Mythical Shadows

Chapter 18: Life and Death

I simply stood there, frozen, staring at the place where he had died. Sercher was gone, but I didn't move.

I felt numb. Not like it never happened, because I knew that it had. But so many emotions were flooding into me that I had no reaction to them at all. So many emotions, but no feeling. An overload.

Nobody else said anything. They seemed sick, or lightheaded, or whatever. Most were stunned, some were crying, others were somewhere else beyond where I could see. But I barely paid attention to them, because I had enough on my own mind.

I decided to go to the balcony. My footsteps felt heavy as I walked, but I needed to walk. I needed to do something, because the more I did nothing, the worse I felt.

But still, I . . . I hardly felt anything.

I knew the emotions were there. There was rage coursing through me. There was deep guilt, that it was all my fault, that I should have saved him. And there was despair unlike any other.

But I felt none of it. It was walking next to me, poking me, wanting me to look at it. And I did want to give it the attention; I wanted to let myself feel the emotions. But somehow I couldn't. Somehow, release was out of reach. So it was merely there, looming over my head—which seemed even worse than facing it head-on. . . .

I leaned against the balcony rail, and stared out.

Mine had died. He was now in Limbo, with Cherubily and with ChiLynn and with Rezzus. And who knew who else was there? And who knew what was really in Limbo? Maybe Mine was already going insane. Or maybe Limbo didn't even exist, and they all were just . . . gone. . . .

And soon that numbness in me began to wear off.

Soon, the misery, the anger, the hatred of Sercher and of myself . . . the guilt, the pain, the sorrow . . . I began to feel it. I began to feel it seep into my inner being. I clutched the rail, and my breathing became ragged, and I felt it eating away at my sanity.

Sercher . . . Mine . . . me . . .

Horrible . . . dead . . . oh . . .

Why . . . ?

I pulled myself into the rail with all my strength. I swore, and pushed myself off of it and slammed my fist into the opposing wall. I tensed and shook. I kicked the wall as hard as I could, and weakly, I let myself collapse onto the cold wooden floor.

I felt like crying. But I couldn't. Not even for Mine.

Everything ran through me in such an agonizing way. Every emotion held me by the neck, choking me, strangling me till I had no more breath, and I had no way of making it let go. I couldn't release or express or relax my emotions. They were there, killing me, and they weren't going to leave.

I got up and moved to the railing again, my movements erratic and impulsive and wild. I clutched the rail even harder. I pressed my body to it, an innate craving to destroy it. My breaths were heavy . . . and I tried to fathom the darkness inside me . . . but soon my anger wore down . . . and instead, I felt the waves of sorrow and grief and agony envelop me, and swallow me whole.

Oh, oh . . .

I let out some kind of noise. It was like a sigh, of exhaustion and pain. It was like a moan, full of deep sorrow. But it was most like a whimper—a pathetic noise from someone too weak . . . too weak to exist. . . .

And Mine. He had died. I had let him die. And in such a painful, torturous way . . . all because of me. All because of my failures, and my weaknesses. I could've prevented it, I could've pushed my friends away, I could've never come near this mansion in the first place. But—