A Memory In The Cold

Damian:

It was as if the whole world had been plucked with silence, except for my teeth. Like sharpened blades, shredding both gum and tongue, they gnashed against one another. Although, I can almost not taste the damage, as every sense of mine has long since been held trial to numbness. Even the tears that I am so desperate to shed have now refused to venture forth. I know now, the cold does not hold remorse for her victims.

Running a hand along the knots and tufts of my filth-ridden hair, I exhale slowly. The steaming column of hot air that escapes my lips is a dragon's flame, except without the vibrant orange blaze. Oh, how I wish it were actually so. Then, at least the cold would bother me anymore.

In a trembling palm, bitten pink and purple, I clutch a ball of collected treasures from my hair; a nest of leaves and sticks, lots of mud and strands of hair, and a million shards of ice. With an energy-wrenching throw, I release the prize and watch it soar. Even once it has been vaporized underneath the faraway sun's hot blaze, I follow the remains as it joins my own exhalation on its en-route journey toward the heavens. When it has surpassed my mortal view, I imagine it coming to rest beside the hidden-by-day stars. 

Then, as I struggle to take on another breath, I find that the cold has petrified my lungs. No longer can I breathe. As I reach for that lost final-breath in a heart-melting theatrical performance, the realisation that I no longer want to breathe hits me. And as I collapse, I remember the first time that thought had ever crossed my mind.

Ava and I had been in the reading room. It had been the sole expanse in that place that did not facilitate lurking watchers. Although the room did have a door we were not allowed to open, and another that led to the main corridor. None of the other kids ever chose to inhabit the reading room, as it lacked toys. So it had always been blissfully private. I loved that. It would always just be myself and Ava, shelves of books and baskets of pillows. An out from humanity's omnipresent monitor.

We had been reading a picture book together when they took us. To say the least, I had been straining to decipher words from the images I saw and Ava was gently falling into slumber on my lap. Her eyes were closed, but she still grumbled from time-to-time, or whenever I shifted my weight. So, when the lights flickered off and a mysterious washed-out light began to faintly glow from the corner of the room, Ava had completely drifted off.

It had been too dark to make out more than shadows, but I could feel the weight being relieved from my legs as they took Ava from me. I was then given a gentle shove towards the light by a pair of large hands. "This way," they said rather hurriedly. I did not move an inch for them. Ava had to be in my arms first, and I let them know that. 

Screaming, yelling, and thrashing about wildly, I had shown them a colour of insanity. Finally, once I had felt Ava's almost hairless head burrow into my chest, I stopped. At the time I had been only three or four years old and did not know all that much. But, I knew the baby that had been pressed in my arms was more important than anything else to me.

Once hustled into that room, the prohibited one, we had been sat on a large white table in the middle of it. The table, like the many multi-coloured bubbling tonics that lay in the corner, was the only non-grey features of the room. Everything else was of the same dull tone, even the skin-cloaking full-body suits worn by our captors. The room had been artificially pristine, solely made for this, our kidnapping.

Even if I had not been too scared to move, I would never have thought to try to escape. The confinement of the room had been perfect, the outline of any door had been lost to the grey. And, our two room-mates were many times larger than me. So I had just sat there, looking carefully for an inkling of impurity in the room.

Their gaze would occasionally find us in the middle of their hushed conversation. Their tone is as if we were a secret bet shared between them and they were just checking up on their calls, seeing if it would be correct. They would not get a response from me, that is unless they tried something on Ava. So far, they had only poked and prodded me without too much effort. But, everything changed once I felt a sharp sting on my left arm because the walls were no longer squeaky clean.

A python had appeared from them. A deadly, 8 metre-long, angry python. We had already locked eyes and I knew it hungered for me. Before I had been able to do anything, it had curled itself into a tight body-bag around the entirety of me. The smell of fresh paint prickling my nose. I had laid there for an eternity, unable to breathe beneath a million scales. 

Choking and wriggling, I couldn't do much as it slowly tightened itself more, and more. There should not have been a chance that my bones could have survived that much of a squeeze. But, they did. And, when I was about to pass out, the beast magically faded into thin air. Poof! Like a magician's illusion. But, I did not have the time to feel relieved.

The sting I had felt next was weak, barely noticeable. But, the tenth, hundredth and thousandth ones that followed were unbearable. Each one in the exact same spot on my arm. As each bee stung me and fell to its death, another took its place. And, just before they disappeared, just like the python, I witnessed a carpet of victims. my victims. 

I wanted to make sure Ava was fine, but I couldn't, the onslaught would not wait. Next came the drink of goo. They fed it to me, forcing my mouth to open and close with their strong hands, making sure that it travelled down my throat. As it gravitated downwards, through my oesophagus, I began to feel something horrible burrowing up the other way. 

A thousand claws etching themselves inside my body as something terrible crawled itself up, from inside me. I then saw the pale pink tails of rats slide along my tongue as they began to make the descent from the cave of my mouth.

A million tortures later, I had laid there exhausted and kept on shouting "no more, no more". Both body and mind couldn't take another one. So as I was lying there in a nest of porcupine quills an idea came to me, something to make it stop. If I had stopped breathing on the first one, I would not have had to live through the rest.

It was then and there I had decided to stop breathing. My resolution never broke. Not even when my lungs pleaded a million sorrows did I stop holding my breath. Then I began to thrash wildly, my body disagreeing with my mind's decision.

"Waaa, waaah" a nearby voice began to cry. I forgot my resolution momentarily and was forced to breathe. I had almost forgotten about Ava. So stupid. She would not be able to cope without me. Having seen a stoppage to my tantrum, she then had begun to smile, and then laugh. "Oogah, Ooga".

"Hehe". I smiled. The realization of an incentive stronger than anything misery they could put me through had dawned upon me. Ava. I did not flinch, nor peep a protest as they kept on continuously inflicting torture upon me. I had been a silent statue. In remembrance, it had seemed to be less painful from then on. I had something of the utmost importance to live for.

When it stopped I had not felt relieved, but worried. What was next? I had not been able to see since all my senses had been thoroughly impaired by all the drugs they had injected into me. Protectively, I had felt around for Ava, curling her closer toward myself. 

Then I felt a hot nectar run down my throat, bringing with it a warm flare to my soul.