A wakening voice
The sharp smell of coffee was appealing, but its bitter taste was lacking. The sound of the woman calling him was near, but the gentlewoman felt far and elsewhere. Where was he? What was this strange world where half-truths, levitation, and darkness were the norms?
Her voice vibrated in his head, a soft reverberation that came and went, like the echoes he used to make as a child in the caves at summer camp. —Heyooo! —he would go, expecting the cave to answer back with some news. Nothing ever did return, except for the mirror of his voice in the darkness.
It wasn’t much different this time. David could hear the words, but he was engulfed in blackness. He tried opening his eyes but to no avail. Dave tried moving his arms and reaching out to whoever’s voice was calling him, but it didn’t work. He tried running towards the sound, feat easier said than done in the dark, but it was useless. He couldn’t even cry.
He felt isolated like a fish in a fishbowl, without the safety of the aquarium. He could navigate the enveloping darkness as if he were suspended in water. He could move his arms and legs but could tell these weren’t his real arms and legs because he couldn’t feel friction, or any sensation of his skin rubbing against something.
He feverishly chased the sweet voice around the bowl of his existence. Dave circled around, trying not to get lost, but that was physically impossible in a bubble. David looked, moved, and screamed with a voice that had no sound. He felt he didn’t belong; he was an outsider.
After the frenzied quest, suffocated screaming, and teary-eyed anger, he calmed down. The sweet melodic voice dissipated into a mere mumble. He began to drift, occasionally hearing words—…stable, but no response …pupils dilated …in a coma.
WE&P by: EZorrilla.
Special thanks to: Simon Cartagena