"Higher?" I hesitantly ask.
Its disjointed voice started on its rant, the voice grating my ears in a way that I can't put into words. The noise almost resembles words, a mix of every language I ever heard, but not forming anything coherent or seeming to hold meaning.
The mic is unnaturally large in front of me, blocking most of my view from the amorphous blob on the other side of the glass, and as I speak, the world around me becomes muted and devoid of life. Everything appears gray and lifeless, lacking any vitality. The ground swayed like a water bed with each sentence I formed, yet, I didn't need to put effort into remaining on my feet.
The blob's words slowly get more coherent, "Your voice is not exactly what they're looking for, but studios don't always know what they want, you—" The blob started its rant.
This nightmare has plagued me for months now.
The ground's swaying got stronger and its firmness slowly disappeared, becoming something closer to quicksand. The blob continued its rant while I sank.
The world around me sways and undulates as my feet slowly sink into the ground. Despite my knowledge of this recurring nightmare, I still futilely struggle against the inevitable. The liquid concrete starts to envelop me, consuming my being inch by agonizing inch, my skin is scrapped away by the unrelenting pull, like a living current set on breaking me.
The descent is abruptly halted by a crushing force on my leg, followed by a snaking sensation that slithers upward, gripping me at the waist, making it creak and twist like a stick on the verge of snapping, and with a mighty pull, it breaks my apart.
My body is broken against the liquid, yet practically solid concrete. Yet I feel everything as one, each dusted bone and mushed piece of meat, in a sensation I can't bring to words.
Moments later, reality changes again and the excruciating agony dissipates, leaving me suspended in a state of weightlessness, but there is no peace. A relentless barrage of sounds engulfs me, shapes undulate and sway before my eyes, accompanied by a persistent buzz that makes my ears ring.
The worst part of all of this is about to come, and despite my awareness of this fact, of knowing the exact rules this dream follows, and the dozens of times I saw it, I always dread witnessing it. In these moments, I yearn for this to be anything but a lucid dream.
The feeling of helplessness feels like daggers piercing my chest.
I attempt to shut my eyes tightly or divert my gaze, but it's useless. Even through the darkness, I see it in perfect clarity.
A group of people appear, carrying a stretcher with a lifeless figure sprawled upon it. Her body is mangled, bloodied, and stripped of hair, with limbs contorted in unnatural angles. Tattered clothing clings to her form like a kicked puppy and tears well up in my eyes as a mournful wail escapes my lips.
I strive to free myself from the stretcher, yet my body feels heavy and unresponsive, trapped by the enigmatic shapes that surround me, refusing to allow me to get up.
My eyes snap open as my body jolts out of bed like it's pulled by an invisible string, barely catching myself and staying on my feet. The room spins around me, and a wave of dizziness washes over me, threatening to topple me over, which isn't helped by the weakness and the cold sweat that covers me.
Slowly, everything begins to come back into focus. Taking deep breaths, I try to calm my racing heart and stabilize my shaking body and mind.
My mind was still cluttered and disorganized, and my hands still shook, but I started preparing myself for the day ahead. It felt like an anvil was strapped to my back, the desire to just give up and stay in bed was overpowered just by the dread of falling asleep and being dragged back to that nightmare.
The bathroom and bed are cluttered with piles of clothes that I couldn't muster the strength to organize.
The bathroom is mostly clean, the mirror is broken, the cracks spreading like cobwebs, but still holding enough large pieces that it's usable to see myself.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror, noting the disheveled state of my hair, the beginnings of bags under my eyes, and the weariness that seemed to dull my already dark eyes. However, I force a smile onto my face, repeating a mantra to myself, "Do it for her... She is strong!" I slap my cheeks twice, shaking off the remnants of fatigue and giving myself a metaphorical, and physical hit to rally my spirits, leaving imprints of my palm that slowly disappear from my cheeks. "She will make it!" Taking a few more deep breaths, I completed my preparations and hurriedly left.
As I rush past the small kitchen, I notice Cassandre standing there, wearing his apron with the words 'embrasse le cuisinier' on the front. He attempts to say something, but I ignore him, the unresolved tension from our fight the previous night still lingering.
I try to maintain a brisk pace, but I’m halted by a sharp pain shooting through my right leg, stopping after hitting my hip, causing me to stumble forward before regaining my balance, forcing me to slow my steps, and making me settle into a power walk, thankfully that my job didn't require me to have strong legs to earn a living.
