March from Darkness | ✓ (to be edited)

EIGHTEEN

DEMITRI

It was cold when I woke up. It felt like I had been dipped in ice water then was thrown out into snow to suffer. Everything hurt, and I could feel something dripping down my arm and my chest, something that only made my body seem colder as I felt it roll. I so badly wanted to get up, but my brain felt heavy, slow, like I'd been drugged.

The second thing I noticed was the lack of sky here. I was, indeed, outside in the snow, but the sky here was pitch black, lacking any stars, moon, or colour; it was more like a ceiling than a sky, and if I squinted slightly, I thought I could make out stalactites hanging from that menacing void. Despite the lack of stars, there was a dimness to this place, as if someone was shining a light through several layers of cloth.

I turned my head to the side, immediately regretting it when my face met burning-cold snow and the bony face of a skeleton. My eyes widened as I quickly stood up to get away from it. My heart was pounding; sure, I had seen dead people, but this was the first dead thing I'd seen since my arrival into the Afterlife. It was also out of caution that I tried to put as much distance as I could between me and the remains of whatever person had died here. If gods and what were essentially demons could exist, then I had no doubt that raising the dead was common place.

The face of my unfortunate companion was covered nearly all with snow, only the tops of his shoulders and skull were visible. His skull was covered in sharp frost and ice crystals, giving him almost an illusion of armour, a mask. Those eyeless sockets were filled and coated with ice, making them reflect my terrified expression back to me. He was missing quite a few teeth, but the sabre-like fangs that extended past the line where his gums would normally be on the bottom were still very much intact, if not free from rot. They still looked sharp despite the yellow colouring and slight decay, and it was that realization that made me step back further, still facing the skeleton.

As I took quick glances of the scenery around me, I saw that we were in a barren stretch of land that was covered in snow. If that skeleton decided it wanted to fight me, I'd be on my own. That would not be such an issue if we were in the mortal realm, but down here, I had no idea what these creatures were capable of in terms of violent tendencies. I started shivering again, and it finally occurred to me that my arm and chest were still dripping something. I didn't want to look down, I already knew what it was by its pungent odour, but my body decided to not listen to my brain, and I found myself staring at my chest.

The only issue with that vision was the fact that my chest was no longer mine. It was the chest I had prior to my surgeries, and it was confined in a tight white shirt that had a giant red patch spreading out from my stomach. When had I been stabbed? There was no pain to it, so maybe it was another illusion. Gods, I hoped it was, I felt like I was going to be sick, not from the sight of the blood, but from the sight of seeing a body that I had loathed for most of my life. I felt my face with cold hands and I was terrified when I felt smooth skin instead of at least a bit of stubble. My cheeks felt fuller, my jaw less square, my neck thinner, even my hips had come back, leaving me having to focus on keeping my bile down.

I felt my anger surge back to me tenfold as I stared at this body that was not mine, wanting so badly to kill something for making me like this again. I was disgusting, unsightly, a person that resembled a mannequin more than an actual human. A boy trapped in a girlish body that all too painfully remembered every detail of every injury that had been dealt to this body, every bruise, cut, scratch, brand, and scar that some moronic children and adults had thought it acceptable to create.

I felt my teeth start to ache, my eyes burn with cold rage, my fingers throb painfully. I wanted to claw myself out of this body, but rational thought forced me to accept the fact that that was not an option. I had no way of releasing this anger in me, this disgust, so I let it brew as I walked away from the skeleton. I no longer felt the burn of the cold, I felt the burn of my fury as I trudged through the snow towards a small hill that I could just barely make out in this stark-white landscape.