Chapter Two: Desparation
The twisting darkness leaned close; kissing the boy's wounds throughout his body. The feeling of its mystic touch… was barely describable. Enough to leave one stunned from the ethereal caress it gave. It felt.. almost physical…
`If I did not lack my sight. I believe I would be truly dead, right now. An unknowable darkness holding me dear. If I could see it I might even be in a state far worse than death can grace me with. And yet with all this fear, I also feel peace. A quiet and long peace. One that stretched for decades. It is as though I'm in an illusion and feeling my most beautiful memories.`
Wren found it amusing. How could he not? After all, he had no memories to speak of. So what exactly would the darkness be pulling any from? He knew deep inside however that this moment would be fleeting and end soon.
As though to affirm his thoughts the darkness's touch drifted away. Its feeling leaving an echo on his soul. Slowly getting farther and further from him until it would fully leave. Its warm cradle fading away quickly. Like the sun leaving the sky as night begins.
Even knowing this would happen. It did not make him feel any better. His sadness and pain brought forth from his depths like offerings to an evil god. He became painfully aware of his fatal wounds now. Every scar, burn, and bruise carved into him. Coalescing into one terrible torture. Blood seeped out from all over… he knew he had to get treated soon. He had to find something, anything.
And so he ran. His torn legs limping away from the mountain of corpses he was born from. No.. he felt that wasn't right. There was a time before now, surely. Wren just could not grasp it. It never reached the surface of his mind. Held back by illusory chains.
If someone saw this beaten and battered boy they would undoubtedly vomit in disgust and fear. From his torn legs buckling and limping with scars decorated on them like war medals. To his chest with a ghastly wound deep into his stomach; barely keeping his insides inside. His arms were no better and looked as though they bathed in fire and were cut by a thousand knives. But, the worst of all was his face. From the cut going through his mouth to the scars on his cheeks and nose. If you looked up to his eyes you might pass out on the spot; for they were nothing more than bloody deformed flesh. No hint of what was there before. His eyes reduced to near nothing.
`I can hear it.. And I can smell it too. Everything.`
`From the swaying leaves on trees to the grass dancing on my feet. I can hear the rain drops sprinkling down as the storm begins its end. And feel their blissful rain. I can smell the dew and flowers as well as the whiff of corpses.`
`Long behind me now.. Yet after all this I can still smell them. That means the beasts would notice them as well.`
He knew he had to be fast. As fast as a desperate cripple could go. Tumbling through brambling bushes and pushing past anything in his way. He ran. His sickly wounds should be wide open now. And he was covered in streaming blood. Yet somehow the blood didn't stop. He should have passed out from blood loss long ago. But, he didn't have time. Not nearly enough time to think about such things.
`I can hear them.. In the distance. The fear inducing howls of the monsters. The beasts searching the night for prey.`
A bleeding and wounded boy would be nothing less than tantalizing to them. So he had to keep going. Somewhere in the night. There must be shelter somewhere. There has to be.
Soon enough, he did sense something ahead of him. The smell of smoke graced him, and the sounds of crackling cinders kept him going. It was somewhere nearby, it had to be!
The sound of beastly howls faded and homely warmth started to spread around him. He was getting closer to reaching it, the salvation he sought after. Practically dragging his bruised legs he moved on, certain to reach it at any cost.
.
In the dead of night a walking corpse rushed towards fire. Craving it like a moth. With every wheeze and every grunt he got closer. And after what seemed like an eternity of running he reached the flames. Yet, unbeknownst to the corpse, there was another nearby. Blinded in his obsession for survival he had never considered that the fire had an owner. He never considered what to do when he got there.
In a mad dash he reached for the burning embers. As though they might leave him too. Right in front of the fire the corpse fell to the hard ground, tripping over his useless feet. But he had won the race. He had reached what he sought so desperately.
In his mind he laughed. Laughed like the broken madman he was. If it escaped his lips it would be just as terrifying as his first cackle made tonight. So it stayed, as obediently as could be it never left his thoughts. This is a moment deserving of celebration, he believed. But corpses like him didn't have true celebrations. They were a perk of the strong and wealthy. He was neither of those things.
As his heartbeat raced he could hear every sound vastly louder. Adrenaline blessing him with inhuman senses. So he could hear the sound of a bleeding heart, the gasps of a living corpse. The dragging sound that his body made as it pulled itself forward through the ground. He could hear every dancing flame…. And he could hear the second heartbeat as well. Much more alive than his own. Just vaguely it lingered in his ears. Just enough time for him to realize his coming error.