VI: [Location - Martha's Surgery] Surfacing
It's quiet where Wesley is. And dark. And cold. Not in an unpleasant way, not like that room under the stairs. No, it's rather like he's at the bottom of a river bed. The weeds and the soft muck cushion him, the current flows ceaselessly over his body, the chill of the water makes his limbs heavy. It's too simply much effort to move them. To even attempt to breathe.
He'll just rest here. At the bottom.
But something is carried along on the currents. The distant sound of voices. Hushed voices. No. Singing. He can't make out the tune or the lyrics above the rushing water, but it's beautiful.
Slowly and reluctantly he struggles to hear it more clearly, to move closer to the surface. It's harder than he anticipates, the weeds now becoming like restraints. No longer welcoming.
He doesn't want to give up now, though. Refuses to give up.
After what seems an age he finally breaks the surface, gasping.
The first gulp of air that he takes into his lungs is the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.
Wesley's eyelids slowly flutter open. Light streams in. It hurts. Everything is blurry, he's lost his spectacles somewhere. He attempts to swallow. His throat is painfully dry. He can barely move. His head feels like it's a dead-weight, wrapped in yards of cotton wool. He's warm, though. And someone is holding his hand...
He'll just rest here. At the bottom.
But something is carried along on the currents. The distant sound of voices. Hushed voices. No. Singing. He can't make out the tune or the lyrics above the rushing water, but it's beautiful.
Slowly and reluctantly he struggles to hear it more clearly, to move closer to the surface. It's harder than he anticipates, the weeds now becoming like restraints. No longer welcoming.
He doesn't want to give up now, though. Refuses to give up.
After what seems an age he finally breaks the surface, gasping.
The first gulp of air that he takes into his lungs is the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.
Wesley's eyelids slowly flutter open. Light streams in. It hurts. Everything is blurry, he's lost his spectacles somewhere. He attempts to swallow. His throat is painfully dry. He can barely move. His head feels like it's a dead-weight, wrapped in yards of cotton wool. He's warm, though. And someone is holding his hand...