To Live Again

3. A Fragile Soul

Wake up!

The voice cracks through my skull like a whip striking flesh. It jolts every muscle and I seize, startled. Too frightened to breathe, I just lie in the gloom and with wide eyes and register that there's only the sound of the waves slapping the rocks far below and the whistle of sea-breeze. So, not a person then? Have I developed psychosis along with pointed ears?

"Great." I groan and arch out of the uncomfortable curve of rock, pressing cold fingers to my temple.

Muscles bite and pull ... sore, but not immobile. Which, given the near-death stunt of passing through reality itself isn't half bad. I sit up and wriggle my feet and legs. My shoeless foot is cold but not frostbitten, like I imagine it should be, and apart from a few bruises there's nothing misshapen or missing. I can walk, or it least it feels like I can.

Leave. The voice cuts through my roomie mind. Once more I startle at the clarity, and once more I scowl at the unbidden command, unsure how and where it manifested itself. I'd like too. I push the thought back, feeling a little ridiculous that I'm having an incoherent argument with the voice in my head. Maybe it's only a sign of madness if I start talking out loud, or is that wishful thinking?

Find him. That voice curls around my thoughts, like it's really not mine but a root weaving around and reordering my thoughts until it presents me with an image of a beautiful, blonde, cherub. Oisín. His name is definitely my own conscious voice.

Immediately I pat around the dark space of this little crevice cut in the rock face, but there's no sign of the child. He was right here. He fell asleep right in my arms ... I think? A sickness gathers in the pit of my stomach and a pounding starts in my head. My fingers crunch through matted hair, a mixture of sweat, salt, and probably dried blood. There's an increasing chance I've been hallucinating this whole time. I mean, come on, Fae? Seelie? Tír na nÓg? I bet an overactive imagination and a really high fever is to blame here.

Except, those are still delicate points to my ears. I let the pad of my index finger trail down the slightly elongated shell. A not unpleasant shiver tingles through my spine, all the way from the base of my skull to something a little lower than my gut. My throat goes dry and tight all at once, my fingers quickly find themselves held prisoner in my lap. Well, at least I know all bodily functions are in working order. Makes sense delicate ears should be an erogenous zone ... perfectly normal ... yup, totally expected. I swallow, and I swear that secondary voice in my head chuckles in amusement. I ignore it, because that's the best way to deal with unwanted voices—pretend they aren't real—and they aren't. None of this can be.

But what if it is?

Not sure if that's my conscious voice, or the psychotic one, or both.

A plan. I need a plan of action. Yes, got to keep a clear mind, what would Bear Grylls do? Probably find fresh water, and see what resources are at hand. Right, let's see what I've got in my pockets at least, and better check for any hidden injuries.

Carefully, I unzip my coat and lay it out on the ground. My muscles are sore and protest a good bit but it's nothing worse than the day after a hard session at the gym, granted it's been awhile since I frequented one of those, for precisely this reason. Still, the pain is manageable. I draw my tee up and press around my ribs, apart from a few bruises there's nothing untoward. My ripped jeans are in complete tatters, as is the coat. None of it offers much protection but it's coverings at least. I'm still shoeless on one foot, but I remove the sock so at there's some form of protection and heat. Now, food, there's bound to be gum in one of my pockets.

Rummaging around in the inner pockets of my coat, the usual hidey holes for on-the-go snacks, I'm bitterly disappointed to unearth a destroyed tissue and what looks like a bus ticket. In desperation, I cram my fingers deep into the small inner pockets, hoping something got caught in the fraying seams. True enough, my fingers catch something solid and stuck deep down. It takes a firm tug but I dislodge the item and yank it free.