Bloodhearts

Chapter one: Afterlife.

Hi again guys! Long time, no see...

Thanks for giving this story another chance at life ;)

I'd be happy to know what you think of this first chapter of part 2, so if you leave me some feedback, I'll be a happy writer :)

Thanks for reading,

MysteryOfWordsDK

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I wake up in my own bed. The sun is hitting my face just right so that I'm blinded on the right eye. But it doesn't matter. I can feel the warmth from the rays of light. It feels good. It reminds me just how far I've come these past couple of months. My speech is better and my skin is less pale. I look alive now. A little pale, but still alive. The thought makes me smile. It's nice to know all of this. To know who I am. Just a handful months ago, all there was only darkness. I turn my head, gazing at the pillow next to mine. It has a Cory-shaped dent in it. My guess is that he is up doing rounds, perhaps at the perimeter fence. I'm still not allowed to join any patrols. When I came out of 'the hospital' a month ago, I could barely walk on my own. So they think it's best to keep me 'safe' here in the house. I absolutely hate it. I have no idea what is happening around me. Sometimes Jason takes pity on me and takes me for a ride along the perimeter fence. But we can only do that when Cory is busy and won't notice. We caught us once and gave us both a piece of his mind. He's very protective of me. It's not so strange. It's been something of a process to rehabilitate me and to make all my muscles work right again. I am after all one of the very first guinea pigs. As lucky as that makes me, it also means my recovery is longer and more complicated than those just starting treatment. Of course, everybody has their own issues when fighting to find their way back to life. Some people need amputations and other things to survive. I am lucky enough to still have both of my legs and I can actually get out of the bed on my own now, something I'm quite proud of. I can even walk down the stairs and dress myself unless there are troublesome buttons involved. Fine motor control is still playing tricks on me.

Getting up from bed, however, starts with a deep breath and I prepare my body for the strain it's about to feel. With determination, I roll onto my side and push myself up to into a seated position. Then I take a breather before moving on. Now comes the hardest part; I have to get myself up to a standing position. This takes the longest and involves a lot of energy because my balance is still a bit off. Pushing myself off the bed, I stagger to the dresser, smiling. Today, I've done it a lot faster than usual. Cory tells me it's important to celebrate small victories like that.

I get hold of my crutches. I use them to help me keep my balance and back away from the dresser. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and instantly look away. Just when I was trying to focus on the good, the bad comes creeping right up on me again. The paleness of my skin might be gone, but arguably, I look worse now than I did when I was dead... and that's because I've become really skinny and look malnourished and sick. I can hardly recognize my own face because it's sunken. I don't like looking in the mirror and seeing that face. I don't want to let it steal away my good mood. I turn away from the mirror and begin the struggle of getting dressed. I still turn to my uniform first. It does not fit any longer, but I don't care. I'm not wearing anything else. I reach for my walkie on the dresser to see if anything's up today. It's the only way I've been able to pick up on what happens around camp when Cory isn't around here with me. Which is often these days. He's always busy.

I fight my way downstairs and sit and listen to the walkie. It's a quiet day and I smile slightly when I recognize the voices communicating that all is well.