The Lost Souls

The Abyss

Nausea stirs me from sleep like I'd rolled down a hill during the night. I feel like throwing up. Strands of hair cover my pillow, straggly and neglected. I'm losing hair. The worst headache I've ever experienced sits on the back of my head, threaten to crush me with the weight of it. My eyes feel heavy; the skin under them has gone dry. My bed sheet is ice cold. Goosebumps cover every inch of my skin. My throat feels as dry as the skin under my eyes. I feel horrible. And cold. So cold. I must have gotten sick during the night. I can't stop shivering.

The first thing I do is shut the window, which has become stiff from cold and is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Soggy little puddles are left on the window ledge from the night before. I put my knotted hair up, away from my face. As I look up, I notice what the world looks like outside. A frozen wonderland. A thin layer of snow sits at the frame of the window, below its chilled glass. No wonder I'm so cold. It snowed last night. A blanket of white covers my lawn; it's still falling out of a muggy sky. It's pretty. Almost uplifting. Almost.

I throw on the sweater which lies on the edge of my bed, its ice cold too but hopefully it'll warm me up soon. I have to heat up the house, before I freeze to death. I pull on some socks for extra warmth. If only snow wasn't so cold, then it could be a dream. I'm still so cold. I hurry down the steps, past the small living room and to the kitchen. I warm cold milk on the stove; the old park that I can see through the kitchen window is also covered in white puffs of snow. It's like white clouds; passing over here to reach Virtue got tired and found they were descending to the foreign ground of Sin. There's something about snow that doesn't belong here, even though it comes from the cold, it just seem uplifting. There's something magical about it.

The milk is warm as it hits the back of my throat; at least my insides are warm now. I cranked up the boiler, and as I shuffle to the living room, I take a hot water bottle with me. I don't know how I'll spend the day; I don't want to spend the day. I want it to pass like it never started in the first place. Time is slow when you want it to be fast. So I'll lie here on this creaky and old couch till enough hours pass.

The pain is back. The pain is what makes me question if it was real or not. The pain is how I know I had fallen for him. My heart hurt because he was so close yet so far away. The leaks in my eyes are back, stinging my eyes and punishing me for doing something I wasn't supposed to do. I crush a pillow in caged arms, squeezing it tightly against my body as I'm trying to channel the pain in my heart into it. I wish I could stop crying. Just for one day. Sleep numbs the pain and I find myself dozing off.

                                                                                                *

Rap! Rap! Rough, fast knocks make my eyes snap open. I fall off the couch in fright from the sudden knocking. I place my hand on my beating heart, my stomach churns. Maybe I'm going to be robbed, or attacked. I was wondering why it had taken so long for a Sinner to find me and add to their list of sins. I was too lucky for too long. My beating heart seems to lodge itself up my throat. Rap! Rap! What do I do? Do I pretend no one is home? Do I hide?

I creep on tiptoes out of the living room, being careful to make as little sound as possible. I'm so terrified of this awful fate that I can barely force myself to move. Why like this? Murderers seem to have better fates than me. I take careful steps up the stairs. Waiting a full minute before I climb another one. I get up halfway when I hear a voice.

"Jennifer?"

You heard wrong. Could be anyone. Besides, he's gone.

"Jennifer? It's me." I stand stock still, halfway up the stairs. My eyes probably wide-eyed and unbelieving. I stare ahead, unwilling to turn to that voice, that voice that should not be there. That voice should not exist. It's my imagination. The letter flap of the front door is pushed open, I hear his voice much clearer now and I shriek, before I can clamp my mouth shut. Great. I've given myself away. I bundle my knees up, my elbows resting on them, breathing. It's not real. It's not real. It doesn't matter because it's not real.

"Okay, I'm getting really worried." Ignore it. Imagination is a powerful thing. My eyes water again. God. The worst time to think of crying.

"I'm serious, if you don't say something, I'm probably gonna bust this door down." I should get up, I think he's serious and I don't want a broken door on a snow day. "Just let me know you're okay..." His voice is soft, worried. But I'm not okay. I think I'm going crazy. I don't want to lie and say I'm okay when I'm not. I am not okay right now. I can hear his voice so clearly it freaks me out.

I take shaky, forceful steps to the front door. I can let myself go crazy with what I think are hallucinations, or I can verify if they are hallucinations at all. I pick the latter. I pop the lock of the door, another thing of stiffness from the cold. Please don't let this be a dream, please let this be real, I say to myself. A deep breath and I turn the handle.

But I'm scared to look up.

"Jennifer?"

It's now or never. I look up, teary eyed and frightened into those bottomless pits that seem to reflect light even where there isn't any.

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