The Four Dimensions of Corey Emerson

We Were, We Are

            I fell into a deep obsession with Corey Emerson. Time and time again, the old man in the neighboring cell would try to talk to me, but I would pretend not to hear him. I hated everyone and everything. Life clung to me and so did fury. Days and days went by when I saw nothing but the comings and goings of the aquamarine sun peeking through the ceiling of the prison cell. When I got out, I was told I was in the Underground of the Vampirian Parliament for about the equivalent of a month         . That meant the war was days away.

            Before all of that, though, I did nothing but ignore and watch the little man at the same time. When he’d talk to me, I reply, but I’d watch him draw little figures in the air and on the ground of his cell

            The weak man was drawing something, one day… something I’d seen before. He was using he dirt and dust on the floor of his prison cell. I could see it had wings.

            “What- what is that?” I croaked. I hadn’t talked in many days. I was so parched, I didn’t know I could still speak. I grabbed the metal bars and tried to look in as best I could. There was hardly any light.

            “A friend,” The man mumbled.

            “A friend?” I repeated; my voice echoed through the conjoined cell. I saw the man nod. The wool hood and cowl he wore made him almost blend in with the dirt and grime.

            “He’s a pain in my ass, though,” the man had a mixed chuckle and cough.

            I couldn’t feel myself breathe; what was left of my strength was used to kneel and reach my arms as far through the bars as I possibly could. “E…” I gasped for saliva. I could feel the remainder of my burn singe. It slightly glowed but I didn’t bother tending to it.

            The wrinkled man looked at me. I gasped. His face was pale-white and shallow and his eyes, black. I could see no soul. The corpse crawled to me slowly, messing up his dust drawing. I saw Bran’s wings fly off with the rest of the particles of dirt.

            The corpse was a skeleton and a cloak… I wanted to switch bodies with him. He looked like he hadn’t been fed in years.

            I was too shocked to cry; Emerson had a small yet thick brown and salt and pepper beard. He had been captive for a while. A long time.

            Emerson was practically nose to nose with me. I couldn’t stand staring at his bones anymore. I closed my eyes.

            “No! No, no, no, no…” Emerson sighed. He reached through the bars and touched my face. What was left of his hands froze my cheeks.

            I opened my eyes and the small man breathed normally again. “You’re-.”

            “Dead?”

            “-Dying,” I finished. Every time I blinked, Emerson mad a small heaving sound. He stayed content.

            “It’s fine. It’s not like I’ll make it out of here to see you—Khack!—kick ass in that stupid war…” E looked into my eyes. “Unless it’s already won…”

            “No,” I breathed, still in disbelief. The war hadn’t really been on my mind since I was captured… or even before then…

            “Yeah, that’s what I thought… we’d have been out of here by now.”

            “‘We’?”