Becoming Hades

1 | Awaken

Aubrey

978. 979. 980. 978. 979. 980...

I found that it makes the dreams go quicker if you count something in your head. I heard it through the grapevine, someone counted the number of markings on a pillar and it helped them pass out near instantly.

But what I found is that while counting may help the others go to sleep easier, counting has helped to make me wake up faster.

978. 979. 980. 978. 979. 980. 978...

Time works differently in dreams. At least, it does in my dreams. It likes to stop, and I can sometimes be here for hours, days, even to the point where it feels like weeks. Stuck in this sempiternal prison of blood red skies and ink black chasms. Water rushes under my feet, but I'm safe behind the glass road with no reflection. It gives the illusion that I'm floating above an abyss.

I sense someone is behind me before I can even hear him gasp for breath. He's always had a hard time breathing.

"Hello?" 979. 980. 978. 979. 980...

He's waiting for me to turn around and look at him, to acknowledge his presence. But I don't want to.

"Help me."

My nose reels and I do my best to cover it up from the stench of sulphur and charred flesh.

"Stop it."

I uncross my legs and stand up, paying particular attention to the moles sprinkled on my left arm. The muscles obey as I stretch, flexing and contracting back into place so effortlessly you'd wonder if it even happened at all. I count the dots silently to myself, making a gesture of pointing them out without moving my hand away from my nose. 978. 979. 980...

"Stop ignoring me."

There's a neediness laced into his voice, like a young child begging for their mother's attention. Intrigued, I flip my arm around so that my knuckles face the darkening sky, continuing the counting once more. He whines, and his voice only grows needier.

"Help me."

"Help m-me!"

"H-He—Help me!"

I used to run to him. Try to shield him from the big bad monster he was cowering from. When I didn't turn towards him, he would just keep complaining and fussing and it would last for ages. After a day or so he would start actually crying. Deflecting his pain has always been difficult because it was just the two of us, and it would stay that way until I would turn my back and meet his gaze. I don't want to, though. It always ends the same way.

Counting usually helps make things go by faster, or at least made me think it did. I know that time never actually goes quicker when I count. But if I just distract myself, consciousness tricking the unconscious, sometimes it feels like I can hear a clock ticking faster and faster in the distance.

I wait it out for what I assume is an hour of wailing and crocodile caterwauls before talking a walk. Walking here is dangerous, but I'm feeling a bit cocky and so I take each step forward with less and less caution. His begging echoes in the distance, until I can no longer here it. I try counting to myself aloud, but nothing comes out of my mouth. Instead, I mouth the numbers and pinch at the skin on my arm. Crescent moons are left after each squeeze.

I'm not even squeezing that hard, but they still form. My veins press against the flesh, and a weird feeling nestles within them. It's itchy, and I try to scratch it away, but no matter what it still tingles and burns. This has never happened before.