Shadows materialized
and vanished one after the other, ephemeral yet memorable.
But why?
The world seemed
heavy, reality a haze completely impenetrable, the black air itself fighting to
extinguish him.
Him?
Suddenly he coughed,
his lungs realizing the toxins being breathed needed to be expelled. The boy fell to the ground, not realizing he
had even stood in the first place.
Distant pain shot through his knees, almost like he was watching it
happen to another. Yet here was oxygen,
certainly more than just a few feet up.
What was happening?
Was it reality that
wanted to crush him? Perhaps. He felt on the verge of something, his mind
racing as a great chasm was on the brink of being crossed, but then it was gone
as the boy's left side was suddenly crushed by falling rubble from above.
It was from the
ceiling. He was inside. Heaving with a great effort he forced himself
out from under the debris, rolling over.
This pain did not feel distant, it screamed at him, threatened to
overwhelm him with its need to be acknowledged, its sudden birth requiring an
immense fee upon him. But that would
come later. For now, he contained it
somewhere.
Odd, the ability to
contain such incredible agony should have been a miracle in itself, yet he did
it without hesitation. Why couldn't he
think? What was - the floor started to
fly up until he realized he was falling in just a moment. It was his turn to crash down below. His body was emptied of air upon the impact
with the ground below him and he felt himself bounce several inches up and come
down once more. He heard cracks and was
sure his ribs had been broken by this fall.
Time. He had none of it. Nothing to waste. What could he do? Danger.
It was everywhere. Staying was
not an option. But what could he do?
Move
A voice in his head
spoke to him. Of course. That was the only thing he could do. He could feel his throat clawing at the air
for something, anything to sustain it.
No time.
Rolling over took
everything he had, but it was not enough.
Once he turned. Twice. Three times.
More was needed. This was a
simple battle of survival, one he could not lose. He trembled as he rose onto his knees,
gasping for breath. A way out.
A
way out of what?
The thought startled
him. No time to acknowledge it. The building.
Needed to escape - a fire. That
was what had caused all this. That was
smoke. He realized now why he could not
think, could not breath. There was no
oxygen.
Coughing,
desperately attempting to find air where none could be found he forced himself
up and stumbled forward, completely blind in the smoke. He raised an arm to guide himself, but still
slammed into a wall unable to stop what little momentum he had. His skin exploded in sensation. He was burnt all over, the fire had been
raging all around him and he hadn't even realized it yet. Charred clothing fell to ash as it rubbed
against the wall.
Rest. He needed to rest, just a moment to recover -
that meant death. He couldn’t afford to
die, not yet. Colossal willpower brought
him once more to his feet. He felt along
the wall for the end, unable to breath.
He knew he couldn't last more than 10 seconds.
Please. A way out.
Someone help me?
He suddenly pitched
forward as the wall ended, and he felt himself falling through the air. Sweet, open, healthy air. And then the earth pounded him in the gut,
the weight of a planet behind the blow.
At least it felt like that. The
force of the blow must have sent him back into the air - for the second time in
such a short time - for he felt its swing again. The dirt was so dry out here, outside the
building he had just been in.
What color was the
dirt? Can't see, too dark. A flaming beam fell several feet away, saving
him from falling into unconsciousness where he was laying. That would be an end to his life, as surely
as if he had stayed inside the burning building.
He crawled forward
as best he could. After several attempts
he stopped trying to use his left arm, the explosion of pain it brought was too
much to take and almost caused him to black out. So he relied on his right side and his legs
as best he could. He felt himself
leaving the very essence of his life as he dragged himself on, the wounds
cauterized by the fire opened anew by this insane flight from the raging
inferno behind.
Who knows how long
he struggled, his battle against the ground tremendous, yet not even a tenth as
great as the duel against death itself he fought, knowing that should he lose
his concentration for but one moment everything would have been wasted, all that
effort. Wielding nothing but his
strength of mind and his conviction he held the reaper at bay. The end of his time had not come.
He had time once
more. And then there was only black,
exhaustion overtaking him. He could only
pray that death would not strike again.
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