“Meditation is a doorway to the soul. Flood it with the power of life and you shall be born anew.” – From the Book of the New World Order.

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Flickering light prances on my eyelids. Memories surge and surface with the screams of the long dead. I know I am dreaming yet there is nothing I can do about it. A prisoner in my own mind whenever I’m sleeping safe and soundly. The torches most likely prodded this one out. Around me is the suburbs of a city. This memory is from the early stages of year one I recall. Back then no one understood anything. The government and their scientists assured us they were figuring stuff out. They were hunkering down in reality.

Flames light the night sky drowning the stars in acrid smoke. Regular people stampede over one another in their haste to get away. They run from the flames, a fear more primal and insignificant. Make shift walls encompass this particular suburb. An army outpost nearby turned refugee camp. People crowd against the gates as they creak. Individuals clad in fatigues argue and attempt to control the situation but are overpowered.

The gates are flung open straight into the waiting arms of the Lost. Weak but numerous they outnumbered us almost 20 to 1 back then. A cacophony of wails and screams mix create harmonious symphony with the thundering cracks of machine gun fire. I look down from above at what my mind captured in great detail so many years ago. I watch my previous self hastily pull alongside a smaller woman into a most convenient cellar. My dream self-shows no emotion as it is not capable of doing so, but I feel the most horrible of pain grip my heart. This is always the worst.

I just want to curl into a ball and forget. The jagged edges of a wound that is never allowed to heal. The doors of the cellar close and I am pulled inside at the clicking of the lock. There is no power and the darkness would surely feel damp if this was real. I sit my ethereal body against the mossy stone wall and hug my knees to my chest. Across the cellar my past self does the same and my little sister leans her head on my shoulder. Unintelligible murmuring and muffled screams of the dying sound overhead.

Resting my forehead against my knees, I softly rock myself. I do not need to look to know what comes next. Past me recoils at the banging of the metal cellar door locked from inside. Shouts of “Let us in!” ring out filled with absolute terror. Hoarse screams and muted meaty thwacks follow. My sister buries her head in my chest and her form shakes with heavy sobs.

For the next few hours I endure this living nightmare. I watch myself jerkily get up and unlock the cellar door. No noise has made its way down for at least 45 minutes now. Poor me, I wish I could tell her not to look. What a shock the strewn entrails and minced meat must make. A decoration fit for the lords of hell.

Surely, I must be paying for my sins to be witness to such tragedies over and over in my dreams. Numbness invades my core as I fade in the new day sunrise streaming in. Forever confined to the shadows I shall be.

The smell makes me get up. All I want is to keep laying and wallowing for a bit longer. The previous days work does not combine well with sickly sweet sweat. I reek and no girl worth her salt likes to smell. So, I stand and arch my back slowly like a cat getting rid of the invading creeks. I raise my arms high and remember my bad shoulder. Passing my face, the motion sends cool air over my wet cheeks. My foot feels fine which is good. There is a soft ache to my body which speaks of overexertion.

Methodically I remove my clothing. I let the trench coat fall from my shoulders and afterwards lift the close knit long sleeve shirt. Once velvety smooth it is now coarse from wear with rips here and there. Off comes the band of leather with pouch securing my skirt in place. The skirt drops easily folding in rings. I step out from the center while unwrapping the cloth binding my modest breasts. Bras became too easy to damage in combat and I can’t be bothered scavenging for replacements every time. Although uncomfortable as it was at first, it is barely noticeable by now.

The long piece of material cascades down unto the floor. I dip a toe in the water and goosebumps rise. What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath for once…that would be heavenly. Slowly I submerge my foot into the basin taking care to not slip. The edges give way to a gentle sloping floor. Small waves from the bubbling center lap at my ankles. Roughly 4 meters in diameter and 1 m deep it occupies the entirety of this corner of the room. Being crystal clear I can see the flat round floor that levels off with a hole the size of my fist in the middle.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

My belly button comes to rest just below the top. A cloud of pink and black taints the water before being pulled towards a smaller hole set in the wall. The water swirls slowly helping to remove a weeks’ worth of travel and fighting. That was when I last passed by a small river clean enough to wash in. I bend, clasping my hands around one leg and running the length. Small bumps or depressions here and there marking past experiences. New cuts and scratches sting slightly. By no means is my skin flawless anymore sadly.

