Richie woke up in darkness. For a while, he stared blankly ahead, wondering if he’d opened his eyes or not. He couldn’t see an inch in front of him, even after staring for several minutes. It was difficult to think, his mind seemed to be miles away, every thought drifting back to him so slowly. He couldn’t feel anything, he realized, and for a moment, he wondered idly why that discovery seemed to bother him. Paralysis, he answered himself after a while. That was why he was worried. He had… fallen, yes, he had. He wondered idly if his neck was broken.
To test it, Richie moved his arm slightly and heard it scrape against the hard ground. So he wasn’t paralyzed, he thought, and wondered why that didn’t make him feel any better. He moved his arm again, and noticed something odd. He could hear his arm move, but he couldn’t feel it; it was like his sense of touch had been turned off. He curled his fingers and the same thing happened, he could sense that they were pressed together, but he couldn’t feel them. They were stiff as well, he realized, his whole body felt stiff. Slowly, every joint seemingly unwilling to bend right, Richie sat up. He rested his hands on the ground and heard something shatter underneath them. Moving his hands around in the dark, hearing his fingers scraping against the ground, but not feeling them, Richie moved his hands blindly. Finally, his hand curled around something sticking out of the ground. Part of it cracked off in his hand, and he held it up. In the darkness he couldn’t see it, so Richie shoved it deep into his pocket and slowly stood up.
In total darkness, Richie should have been frightened out of his wits, but his mind was still too dulled to feel anything like that. He stumbled forward, one arm in front of him, until he came to a wall. Then he waited, wondering what he should do now. When nothing presented itself, he started walking forward, one hand on the wall to keep himself against it. He didn’t know where it would lead him; it just felt better to keep walking. As he went, he tried to remember exactly what had happened to him.
He remembered his father yelling, but that was no surprise. And a beating, again, nothing new either, but this time had been different, he recalled. This time, he honestly had thought his father capable of killing him. He stumbled against something in his path and kept going. He had run and fallen, and then… Richie stopped and blinked in the darkness. “Green,” he whispered quietly. There had been pain and an awful green light, glowing ever brighter all around him. Richie started walking again, shuddering. He wondered if his father had caught up with him and killed him after all, and that this endless blackness was Hell.
Lost in every sense of the word, Richie didn’t notice the dull gleam ahead of him till it was all around him. He only noticed it when he realized that he could see his feet plodding slowly ahead. Richie’s head snapped up, cracking audibly, and he stared into the dim light ahead. He was in a tunnel, he realized, looking around. There was a bend in the walls up ahead, and the light seemed to be coming from there. He rushed forwards, legs creaking in protest. As he turned the corner the light seemed to almost blind him and he held his arms over his eyes. Finally, when his eyes had adjusted from the total darkness, he stumbled forwards.
The tunnel came to an end behind a thick tangle of hanging branches and undergrowth. It was so thick; he could barely see what was outside. The light he’d seen had filtered through, but that was probably the only traffic that came through here. Brushing at the plants, Richie tried to pull them aside, but as he did, they seemed to fall off on their own at his feet. He brushed his hands through them again and branches tumbled down in heaps. Not understanding and or caring, Richie literally cut his way through with his bare hands. In moments he was outside, standing in the middle of the forest. The full moon hung overhead, staring down at him like an uncaring observer.
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For a while, Richie didn’t move, not believing that he was actually outside, and not still trapped in that horrible blackness. Breathing deeply, his lungs straining against his chest, he started to cry, but didn’t know it. He couldn’t feel his tears running over his skin. Richie sank to his knees and stared up at the moon, soaking in its light. He was alive, and he was free, he rejoiced.
After a moment, he sighed and looked down at himself. His shirt was a mess; it was covered in dirt and grime, and there were great, gaping holes all over it. His pants were no better, torn, matted and filthy. He touched one of the holes in his shirt and blinked when his fingers stuck to it. He couldn’t feel anything around it, he couldn’t feel much of anything, but there was something wrong here. Staring down at himself, Richie noticed something odd. When he had put on his shirt this morning, it had been white. Now, even in the dim light of the moon, he could tell it wasn’t. It was red, stained a dark, sticky red. Red… Blood. It was blood, he realized in a rush, his thoughts suddenly roaring into high gear. Richie opened his mouth and screamed.
Leaping to his feet, Richie took off, bawling his head off as he ran. With no more direction than he had in the cave, he ran, ripping his shirt off and throwing it away. He hadn’t felt the blood against his chest, but the mere thought of it made him want to retch. Richie ran until he came upon a low stream, and fell in. He thrashed around in the shallow water, trying to scrub himself clean. Finally, exhausted and dripping wet, Richie climbed back onto the riverbank and threw up. Sickened, but feeling oddly cleansed, he stumbled over to a tree and sagged against it. He steadied himself with his hands, and heard an odd ripping sound. He glanced up to see that his fingers had carved deep gashed down the bark of the tree. By now, he was well past shock and terror, so he drew his hand across the tree again. The bark tore and separated easily underneath his fingers. Richie climbed to his feet and stared at the pattern of slashes in the trunk. Then he reached back, and swung hard at the tree, digging his fingers into it. Wood exploded out from the trunk and Richie stared at the large chunk he had ripped out of the tree. The tree swayed side to side, and then with a loud crack, what was left of the trunk went and the tree fell. Richie stood still in shock as the crash echoed all around him.
He stared down at his fingers, turning them over in slow amazement. They didn’t look that much more different, maybe a little more pointed at the tips. His skin and fingernails seemed slightly gray, but that might have been the light. He traced his arms out, and was stunned to feel his elbow come to a sharp point. He bent one of his arms and felt the elbow gingerly. He had always been thin and bony, but now his elbow was like a spike. Spike, he thought, and remembered something. He reached into his pocket, his fingers tearing the jeans in the process, and pulled out the piece of stone he had picked up in the cave. Except now, he saw, it was really more like a crystal than anything. It was a dull green shard that broke apart in his hands easily. Making a fist, he crushed it to powder and shook his hand free of the dust.
Richie stared down at his hands and felt something course through him. He’d never felt anything like it before; it was full, strong, and heady. He started walking slowly forward, running his hands along any tree he happened to pass by. His fingers carved out lines behind him, marking his trail. What was it, he wondered. He slashed at a sapling with his hand and it fell, cut cleanly in two. Then it came to him. Power. He felt powerful. Richie laughed and smiled, his mouth straining against the effort. Power. Power. He felt powerful. Richie picked up the pace, somehow knowing that he would find home sooner or later. He wouldn’t get lost, not after all this had happened. He’d found his way out of the cave and he’d find his way home. Everything had been meant to happen, he was sure of this. It was like he could see the course of his life laid out in front of him, and he smiled.
“Dad,” he said quietly, “have I got something to show you.”