by Brianna G. Harte
PREVIOUSLY, ON “THE KNIGHT OF XEO”
I strained to think, to tell them that it was not alright. I could hardly breathe anymore.
Moments later, a large load of dirt was lifted off my body. Louder voices, still incomprehensible, could be heard. I could weakly process one thing: it was not a language I knew. However, it wasn’t the only thing I couldn’t process. Everything seemed fuzzy. In the midst of my confusion, something held onto me firmly, carrying me somewhere.
My eyes wouldn’t open, my arms and legs wouldn’t move. I could, though, feel the wind.
The most freeing part of the experience was the simple breeze that told me that I was still alive. While dirt was brushed off of my face, I could smile. The fresh air that entered my barely opened mouth was sweet. The sensation cheered my mind, making me hope that it was real.
Hushed voices surrounded me, like the snakes had before. Once the thought came, I began to strain for any sound from their movements or thoughts. Had they abandoned me? Were they being treated alright? I pushed down any thought telling me that they deserved any pain for what just happened, since they didn’t seem to have ill-thoughts when they tried to lead me out of the room.
Loud sirens disrupted my thoughts. At first, they seemed quite distant. This, unfortunately, did not last. The sounds increasingly obliterated the peace that had settled in my mind after a nightmare underneath a mountain of dirt. I wished to clap my hands to my ears, but my arms would not respond. All I could do was allow the blaring attack my hearing.
Distinct words were spoken, whether they were to me or someone else, I could not tell. It would not have made a difference either way. Something came down on my chest and moments later, a hard object came across the area by my face. The fresh air could no longer come into my lungs. Much stiffer air came instead, a disappointing change. I was lifted onto a hard surface and voices fell away. I wished I knew what was going on. A voice I could understand. A snake maybe, that could talk to me, despite my inherent hesitation of them in each encounter. None of it came. Instead, a thin, sharp object pierced my skin. I tensed up. No. Not here too. Within an instant, I fell away toward another nightmare.
Copyright © 2017 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.