes because she stops short and clenches her jaw. Without a word, Noah leaves, presumably to wait in the living room.

"Okay, what I'm going to tell you will change your perspective on everything, even of me."

With a cold stare and a little regret over doing so, I say in a rough monotone, "I already do."

She stares at me, lifting her chin higher to appear as though my attitude doesn't affect her but I can tell it does by how she bites her lip. I feel some remorse over it but then I remember the diary entry and her opposition to telling me something, her keeping secrets. We never kept secrets from each other, ever. But I now look it her in a new light, as a person who has a completely different life that has been hidden from me.

"Lizzy, I'm not human." I can hear the blood pumping in my ears.

"And neither are you." With that, my breath whooshes out of me, my head falling into my hands.
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