What used to be a 30-minute run to the Jobcentre had now turned into a 50-minute power walk.
From a distance, I could see the remnants of tape and heavy equipment still scattered around, a reminder of the ongoing reconstruction that will likely take some time to complete.
Cars were rerouted, and frustrated voices filled the air as drivers were directed to find alternate routes, while others stood close by in mourning, small shrines being set as close as possible to the rubble. I press on, determined to reach my destination.
After another 10 minutes, my leg throbs persistently, causing me to further slow down until I finally catch sight of the hospital. It's surrounded by a hive of activity, parked cars filling every available space around it.
I had to squeeze past a few people to get inside as a wall of flesh blocked the entrance. Happy and mournful faces as families were reunited and prepared to go home. When I finally squeezed my way to the reception, I was told to wait. The waiting was vexing as always, and though part of me wanted to raise my voice in frustration, I knew better, screaming or making a scene wouldn't make the process any faster.
When I’m finally granted entry into her room, I’m taken aback by what I see. Her eyes are open, they look like swirling pools of honey, seemingly more beautiful than ever before, she appears to be slowly eating some of the hospital food.
Stolen story; please report.
Though fatigue was evident in her face and her hands visibly trembled, she was finally awake. A burst of happiness escapes my lips in the form of a joyful scream, only to be quickly hushed by the medical staff.
"Sorry," I eagerly approach Diann, getting myself beside the doctor currently writing something.
The doctor, his voice tinged with weariness, glanced briefly at Diann's medical charts before turning to address me, "Now... you are..." he paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing, "Her mother. I have both good and bad news to share with you."
"The good news is that she seems to be showing signs of a quick recovery. If everything goes as planned, we anticipate that she will be discharged by the end of the week. Of course, she'll still need to come here so we can be sure there's no hidden damage or if there are any signs of long-term effects from what she's been through."
Hope blooms in my chest as I brace myself for his next words.
"She suffered from frostbite, and her fingers will likely lose some, if not all, sense of touch," the doctor continued, his voice tinged with sadness and irritation. "Strangely, she also seems to have lost some of her sense of smell, touch, and hearing."
As the doctor elaborated further, a pit formed in my stomach, growing larger and deeper with each passing word. "We know that the frostbite was caused by the hours of exposition to the cold water," he began, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice, "but we couldn't pinpoint the cause of the other symptoms." His gaze shifted toward Diann, and at that moment, I could see nothing but unadulterated pity in his eyes.
"We are going to conduct more in-depth tests once her health improves, For now, it's important not to agitate her too much."
With those final words, he concluded his instructions and silently exited the room, leaving me in the company of other patients and a few nurses.
The weight of his words lingered in the air, and a mixture of uncertainty and determination settled within me as I prepared myself.
I approached Diann with caution, almost expecting her to disappear before my eyes. Slowly, I reached out and gently placed my hand on her head, running my fingers through what was left of her hair, a gesture that used to bug her.
An annoyed grunt escaped her lips, but she closed her eyes and leaned into my touch.
As my eyes wandered, they landed on a small collection of toys placed by her bedside. Each visit, I had brought a different one, hoping to bring a flicker of joy to her days. With one hand still occupied, I reached out and picked up a green toy, its vibrant color being eye-catching. It was a small figurine, about the size of my hand, wearing a round armor and with green hair flowing down its back.
"Did you like the toys? I got them after being accepted to voice the green one," I said, clearing my throat and adjusting my voice to a higher pitch. "I'm Alexandria, the lance of Gaya! Begone filth, I shall make this world clean!" I finished my acting with a triumphant victory sign over my eye.
Diann let out a small laugh, and I couldn't help but smile, "She sounds a lot like a villain, doesn't she?" I joked. Every moment I spent talking and seeing even the slightest smile on Diann's face brought a sense of lightness to my heart.
We didn't exchange many words, but the joy of simply being together was the world for me. After 40 minutes of me continuously talking, my voice grew hoarse.
A nurse entered the room and advised me to let Diann rest. Reluctantly, I released my tight grip on Diann's hand and leaned in to give her a gentle forehead kiss before stepping out of the room.
----------------------------------------
A heavy weight enveloped me, suffocating my every movement. It felt as though my entire body had turned into lead, making even the slightest twitch an immense effort.
