You can't escape Death <Frans>

CHAPTER 22: The Song of Life

A whisper of nostalgia,

Looming over my saturated imagination,

Remained locked deep within the ancient tombs of Paris.

My lips parted, as my last dying breath escaped my throat,

Releasing itself into the open air of freedom.

The melodic tones of his voice,

Now at liberty from their prison,

Contrasted with the absence of my thumping heart.

And now, by the ends of the sea,

I closed my eyes,

And watched as the ocean met land for the first time once again.

A caressing lullaby emitted from the distant music box of Death,

Singing the song,

Of silence.

The mellow thoughts that consumed my mind were vivid as I sat upon the tiles of the marble floor. Back again so early, I could only assume that the 'medication' the doctors had put me on before Blake left, only reduced my conscious state to the sleepless saturation of imagination once more. I remembered his intelligent, yet sly words speaking of how the medications he held in his deceptions hands were used to reduce the confusion and hysteria of my imagination that it had so far created. Was this really such a big of a deal as they were making it here in the society? Or maybe I really was just losing my mind to the realm of insanity, my grip falling loose within every second that I arrived here in the world my shattered mind had created.

The doctors seemed to hook an endless supply of needles to my vitals, which caused an immediate drop in my blood sugar. Watching the world warp around me, as I lied there, unable to lift any of my limbs from my bedridden figure. I looked helpless, staring upon the nurses with my sickly expression, and my best friend, her eyes filled with fear. It was like my neurons had been disconnected from any other part of my body, or even, weights the size of the hospital itself were dragging them back down to the sheets beneath me. Every time I tried to lift them, my muscles lost the strength they once had. The hospital room slowly darkened, and I had closed my heavy eyelids within minutes upon them inserting the painful prick of a syringe.

It was almost intimidating to look back on, as I traced the marble patterns in the tiles, waiting upon Sans' arrival to the chapel I had come to know so well in these past few days. I sat there, pondering my next move in the dance of darkness. The sensitive pad on my finger traced the glossy marble, leaving no trace of a smudge or a fingerprint, leaving me wonder how despite everything, the room always seemed to glisten brightly. How did it stay so clean? How did the dead rose petals seem to revitalize upon my return every time I arrived back?

"I apologize for the wait." Sans' voice said, suddenly, making me jump and snap my neck in the direction of his voice from behind me. My fingers were taken off of the smooth marble, breaking the connection of the cool tile and my hand. "It looks like you might have been here for a while." He pointed out at my sitting composure. "I hope you were not alone for too long." He said, standing amidst the death that always seemed to follow him in his every direction.

It was obvious in my facial expression that I was distressed from the turn of events that had just happened. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, and I was terrified of the future to come. It seemed like Sans tried to read me, unable to fully detect what was going on without the details coming from me directly. "I was not waiting alone for long." I said, calming down my beating heart. "I just feel like I do not have the strength to stand anymore." I said, chuckling slightly in a sad tone. "I've grown tired and weak from the things they have given me back in my world."