Intention Man (title in progress)

Bridges + Forests

Laying half off the bed, head drooped over the side, a dizzy floor swirling before his eyes, and stomach threatening to erupt at any given moment. His heart was pounding faster than it ever did during social interaction, his arms and legs and basically every part of his body burned as if a fire had been lit within his bones, and a steady flow of sweat had been dripping from his neck over the past hour, drenching his shirt and making everything even worse.

After the necessary trip to the synth station (made possible only by Serafina's looking out for him), Lev had barely made it back to the apartment in time to partially claw his way up to his room and collapse on his bed before the world began spinning. And he became like the petals—flimsy and floating without any particular destination in mind, but hopefully one that would eventually lead to better rest. But for now the path to that rest was obscured by the contents within Lev's bloodstream.

The only thought to console him was that perhaps this was what being burned alive felt like. If he could survive this, dying by fire wouldn't be so bad, in fact, it might be rather preferable to other methods.

As his mind and his stomach and blood swam together in fire, the events of the day became less tangible and more like an old, far memory that could only be obtained through intense concentration and the deepest of reflection or, it would risk being lost in the abyss of time for all of eternity.

Lev's eyes were drawn to the lights lining his walls and he groaned, trying to reach a hand up as if to grasp them and the day he'd left behind upon inserting the synth needle into his skin. There was something he needed to remember. Something he was supposed to do. Clouds lined his vision and his arm wobbled and fell back against the bed. Petals floated between his thoughts and landed upon him, shocking his system and his eyes pried themselves to a close. Every existent weight in Trealles must have been placed upon his back in that moment because moving was not an option.

If this was what death felt like, he wished it would come soon. But if it didn't, he might already be used to how it felt to lose his life, slowly. And if death was the outcome, either way, would it matter when it was achieved?

"Have you checked on Lev lately?" A voice reminiscent of a maternal figure in Lev's life drifted up the stairs and through his open trapdoor—he'd been unable to close it for lack of strength and willpower.

A more rumbling paternal voice reached him this time, only adding to his mind clouds some lightning and thunder. "He is almost to the final level of Higher Learning. He has dealt with reactions before, he can do it again."

"But this is a new system. You said he looked horrible on the way back to the apartment."

"He always looks horrible."

"He's your son."

"And my son has cost me more money than I care to think about. Haven't you ever wondered what we're supposed to do if we never find a synth he isn't allergic to, June? His entire life has been switching from synth to synth only to—excuse the imagery—regurgitate them from his system. That's a lot of money he expels from his mouth and onto the floor and I don't think we have the funds to continue this for the rest of our lives."

"That's an awful thing to say."

"Just because it's awful doesn't make it any less true, June. You know that. You have the same thoughts in your mind, don't lie to me."

Deafening silence that quieted even the ringing in Lev's ears. And that was enough of an answer that Lev had never wanted to know. 

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