Each breath I took felt like someone was sitting on my chest, crushing the air out of my lungs. No matter how hard I tried to draw in a deep breath, I couldn't.
I sensed that I was in movement, feeling the occasional twitch and the strain of trying to move, but I had no awareness of where I was headed. Sounds reached my ears, but they blended into an indistinguishable cacophony.
The most unsettling sensation was that of my skin. It seemed to crawl and shift as if attempting to move in a direction separate from my body. It was a repulsive and disturbing feeling that made me want to puke, akin to having insects wriggling beneath my skin.
Trapped in this dark void, I could only grasp the faintest hints of sensation. Time felt distorted as if I had been lost in this state for years, and then, in a sudden and unexpected moment, I felt my eyes open.
I saw nurses and doctors all around me, moving my head and taking care of me. I was in a hospital bed, a place I didn't visit often. I did a few check-ups, and I never liked them, worse than the check-ups was the hospital smell, but now that was missing. On a table beside me, there were colorful figurines, each one unique and different.
The doctors did tests as soon as I opened my eyes. They pinched my fingers and my cheek, made me listen to sounds, and even gave me tasteless food.
When I started feeling tired, I felt myself being pulled somewhere. It was like a big, and empty, space holding back a void. It was like nothing filled this space, and nothing filled my vision.
The next day while eating the tasteless food, Mom entered the room. She told me stories that made me really happy, even though her voice sounded far away. I tried to talk to her, but no sound came out like I had forgotten how to speak. My body wouldn't cooperate, but I could still laugh, and that was good, laughing left me tired yet happy.
Days went on like this.
Nights felt never-ending, lost in the emptiness. But each morning —my favorite part of the day— Mom visited me. When she left, the doctors ran more tests, and I spent the night alone.
After two weeks, the doctors finally said I could go home. They gave my mom some papers and a crutch.
When I tried to stand up and walk, I almost hit my head on the feet of the bed, but a nurse caught me. My mom rushed to my side, holding me up, and giving me the crutch. I felt like a tree being cut down with every step, ready to fall, but Mom stopped me from hitting the ground every time.
Mom and I looked at the doctors, "She lost some feeling in her whole body. It will take time for her to get accustomed to," the doctor explained.
The doctors also gave my mom a long list of things that could be dangerous for me, the list was so long that it made my eyes widen.
The list had everything on it: ‘fire, cold water, sharp objects, bathing alone, and more, so much more.
Leaving the hospital took a while.
Every step felt like I would fall, but my mom stayed by my side, ready to catch me. It took a while but we finally reached our apartment building, people in the lobby looked at me strangely, but we got into the elevator and went home.
As soon as the door opened, I saw a big, wide man in our apartment. He had short hair that seemed to be growing back, a funny mustache, and lots of muscles.
I couldn't stop staring until Mom finally said something, "I forgot to tell you," Mom sheepishly said, "This is Cassandre, your Uncle's fiancé," she explained. It took me a moment, but I understood that my uncle was going to marry him.
Cassandre walked over to me and knelt down, even then he was still taller than me. He asked about the hospital and shared his own story of spending time there when he was younger. Telling when he tried to climb a fig tree but fell, having to stay in the hospital for a long time.
His voice was gentle and kind, his eyes sparkling with warmth. I took a few steps forward, but I started to fall, and Cassandre caught me effortlessly with one arm.
He laughed and told me funny stories from his own hospital adventures. He was a very clumsy kid, and the doctors called him "Porte-poisse," which he said meant unlucky.
"You must be really hungry. Hospitals don't have good cooks like me!" Cassandre boasted, puffing out his chest, "You're lucky that I'll be here for the next few weeks, cooking whatever you want." I could see my mom giving him a disapproving look, so I leaned against Cool Uncle, protecting him from her stare.
"Let's not promise things we can't keep," Mom said, sounding grumpy. "The doctor said you can't eat anything heavy for a few more days, so it'll be soup for today."
Cool Uncle hugged me, and whispered, "She's just grumpy because I'm a better cook than her. But if the doctor says soup, then soup it is." When he saw my frown, he continued, "How about this? When I cook, you can help me, and I'll even teach you super secret candy recipes that only I know."
Screaming in glee, I kissed him on the cheek. I tried to walk towards the sofa where Brutus was currently sleeping, but I kicked my own feet, falling face-first on the hard floor, inches away from the carpet.
My nose started bleeding, and my teeth hurt.
Cool Uncle quickly lifted me back up.