Beneath Black Blood- Chapter 3

How does time pass?

Without hesitation or regret,

Brief or long.

Time waits for no man,

How we perceive life is how we perceive time,

Fun is fast, sad is slow.

———-Alexia Barrett, 2017 (Author)——-As I slept deeper than the dead I felt healthy, alive. All that pain that was there before was gone. So I opened my eyes to the world; but there was darkness and a bump, a rocking sound?  The darkness was complete, there was no light, it wrapped around me from all sides, slowly suffocating m

 

How does time pass?

Without hesitation or regret,

Brief or long.

Time waits for no man,

How we perceive life is how we perceive time,

Fun is fast, sad is slow.

———-Alexia Barrett, 2017 (Author)——-

Chapter 3-  Irony

As I slept deeper than the dead I felt healthy, alive. All that pain that was there before was gone. So I opened my eyes to the world; but there was darkness and a bump, a rocking sound?  The darkness was complete, there was no light, it wrapped around me from all sides, slowly suffocating me.   

What was that noise? Bump, bump, bump. Bump, bump, bump. There it was again. Where was it coming from? Wait. Where was I? I remember drifting off while staring at the sky, but that was it. As I thought this I raised my hands above my head to feel my surroundings. My hands almost immediately came in contact with a roof.

As I felt around, I became certain I was in some-kind of box thing.

I gently pushed the nailed lid that was above my head, but it didn’t budge. Frustrated, I tried again, pushing harder this time.

The lid groaned like a banshee on the lake, and then literally went flying off its hinges. I gasped, half in awe of my own strength, the other half of me because of the blinding light that filled my eyes and the box I was in.

When I sat up, I took note of my surroundings. I was in a dreary chamber, no not a chamber a morgue, that’s walls of cold grey metal sent shivers through the room; sitting inside a coffin.

I had died? There were other coffins laid around on the marble floor waiting to be buried. There were bodies on shelves, draws with name tags on them, and a gigantic incinerator; an incinerator that my coffin was in a line waiting to be thrown into.

I could have been burned. I stood up then. All rational thinking aside, I just wanted to get out of there, out of this pathetic box.

My coffin was made of poorly cut oak wood, with a question mark as my title. It made me feel slightly miffed off, seeing it. How could they think I was dead?  I mean at least put some effort in before you decide to bury someone. As I looked down in disdain I saw a mirror hidden among the wall, discarded, and found myself looking at the reflection.

I was slim yet toned, my skin was very pale, paler then the snow or that girl’s icy grin. My hair was the same colour  although it had red streaks, but I quickly realised they were blood stains. My blood? My eyes, in my opinion were my most defining feature, like black pools.

Moving on, they had dressed me in a white shabby oversized funeral suit, now they were really taking the mick. Huh, oh well, it didn’t really matter. The fact was, I was in a dangerous place, sitting in a morgue run by weird people, and I didn’t remember anything prior to waking in the ice. Forget the funeral decorations; there were better things to worry about. Well I had some sketchy memories and emotions that flashed with images representing the same things. But it was all messed up, I didn’t even know my own age.

However I knew one thing that turned my frown upside down, and that was my name. Mex Cillian. For some reason it had clanged in my head, and I had known it to be mine. See everything solved, although there was the question of why. Why was I in a pool of my own blood, a second from death? Why was I still alive? Who are my helpers? Of course the more I mused, the more I knew I wouldn’t find the answer.

And then, bump, bump, bump. There was that pesky sound again. It was the shaking of my ‘coffin’; not only my coffin but everyone’s. They were all reacting to the vibrations coming from the ground. Beneath my feet and the marble floor, almost harmonious vibrations, that was barely noticeable. Barely making any difference, as it was quieter than the falling of dust. Yet it was louder than anything, it rang clearer than all the sounds in my head. How had I not noticed; it lifted and fell like symmetrical waves and shaped in a way that matched the rhythm of my heart. It felt so natural, where was it coming from?

I looked around but saw nothing that could be a possible cause in the room. But  luckily discovered a door, (okay I probably would of inevitably found the door anyway- but blame luck.) the door was as morbid as the room, it had a big cross on it with a skull- how cliché- and at the bottom a joke which the author probably thought was amusing but only their mother would laugh at. It went something like ‘if dead don’t leave the room, if alive leave through the exit.’

No I was wrong, even their mother would doubt their child.

Just sad, but strangely appropriate considering my own conditions- and I was pretty sure I was alive, key factors to prove this are,

  • I can feel my breath on my palm
  • I have a reflection
  • I’m wearing clothes
  • I don’t see my body lying anywhere
  • Also I’m warm and look perfectly healthy.

