Eyes of the Blood Moon

Free Fall

Aching. Unbearable, uncomfortable, sharp, aching. The kind of aching that doesn't cause a lot of pain, it's only in the background, but it's there. And you can feel it there, lurking in every muscle, seeping through all your organs, and it all flows back through your brain. But it's not flowing, it's stiff. It's a solid mass of discomfort. You can try to forget about it, you can try to distract your mind, and it's not painful enough for you to focus on, but it's there. It's underlying. It feels as though your entire skin is somehow aching. Every possible position you can get in will never relive this aching. It's spread through every muscle and every cell in your body, and on its own, it's not so bad, but they all vibrate out this deep, awful aching and together, it's unbearable.

Ringing. A loud high pitched ringing. Is it coming from your ears? You can't tell anymore. Where in your ears? It feels like the centre, but it's echoing so far through your brain you're losing the original wave. Now it's coming from behind your eyes. This sharp, high ringing that you can't quite pinpoint. Like when you close your eyes, after looking at a bright lamp, and that little remanent of light is in your eyelids, and you can see it there, but you can't focus on it. And it moves with your eyes, mocking you, floating around in fake space, knowing your eyes can never focus on it because it is your eyes. This awful, tormenting ringing is like that but for your ears. It's loud and it's apparent and if you can just isolate it, you can stop it. But it is your ears. You can't isolate the soul from the person. And so you live with the ringing.

Nothing. Blank, empty, nothing. It's not a black void of nothing, because that would still be something. No. It's nothing. Before you were born, you remember nothing. And when you die, it will be that same nothing. It all started when you were born, but before that, there was nothing. That untouchable, unable to be recreated, nothing. For whenever you try to make up nothing, it always turns into something. When you lie on your bed, drifting off to sleep, or perhaps you are just staring at your ceiling, and your brain isn't on anymore. It's not thinking. And you're thinking, this is nothing. I'm not doing anything, which means I am doing nothing. But you are doing something. You're always doing something. You're breathing, and your body is working in miraculous ways to keep you living, and you're always sensing, you're always feeling. Maybe not emotions, but you're always feeling something. Maybe your pillow, or maybe your clothes, or maybe the ground beneath you. Maybe the air around you. You can never be nothing. Because you are always something. And when you die, you're still something. Something to someone out there, who still feels everything. And before you were born you were always something. A concept maybe? An idea? An example? Or maybe a reproductive cell. A something. You come from so many other people, you're entire body is made up of other peoples cells. Of other peoples somethings. Even before you were born, you were never nothing.

*****

Ella held the glowing jar of holy light in her hands. It must be holy, she thought. For it was the only way to repel the evil she'd encountered. Though the glass of the jar was cold to the touch, it wasn't meant to warm her physical body. It was meant to warm the soul. And that's how she knew she would never be cold. She had been given a beacon, to warm her. And after spending at least 32 hours in this concrete pit, she came to find a warmth. It glowed so softly and delicate, barley lighting her face. She fell in love with its glow. It was the only comfort she knew at the moment.

Her mind spent the first 12 hours terrified. She made up all of her own situations of what was happening in the world above. She'd said it before, but Ella hated the feeling of unknowing. She had no idea if everyone she'd ever loved or cared about was dead, she had no idea if nothing was happening, she just didn't know.

Ella tucked the necklace back under her white shirt, now mud stained.

She sat on the far end of the room, staring back up at the narrow, wooden stairs, that lead to the only exit.

Her leg had broken, during the fall. It had been bent and distorted but she found the strength to straighten it out. Now she just sat in the cold concrete ground.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the wall behind her. Tears had been falling down her cheeks for so long they'd left a mark. She was scared. Scared for all of the people above that she couldn't find. Scared for herself, wondering if this is how she'd die. In a dark, damp room.

Her brain completely shut down after a while. It couldn't handle the fear anymore. Now she just sat as an empty shell, and that's what scared her the most. Would she ever be herself again? Or would she die as the shadow of a person she used to be. A girl in love with the water, a girl in love with the sunrise, a girl in love with a priest, a girl who liked to sing and act and entertain. Now she was just a body. Her entire soul whittling away. She knew she didn't have much time left. Before she was nothing but a corpse. She was practically a corpse already. A lifeless shell without its soul. Without its person.

The tears fell harder, they were always falling in this pit. Her mind was gone, her soul was gone, all that was left was a body. But she couldn't be nothing. She knew she could never be nothing.

"Happy birthday Ella! 7 years old! You're a holy number now Ella!"

"You could be an Angel now!"

Maybe I want to be.

"No no. Not yet. You've got a ways to go I'm afraid."

But I don't want to go that way.

"Yes you do silly! You want to be a marine biologist remember? You want to swim in the oceans and save the fish! Who's gonna save the fish without you?"

They'll find someone. They always do.

"There's no one like you though Ella. There's no one like you."

There's plenty of people like me. Do you know how many people live in this world?

"I do. But not one of them is you. Not one of them has your soul."

Maybe not. But that's not what it takes to make up a personality. I'm just like so many others out there.

"Your personality might be. But I crafted that soul with the utmost attention. Just as I do for all."

Make another one then. I'm not going anywhere.

"You're right, you're not going anywhere. Not yet."

Why do you keep saying that. In the hospital, in the rec centre, and now here. Not yet. What is that supposed to mean.

"It means not yet. It means there's always a chance. Anything and everything can always happen. And just because it hasn't happened yet, doesn't mean it never will. Not yet."

Not yet what though. There has to be something.

"Does there? Can't there be nothing?"

There can never be nothing.

"Maybe there can be."

So there is nothing. You're telling me there is nothing.

"There's always something, you said that."

So you're saying there's nothing. There's no chance. No hope. No reason for me to try and fight?

"Not yet."