Sort of Dead

70 - Hope In Humming

The rude witch came again later to check on us. She told us Goof – the huge, scary butterfly – will be keeping an eye on us.

Or many, many compound eyes, with an 's' (that reminds me of Es), if Bee's bookish knowledge is to be believed.

It’s really funny – and frightening – how insects which seem so beautiful can be so, so haunting when magnified in size. I can’t even look at the thing without my chest knotting up. Neither can See, apparently. And here I thought dogs are supposed to be brave.

Well, at least now we know what Rasthrum meant by saying 'Beware the Goof.'

There’s no way of knowing if it’s been hours or days, and how many of either. This is torture. I don’t think we’ll last much longer. Bee is already looking like a shell of herself. I wonder what they did to Marra and Mr. Om and –

Goof flies past our cell, her monstrous, elephantine wings fluttering. Perhaps she – if it is indeed a she – senses something.

I stand up on my noodle-legs and it takes more effort than doing a hundred school assignments. Looking back, it occurs to me how big of an idiot I was to ever come to this so-called quest.

No, no, I take that back. After seeing Marra sucking his Dad's blood . . . the look of horror on Bee's face . . . his sadness . . . if I had to do it again, I would do it. Get on that plane and fly to this cursed place and help my friend. I got to see things people never see. I got to at least try something of this scope.

I lie down on the rough-hewn cell-floor. No energy in me. Next to few breaths left. Just a sack of blood and bones.

Marra. What a friend to have, eh? Loves blood. Can’t die. Sees spirits. I still remember when I first saw Marra dying in that alleyway, then coming back to life in that park, my disbelief, seeing Es for the first time, almost tearing up . . . wow. Crazy to think it all happened to me. I mean, I just used to be a guy who went to school, hated on geometry, was passionate toward movies and acting, and ahhhh I don’t want to die. This is scary and I don’t know what to do anymore. If Es were here, she’d sing a ditty and –

Humming.

A squeal.

More excited humming.

I want to look. I can’t. My head won’t turn.

Another squeal. Some excited whispering. See's low bark.

I somehow muster enough strength to move my head, to open my eyes.
I look.

I proceed to rub my eyes.

This must a hallucination. Didn’t Rasthrum say these witches were the masters of illusion? Yeah, this definitely isn’t real. They just want to give me some sliver of hope so they can take it away.

But Bee is whispering lively, and See seems merrier than he has any right to be in this dire situation.

And Es is there, illusion or not. Her glowing, multi-colored outline is bright against the gloom of this cell, and her face an animated contrast to our dying ones.

I close my eyes. Although I’m not sure if God exists or not – for me, jury's still out on that one – I pray. For once in my life, I pray earnestly. Then I open my eyes again.

Yes. Es is here. She’s in our cell, she’s alright. She’s humming. She’s talking to Bee in lowered voices. She’s lovely.

I faint.