All these facts were obvious as day, though the points made me question why they were going to burn me, though strangely I did feel like death before. So much so that I would of burned me. But why am I here now feeling like a new born baby.

Stop thinking, that’s what I should do, if I keep thinking about it I might actually just die. I’ll find the answer eventually, if I believe that I will be okay.

Firstly I needed to get out of these cheesy old clothes.

A big closet was in the room, and as I opened it in simple curiosity, as if a sign sent by somebody, I found clothes. It dawned on me then that they must be funeral clothes for presenting the deceased. I felt like scum as I stole those clothes, but it didn’t matter. I needed clothes, for some reason this suit felt sticky, it itched and clung to my body even though it was big and loose, also the colour clashed with my skin and hair. Which was a vain thought- I know- but it was true

I looked through the clothes; there were general old things, like frocks from the last century maybe. Now that I thought about it; I didn’t even know the date or the time. My memories which I still had were from different years, completely                     

Different eras even. Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh, what am I going to do? I feel lost, empty even; with confusing memories and almost no motivation. Why did I even care about clothes? Maybe I should just crawl back into that coffin.

But what was I saying; there is hope and a way. I didn’t have either however, but I am certain, I am going to get through this. Even if I had to wing-it and see what happens. I had a feeling that whatever was thrown at me I wasn’t going to die from it. I couldn’t perhaps; and from how widely spread my messed up memories were. I believed I’d lived a lot longer than any normal person; no even longer than that. So I was going to be fine.

As I took off the awful suit I was wearing, I found what made it so uncomfortable, what made me feel slightly sick. My own blood, the suit was covered in it. As if as well as putting it on me, they had used it as a towel to clean me up and then dumped it. I doubted that that was the case though, more likely this was afterwards. I had a feeling that while I was in my coffin I had done this. Another mystery but anyway, I then hid the suit inside my coffin.

From the clothes I chose, the most simple clothes I could find were the denim jeans and a black ‘I am dead’ shirt with a leather army jacket.

Hopefully this looked right, even if it didn’t I wouldn’t of changed. I wasn’t bothered enough, plus something had snagged my interest. When I had first noticed the personal drawers each coffin had, my mind had only drifted on that fact. I was thinking of looking inside but it would have been wrong, literally beyond an invasion of privacy. What I hadn’t noticed though, until just recently was that I had my own drawer. It had the crudely carved question mark and everything.

For some reason I didn’t want to look inside. However I wanted to know what total strangers would leave to remember me by.

With caution, I strode towards the draw. I pulled it open slowly, ready for whatever. But my suspicions dropped when I saw the file inside. I sighed, and thought that I might as well open it. I gathered the crisp card file in my hands. It was as light as I expected it to be. And opened it, thinking I would find some document. However I fell back in disgust and morbid fascination.

The file hadn’t contained documents but pictures; pictures of me on the frozen wasteland, pictures of me on the trolley, pictures of me dead. Dead.

I nearly crumpled those images, my body the definition of mess. My head was so scratched up and bloody (like it had been bashed in), my hair so matted with that blood that I couldn’t even identify myself. I had inch deep gashes all over my anatomy, my arms and legs seemed heavily burnt, and a bone (maybe a rib or two) was sticking out of my chest.  

I remembered that boy who had tried to look over me. Why had he? Only a glance would have told him I didn’t have long. You didn’t have to be a doctor.

With that thought in mind, I slid the gruesome pictures into the file and dumped it into the drawer and shut it. I didn’t have a goal but I felt a weird sense of determination. It was now time to leave this room.

I opened the door and looked out with apprehension to find no one. The corridor I emerged into was brightly lit and the vinyl walls it had, added to the effect of a sunny space. It was a lot more positive then the dreary room I had been in.

The corridor was long and either left or right sides were both turning corners to a different place. I randomly picked right and edged along the corridor, my hands scraping the smooth wall and my bare feet shuffling along. Following the vibrations that shook the ground like a trail of golden string. As I went along though I felt my muscles instinctively tense. I began to develop the feeling of being watched. I sharply looked up, my eyes wandering, not seeing anything but then they zeroed in. A camera, how dumb was I? I should have known there would be cameras; well there was no point creeping along now. So I began walking as lf I had always been there, as if I owned the place, but a sinking feeling in my gut told me it was a bit late. I knew I had been watched too long, and staring at the camera originally may have already given the game away. I turned a bend, only to see another camera staring at me; this time felt different though. I was seeing the camera, no; my eyes were going beyond it.  