The ends of my hair become wet and drip whenever I shift. Little plop plops and the bubbling water help to soothe me. Switching to my arms I inspect my nails and take the time to reach out for my knife. I use the tip and slowly scrape out accumulated grime. After scraping my arms free of blood and dirt I gently lean back against the slope. A bulge at the back of my neck reminds me of the ponytail. I untie the bundle and gather it over my left shoulder.

Blindly, I reach back and take hold of the pouch. The knife goes back in and out comes a luxury. A very small bottle of soap and a broken comb. The type you would find in a pre-apocalyptic hotel. I carry only what is absolutely necessary on me. I squeeze three drops onto my hand and lather my hair. I take my time and gingerly run the comb through. For the next several minutes I work out any snarls or debris.

Satisfied, I lean back once more and let my hair float around as it wishes. I keep my nose just above the water line and let any residue tension be swept away. My necklace bobs in time with my breathing, gently lifting and settling. The crystal catches the flickering of the torches and refracts the light beautifully. It’s important to take it easy any time you have the chance in this hellish world. A light fragrance of lilies permeates the air. My thoughts turn away from last night. The mind sharp and clear.

A bag full of precious stones. They should fetch a fair price. Crystallized life that is only attainable in the depths of spikes. The pebbles I have are of the lowest grade. I could move on to the deeper levels for higher quality but it’s to risky alone. Normally one cannot even complete the first checkpoint without grave injury. I am alone but not. Wrath stands with me. We grew together for years to get to this point. I clench my right fist together feeling warmth from my glove. I would not remove it even if I could. This glove that Wrath dwells in regenerates visible to the naked eye whenever damaged.

A good long soak later and I’m forced to get out by my stomach. It growls angrily at me. Life force can keep it at bay but never fully satisfied. I think the last time I ate was around four days ago? I had managed to track down a weak rabbit. Gurgling comes from below, “Alright, alright. I’m moving.”

At the bottom of my pouch is the last of my meagre items. Two packs of crumbled saltines long past their shelf life and a small piece of film. I remove one pack and rip the top off. Tilting my head back I gulp while shaking the package. How I wish for a leg of sizzling rabbit again! Sticking my finger in the package, I bring it back to my mouth and suck a bit. Somewhat pacified, my stomach settles.

I walk to my discarded clothing laying at the side of the pool. Cupping my hands, I take a drink to wash down the salt before flipping my skirt, shirt, and wrappings through the water. The trench coat is left out since it would take to long to dry and will go a long way to mask my smell in the wild. With that done I lay out the items to dry. Picking up the trench coat I inspect it. Part of the collar has a chunk missing and a few new rips exist that will have to be patched. Nothing I can do for now though. I settle it around me and draw it tight for some more warmth.

Now to process the gains. Plopping onto the straw I cross my legs. I absorbed the life force yesterday and trace amounts before that. Absorbing life force takes away the dullness of one’s mind but does not make it yours to wield. It can be considered recharging a battery and then finding you cannot use the battery because you do not have the appropriate adapter.

In a process much similar to the opening of the level gates, I circulate life force. This time however I keep it a closed circuit within myself. I grab ahold of the foreign lifeforce lazing around in my blood and force it to follow my body’s natural circulation. Left alone it will just travel freely with no care, stopping and going as it pleases.

Starting at my heart it rushes towards the lungs and I deeply inhale. Exhaling, it travels to my extremities. Early on everyone thought we were purifying the life force. But in actuality we are tuning the energy to ourselves. The best example I can think of is that each person has their own unique wavelength they operate on. This cycle of circulation lets the energy settle into that wavelength and enable it’s use. Like this I cycle the life force manually for the next three hours.

Refreshed, I stand up. Mediating does wonders for the body. Most of my aches are gone with just a twinge left in my shoulder. The small cuts are scabbed over or barely noticeable white lines already. It is best to mediate after proper preparation so no ‘negative’ energy can influence you. Superstition mostly, but well-founded nonetheless in today’s world.

I redress and make my way to the mini arch gate. Mission accomplished and time to head back. Spikes are the only area to replenish life force unless attempting to absorb power stones. Dangerous business that. Touching the arch, light flashes and I appear outside unmolested. I swear the only reason I have to go through such unpleasantness at the entrance is wholly for theatrics.

“Home, sweet home, here I come.”