Brother from another mother

Heat Wave. [Part-4]

The darkness stubbornly persisted. Even when he was conscious, he was trapped in the dark. It impaired both sight and hearing. His eyes refused to open and the only sounds he could pick up were dull thrums. It affected his mind too, making his thoughts sluggish and incoherent. He couldn't hold a solid thought for long before the dark ripped it away from him and tore it to shreds, making it impossible to piece together again.

It was frustrating.

And empty.

And lonely.

His voice didn't work. He couldn't call out to anyone. He couldn't even fend off the oppressive dark with a distracting one-sided conversation.

In times of semi-consciousness, his body felt heavy and unresponsive. He couldn't move. His hands were made of lead and his feet felt like they were missing from his body. He couldn't wiggle his toes to assure himself that his feet were still attached. Even the mere movement of his chest as he took in slow, deep breaths felt arduous.

The one comfort he did have was that everything hurt.

The pain reminded him that his limbs were all still attached and that everything was working properly aside from being immobile. That pain meant that he was still alive.

Despite this truth, in the unyielding empty darkness, he began to feel afraid. Trapped as he was, he could not cry out for help. He doubted he even had the ability to register help if it was given to him. There was no escape.

And he was afraid he would be trapped forever. Lost in the dark. Alone.

Perhaps he was in a coma. He had never been in one before. Was this what it felt like? To be so close to the tangible world: to be able to dimly hear sounds of movement around him and yet be unable to determine what or who was making them? to be able to feel his own body and the pain that emitted from it and yet be unable to move?

Perhaps he was in limbo, suspended between life and death. He grandmother had mentioned limbo once after a harrowing encounter with a heart attack. She had died for a full minute before the doctors had brought her back. She had said that, in the minute, it felt like a lifetime of just floating, weightless in the dark where she could make neither sound nor movement.

Was he dying? He couldn't remember if he had been. He couldn't remember anything except the unending dark close around him. Was he already dead? Was he doomed to spend an entirely alone in the dark?

He didn't like it. He hated it. He wanted it to stop; to go away.

Something wet and warm trickled down his cheek. He could feel that. He could feel the tears sliding down his face. But he could do nothing about it. He was still in the dark, unsure if he was comatose or dying or not. But he could cry. His body hadn't quite detached from the physical world just yet.

The fact brought some relief; a small victory in a losing war. But clearly not enough since the tears continued to fall.

And then a presence appeared at his cheek and shattered the suffocating dark. A soft touch from, what his mind dimly registered as fingers, caressed his cheek, wiping away the tears.

He could have cried out in pure joy. He wasn't alone after all. There was someone else at the edge of the darkness. Someone he couldn't see or hear, but knew to be there. The warm touch lingering on his cheek proved it.

But then the touch went away and he panicked in the dark. Had he slipped back into unconsciousness and could no longer feel the presence beside him? Was the presence even still there?

He relaxed again as the familiar fingers embraced his hand. He wished with all his heart that he had the strength to grip that hand back but the fact that there was someone with him and that his body had not disappeared into the dark was enough.