 

Inside a dark room illuminated in red, was a security system, as if being the camera, no being in the room. I viewed the fat man, my eyes shifting positions like a panning video. Looking at the big room, observing the occupant with the label ‘Barney’ on his jump-suit; drinking coffee while watching the monitor for camera one-thousand-eight-hundred-and-nine. He spat the coffee out in watery torrent when he saw me, and instantly took a phone which was on the side. Yep I was doomed.

I didn’t quite understand what I had done, or how I was doing it. But it felt natural, normal for me anyway. Something I had done before, my mind still a part of me but it felt like my soul was detached. As I thought this I lost concentration and my mind reeled back. My head physically snapping back with the shock, I shook; as it took a while for me to get back to my senses. This was my chance, a few precious seconds to escape.

While the man was on the phone I sprinted. Get away from all the cameras, but each one had a different person watching.  Run, it was the only way to escape Beep, beep, and beep “intruder alert…..Intruder alert”

Great, just great, really this was the last thing I wanted.

I panicked; I really didn’t know what to do, I just didn’t want them to find me. I couldn’t help recalling that girl named Liz, and the methods she wanted to try on me. If I was captured then I was more than likely going to have an unpleasant encounter with her. I was more than hoping that the nice boy would find me, and well just help. But I can’t rely on others. Something told me I had issues in the past with trust.

I turned left, then right, right and left through the corridor that didn’t seem to end. Meanwhile being harassed, harassed by the sounds, the enemy, coming towards me in every direction I went. My ears were sensitive somehow, sensitive to every noise.

Eventually I ended up at a cross roads, the sound of the creeping soldiers like cockroaches crawling in my mind, coming from each direction. I wanted to be swallowed whole by the ground just to get away. But then some primal instinct told me to hurt them, anger them for causing me distress. To destroy, destroy? Destroy; destroy them, to stop them in their search. Although all I can do is run, but for some reason I couldn’t run anymore, the panic inside me leaving me petrified as it grew more and more.

Why, why, why?

I couldn’t think, my brain in turmoil, my body not paying attention to my commands.

As I stood I noticed it again, I could still here those vibrations that moved beneath my feet still. It synched with my heart, resonated with it in fact. Even as my beats per minute increased tenfold. It shook and I shook, it rose with my panic as I began to feel faint. The vibrations were louder now, like throbbing in my head. Slammed, I slammed against the wall, my knees buckling from the weight in my mind. Pounding with the graceful melody of an archangel’s flute, its insightful tune

Making me feel fallen, blurring the world in my eyes.

At that point the soldiers came, it was the same characters in black, I couldn’t see them clearly but I could tell. There were more than before coming from each direction. I could feel their minds getting ready to fight but they faltered, halting in their tracks when the saw me. All this chaos and alarms for one boy, they thought. Wait, I could hear their thoughts, pressing down on me like a writhing mass. The thought, their minds,

‘Who is this boy?’

‘Why is he here?’

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘Is he alright?’

All these questions came at once. I could see in their minds eye. Their perspective of me on the ground shaking. My hair tousled and my eyes flashing. The light in my eyes were gone and they were bewitchingly dark, going uniquely red rimmed at odd moments. I was scaring the soldiers, (I was scaring myself), and they began to retreat backwards. Except for the leader, she was there, again, again standing with that boy. They held their ground, although it was obvious they were freaked, their minds telling me what lurked behind the bravery.

Only one person wasn’t struck with fear, it was that Liz girl, and her mind was truly terrifying, she was apart from the rest. And beheld proud thoughts tainted with the sick realization of the torture she was planning for me, methods. She had that disturbing smile again. I was tasting fear.

All I could see was her and her smile, her and that warped grin, her and her evil, making me panic harder than I thought was possible. And when I reached breaking point, then an anomaly occurred, the lights implanted on the ceiling began to flicker and creak like an old man. The vibrant walls peeled back and greyed, turning into depression that sliced your heart. The bright corridor was now a grim area.  Filled with stale air pushing into another corridor like a spreading disease.

And only then did my mind calm. I knew what to do… what I was going to do. 

Hello it’s Alexia! Getting exciting isn’t it 🙂

Thank you for visiting Lexi’s Story Zone.

 

 

 

 

Author: Alexia

I am Alexia. I aspire to be a writer, a professional writer, an amazing writer, a writer to go down in history. Perhaps a writer so popular someone might make a religion or a cult following based on my works. I want to be like my heroes, such as Wilde, Goethe or Tolstoy who will forever be remembered as classics. Since I was small I enjoyed the feeling of putting pen to paper and the subtle sensation of my fingers floating across a keyboard. I’ve always been told that I have an active imagination and would find myself making up different realities and universes where characters I invented would go on surreal, dark and epic adventures. Since then I have always wanted to share my unique tales to the masses and shock people with heart-warming or thrilling literature.

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