(no subject)
And on the third day...
It hurt.
The light stabbed her eyes when she opened them, when a voice whispered her name. A tune caught her ear. There's a little black spot on the sun today.
There was a black spot in her vision. A black spot that couldn't be erased, a stain, a scorch mark on her eyeball. Everything else was white. And then it slowly became black again. She couldn't breathe. She didn't know why that felt wrong to her, but she couldn't breathe.
Reflex told muscles to move and hands to clench. Reflex told arms to lift as much as they could, push out. Away and out, like being born. She didn't know what being born felt like. She didn't remember what being born was. Her mind moved sluggishly, couldn't put words together. Sensations. Limbs everywhere, and then a hard surface on her shoulder (what was a shoulder?) and then rolling and a sudden weightlessness. And then, a sudden impact.
Wood. Floor. This was called a floor.
Her limbs didn't work anymore, or rather, they worked sluggishly. They felt heavy, as though she'd expended all the energy she had moving off the table and tearing her way out of what she had been in. Something was holding her down, holding her prisoner. The weight of her own limbs was holding her prisoner. She didn't remember how to move them, or, no, it wasn't that she didn't remember, it was that she didn't have the strength to stand. Her hips were twisted around, her shoulders twisted so that her front half faced the floor, her pelvis faced more towards the ceiling. It wasn't comfortable. She wanted to roll but all she could do was collapse back and cry at how weak she was.
Her mind couldn't even form the words help let alone cry out for it. Her throat worked, but no sound came out.
She had never been so scared in her life.
It hurt.
The light stabbed her eyes when she opened them, when a voice whispered her name. A tune caught her ear. There's a little black spot on the sun today.
There was a black spot in her vision. A black spot that couldn't be erased, a stain, a scorch mark on her eyeball. Everything else was white. And then it slowly became black again. She couldn't breathe. She didn't know why that felt wrong to her, but she couldn't breathe.
Reflex told muscles to move and hands to clench. Reflex told arms to lift as much as they could, push out. Away and out, like being born. She didn't know what being born felt like. She didn't remember what being born was. Her mind moved sluggishly, couldn't put words together. Sensations. Limbs everywhere, and then a hard surface on her shoulder (what was a shoulder?) and then rolling and a sudden weightlessness. And then, a sudden impact.
Wood. Floor. This was called a floor.
Her limbs didn't work anymore, or rather, they worked sluggishly. They felt heavy, as though she'd expended all the energy she had moving off the table and tearing her way out of what she had been in. Something was holding her down, holding her prisoner. The weight of her own limbs was holding her prisoner. She didn't remember how to move them, or, no, it wasn't that she didn't remember, it was that she didn't have the strength to stand. Her hips were twisted around, her shoulders twisted so that her front half faced the floor, her pelvis faced more towards the ceiling. It wasn't comfortable. She wanted to roll but all she could do was collapse back and cry at how weak she was.
Her mind couldn't even form the words help let alone cry out for it. Her throat worked, but no sound came out.
She had never been so scared in her life.