Breed and Burn: Skinless

chapter 9- sad inside

His eyes grew dark, a perfect image of misery. Crimson caught his eyes but he was too overwhelmed to move or comprehend his surroundings. All he knew was that no longer alone in the darkness with his memories.

Something was moving, close and familiar, but faster. Without breathing, he braced for something horrible to occur. A slice of fear cut through him as he recognised his surroundings.

He was on a train: he could feel it. Head spinning, he felt panic course through his veins. His heart stapled shut. Air didn't seem to want to enter his lungs. It's refusal to cooperate intensified the panic. Panting, he felt his knees shake beneath his weight. He could hardly carry his own weight. As his body became suspended from his body, he never felt so alive. Everything hurt in a way it shouldn't. However, this was familiar.

This was a panic attack, like the ones Braedon described him having frequently before he lost his memories. He grabbed the sides of the carriage only to realise that there were no windows in the carriage, just gaping holes.

A metal scraping scratched against the air and was followed by a terrible grinding sound. A lurching shudder shook the floor. He was in the driver's cabin.

Bands tightened around his lungs. As his breathing became more erratic and shallow, he gave into his own personal storm. How could he get rid of this? He remembered that Trent had a panic attack when Noble died but he couldn't remember how that was dealt with.

Thoughts accelerated viciously in his head. Although he willed them to slow down so he could control his breaths, he couldn't. He just couldn't. An invisible hand was clamped over his mouth: a ghost working against his mind and with his body. Ribs heaving as if bound by wire, he strained to inflate his lungs.

Breathing. He couldn't breath. He couldn't do the most instinctive thing in any living thing.

His head was a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one trying to push his mind into blackness. Gathering all his willpower, he forced himself to remain grounded- mentally and physically. There was a reason Faceless put him in this situation.

However, the speeding train did not help.

After the worst of it seemed to pass like a storm cloud, he tried to move his head although it felt as heavy as the hands of God.

Tears rolled silently down his chalky face. Dread filled him. No. He kept repeating that to himself. This couldn't be. Not again.

He wasn't God! Why could the universe not understand that? Why were lives always in his hands? Why did he have to make the impossible decision between death and death. Nothing could prepare him for this.

This was that stupid train experiment that had philosophers debating for years. Only this was real life and felt very much real. Anger pulsated through him but as faint as falling dew.

As he desperately took in a mouthful of air and forced it down, he looked at how the tracks branched to two sides. It was a similar representation to the trolley problem: on the main track a baby was tied to it. On the sidetrack, three old woman were tied to the track. If he redirected the track by pulling the lever beside him, he would save the life of an innocent. When he was young, the importance of young people was very important. After the age forty, people were considered useless and thrown out. Old people were thrown into homes before they could remind the younger generation of the inevitable- the few people that managed to reach old age. Axel had never seen an old person before.

The world was so ridden with early death that those who did start to age would get plastic surgery to conceal it if they hadn't already. In America, he remembered that the average lifespans had increased to one hundred and twenty. The rich had the chance of immortality because of something Roman had said on the train about being able to upload consciences onto computers. He wasn't sure why anyone would want to live longer than they had to.

Axel was torn. Was it worth saving five lives instead of one, even if they were near their demise? At that thought, he realised that the old woman could outlive the baby.

What was the right thing to do?

Time slowed down. Axel took his own time as he studied the elderlies' faces. Old age to him seemed like a destination on an unchartered horizon. These woman were likely once made of steel but beaten down my old age- their hair was a mixture of grey and white and was very thin. Their faces were like withered flowers left to waste, cast out by society. Skin was so saggy and filled with folds that it seemed disconnected from their skulls.

Although they looked weak and appeared to be completely dependent on others, they were begging with words that fell listless against the wind. Although he wanted to assume they wanted to give their lives up for the baby, he knew that they wanted to live. It was human instinct. What surprised him was although their appearances were wrinkled like parchment, their voices were unwavering. Although he could hear them, he couldn't understand them like trying to read text in a dream.

A shame like no other tugged at his heart. It was wrong to take the life of innocents but he didn't want to be responsible for another death. This, this was out of his control.

As he stood back, he closed his eyes. This blackness was a visual silence and became a blanket of protection. He wouldn't pull the lever. Not this time. In this blackness, everything seemed possible even the chance that the baby would also survive.

Why was this taking so long? He had thought this was a hologram even though this was so real.

All behavior was communication. All babies cried but in that moment the baby's screaming was the most desperate form of communication. It reached out and squeezed his heart. It's raw intensity sent trembles throughout his body. He found his shaky fingers wrap around the lever.

He had to pull it. He couldn't breathe.

he hated himself.

as he went to pull the lever, the

crying stopped.

it stopped so violently,

like one moment it was there

and the next it wasn't.

Innocent was too far gone,

to come back now.

just like that