Morbid Wonderland 4

By: Fox

Tension crushed her body, even in her nightmare she knew. She could feel the

tightness. A prolonged howling screech, a smooth putter of the earth on her bed,

reverberated in the box every few moments. Her eyes opened and her perception was

unchanged. There was nothing but uninhabited, forlorn darkness. The comfort of the

stars was gone; she was utterly alone.


Paralyzed by the stone, as well as her fear, she tried calmly to reason. Scape,

putter, a continued echo. “No....” She closed her eyes as her body tensed and another

twinge of panic rippled through her. A slow trickle eased down her spine, a salty

condensation, followed by tiny mounds rising from beneath her flesh. She could not raise

her fists to pound on the cover. Her wrists were handcuffed to her prison.


The scraping ceased. There was no sound, a deathly silence, for her to die a silent

death.


Her breath raced, her chest heaving as her eyes darted, searching for any shape,

light, any sound. A sound, what was that? A drum, a tribal beat, a steady rhythm. A beat

to dance to, to twirl and match steps to the beat. It pulsed faster with every breath she

inhaled and exhaled. The lid was close, she could feel her breath come back to her, warm

against her frozen, yet, sweat covered, body.


Her thoughts begin to scamper. Flashes of the window, her friend drifting openly,

the dark path that led her here to the twins. What does it mean? Why is she here? She

lay here, the grown woman, who hours before was a mere child. The life that flaunts

before her cannot be her own.


It’s too much pressure on her soul, it’s all closing in. The walls squeezing her air

away, pressing into her. Her death bed will soon collapse, she’s breaking. The deceitful

tears hide well in the utter obscurity as her body trembles. She struggles, trying to twist

out, convulsing in rage and eagerness to see the dim light of the stars. Something lighter

than darkness, even, the shadows would make her feel light again.


The drums are racing, loosing control of the rhythm. A plague that consumes her

mind. Listen to the drums, beat with them. Break through! The drums are all she can

hear. A light mist glazes her body, as the fog over her crystallized green eyes freeze in

aggravation. The drums have stopped because she cannot listen.


“Listen.”

..Nothing.

“Listen closer....”

Beat.


It begins again, frustration overwhelms her. Stuck in Limbo, still. Her skin

reddens as her legs kick, her fists break from the chains as she pounds to the rapid

beatings of her heart. “Open! Open! Beat faster, harder! More energy! Too much

tension, too much heat, Cannot take it anymore!” Her thoughts race until her mind

breaks.<bold> “Stop beating!” </bold>


It did, just as she was un-tucked from the death bed. Her limp, drenched body was

lifted from her cage. Blue markings around her limbs, scarlet dripping in some places. Her

friend drifted past, unharmed. A whisper followed it through the air, one word. “Ironic.”

MORBIDW4
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