The Human Xenocide

Chapter Twenty-One - I Met the Devil

Her lungs closed in on her, she couldn’t breathe.  Darkness, falling, she was falling—her eyes couldn’t see anything—only the darkness.  Falling fast, she couldn’t concentrate on anything.  All pain in her chest and limbs was gone, replaced with a numbing sensation.  She was falling, but there was no wind, no breeze.  She tried to open her eyes, but it felt as if they were stuck shut.  She reached her left hand for her eyes, but couldn’t reach, something was holding her back, something wet.  She forgot about her other hand, her right hand.  The falling slowed, the something on her hand was forcing her back into the air, she felt slime run down her hand and onto her fingers—her gloves had disappeared.  It was then she noticed her jacket was gone, off her arms.  She bent her chin down and touched fabric, her jacket wasn’t gone, but rather the one arm of it was shredded off, the arm that was being held back.

Finally her eyes opened, but only slightly.  They opened just enough to see a single white light, it was above her, and getting smaller as she fell further into the darkness.  Nothing else was around her except the thing that was behind her, holding her up.  She tried to turn around, but couldn’t, nothing on her body seemed to work right.  She could feel the wet slime run down her arm, the numbness was beginning to wear off, she could feel the liquid on her hand sting.

Slowly she felt herself turning, her eyes were going away from the white light, the light she liked, she wanted to be with.  She was getting pulled away from it.  It was terrifying.  Now she had been spun on her side.  There was nothing in front of her, only darkness.  Her mind started to race as her thoughts began to organize themselves for the first time.  Where was she?  What happened?  She remembered this place, for some reason it felt familiar, and that scared her most of all.  How could she remember the darkness, the light, the feeling? 

The only thing that wasn’t familiar in all the darkness was the wet thing holding onto her hand and the stinging that came along with it.  She wanted to see what had her, what it was.  Last time she remembered, was only a voice, only threats, only mental pain.  But this time it was entirely different, something was touching her, she hated it.  She wanted it to let go.  She wanted to fall, to plunder to her death to get it away from her.

Her body rotated a bit more, last time her eyes never left the light, she was so scared. But she felt braver this time, she felt more confident, she could look down; she had to look down.  She could see something again but this time below her, light—but it wasn’t white like the one she liked, it glowed orange, it was fire.  Small dots of fire in a huge circle, they surrounded something, some kind of city.  A city in the darkness.  She could see walls glowing in the light of the fire, and a moat—the fluid in it too dark to see. 

Then she saw buildings, fire was on top of them, keeping them well lit.  A castle, there was what looked like a castle in the middle of the city, and she was getting closer to it slowly.  Her heart was racing, the smell of burnt flesh rushed into her nostrils—it was coming from the city.  Whatever that place was in the darkness, it was evil—darker than she could ever be.  It was some place she had to get away from.  She tried to look back up at the light in the sky, to see if she could still find it—she had to get back to it, somehow.  Her body wouldn’t turn.

The stinging in her hand turned into a burning itch, one she couldn’t halt.  The itch reminded her of her hand; she realized she was in the right position to shift her eyes to look at whatever held her firm.  Her eyes slowly slid down, she saw a long, wet, circular rope extending from the darkness, she followed it up towards her hand. The rope looked as if it was pulsating, as if it was alive.  She saw where it made contact with her wrist, red watery liquid dropped from it and ran down her fingers, it was hard to see in the darkness but she was sure her hand was no longer pale, but rather an ugly gray, the same gray as a zombie’s skin.