The Vagrant – Episode XVIII

Numbness had overtaken his limbs what felt like hours ago and the outer world existed only in a memory that had frozen somewhere amidst the deadened synapses.  His mind sluggishly recalled faces, names, long ago instances that played out as though a book of flip art held by a toddler: snap shots jumbled in a schizophrenic fashion.  He had an idea of where he was and only had vague inklings of how it was he came to be there.  The ground was still stiff under him, although it felt as comforting as an old feather filled comforter he used to have.  The smile cracked his cheeks as he reached out and caressed what he thought must be a figment of his imagination.

Drifting he felt a movement of his body, a pull and a push.  Warmth beset his lips and spread painfully through his cheeks as his mind screamed with an agony it couldn’t communicate to the outside world.  It wanted to.  Oh, how it did but he could only lay in frozen repose condemning the life saving warmth.  This was not what he wanted when he came here.  Not life, never again was that the medium for his chosen existence.  He had wanted demise, an eternity spent in black and raging fires was what was meant for him.  It was something the world owed to him.  Death.  Retribution and penance for the others was something he wanted to get on with.  What had he done to so thoroughly warrant this wretched and atrocious life giving source?

If there was a God, why would He do this?  Why would his life be spared?  Was the only worthy sentence of his crime existence with pain?  Guilt?  Facing reminders every day of the lives he had inadvertently smashed out of existence?

Christopher had never been a religious sort, only prone toward blasphemous statements that acted as the violent expulsion of beliefs forced down his throat since long before he had the thoughts of questioning it.  And so his mind, working in circles of pain and disjointed thoughts, began to work toward those old comfortable curses again.  And again.  He saw himself stuck on a hamster wheel of denouncing a faith he had never took into himself and begging to the spirit it praised for mercy. From within the fog and misery, he heard a soft voice murmuring to him this act was something he could not undo.  That he was well worth the small area of earth he took up.  That no one who loved him would want him to choose a solitary and painful death.

All he wanted to say was the worst pain was not the freezing, but the living.  Then, blissfully, he felt cold again and his mind went to the cozy blank space hypothermia was granting him.

Please check back on Thursday for the next installment!


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