The Torn

Chapter 3

My whole body burns. Is this what it feels like to be burned alive? My mother would know. My brother would know. No, why do I smell stew.... I've always liked stew. I stir. Someone murmurs above me. People.... I thought all the people had died.... no that can't be right.... Something smooth and cool grazes my nose. It feels good. I feel it again but this time with a flick of something wet closer to my eye. What the- I squint open my eyes pushing away the stinging sensation. Some fat weight is laid over my forehead, my eyelashes flicker against it causing it to squirm. Squirm?! I jolt up throwing off a woolen blanket and sending a scaled wriggling mass onto a hay-strewn floor. "Ohh!" I cough out, sending dull, aching pain throughout my body. Even my scalp cries out as I launch myself into the air flying on my feet whirling around to face the shadows around me. These shadows, however, clear from my vision, shaken into two faces. One if you don't count the snake. I recoil from the scaly creature coiled on the floor and the girl before me. She sits calmly and watches me before brutal coughs start to roughly rake through my body. It feels as if someone personally stuck slender slivers of ice shards in my lungs and diaphragm. I kneel over clutching my throat. My muscles burn. I glare up at the girl, "Who are you?" Snarling, my voice sounds rougher, harsher, and scratchier than its ever been. Water dribbles from the corner of my mouth, lake water, I swipe at it with my sleeve. The girl doesn't flinch,  just watches me. Her snake remains coiled to strike. She just watches me size her up, I have no idea what she's thinking. Quietly she extends her arm and the snake rises to curl itself around her forearm like a lethal accessory. Red-eyed albino corn snake. Non venomous. Constrictor. North American and docile. Fair natured. Not a threat. My eyes flicker towards the girl. Short hair the color of straw, broad shoulders, tall, strong structure. Easily taken out with the element of surprise but not to be underestimated. Well muscled, large build lessens stealth, doubtfully planning to murder me now. Probably wants answers or housing payment and bedding, my eyes flicker towards the pile of herbs and tonics towards the corner of the loft. My eyes track the architecture of the space. Narrow loft, maybe an old, narrow tool shed? The floor is covered with hay and there's little room. The girl's supplies, it seems, are kept on the rows of shelves that line the walls above us. My coughing stills leaving me washed out and slightly dead feeling. Finally the girl moves. She rises from her cross-legged position to stand across from me. I sigh, its inevitable, and stick my hand out, grimy as ever. "Thanks" She eyes it, not unkindly, before placing her only slightly less dirty hand into mine. Her eyes meet mine,
"Any time"

The next two nights fly by in a blur. I pass in and out of consciousness, this, the girl tells me, is not only from extreme exposer, near drowning, and hypothermia, but also dehydration and hunger. So yeah, I seem to have it pretty rough. What's more is that I also still have shards of window beneath my skin and the bacteria from the dirty glass has given me small areas of infection around the punctured skin. The girl treats them. I let her. We still haven't exchanged names. Sometimes she's there, sometimes she leaves for what seem like hours at a time. Other times it seems like she'll never leave. I still wait for her to attack, for her to alert them of my presence, to demand payment, to turn me in. Quickly hours of what used to be resting and healing time turn towards impatiently awaiting the girl's return and then impatiently waiting for her absence. Being trapped alone in a tower doesn't actually help one's appreciation of free time. I watch the snake, Mico, the girl calls him. His red unblinking eyes seem to always follow mine, tracking my movements, whether it's wound around the girl's triceps or dangling from the rafters. It seems as though I may be free from one prison, I find myself looking into in the threshold of another.

Tonight she returns late, later than usual at least. Her shawl is wrapped tight around her shoulders, the snake draped drowsily across them. One look at her face, though, tells me that this is not going to be a restful night. That's okay, I seem to have too much time on my hands these days anyway.