Shadows of the Fallen

Chapter 3: a mistake

I still lay, rubbing the tiresome gaze from my eyes. I searched my mind, trying to remember what had happened before I had obviously fallen asleep, leading to this awakening. I couldn’t find anything. I tried to think rationally, tried to calm my heartbeat, which had already leapt wildly out of control; erratically thumping and making me gasp a little for air. I ran my hands through my short, brown hair and felt my own skin and the small lines around my eyes. I turned my hands over before me studying their worn lines, and short, clean fingernails. There were no cuts, scrapes, scars, or gashes about my body. Everything was there and I have never felt more alive, yet I still could not move.
Beneath me was a small off-white cot with eggshell sating sheets and a silk pillow. I gazed about my surroundings, peering at where I was.
The room was a suffused blue. Shadows cascaded on the walls from outside the large oval windows. In front hung white elongated drapes that overflowed the floor. Placed on either side of me hung two large mirrors that I could not see into.
The floor was placed with slate in a circular mosaic pattern, creating a cross and dove along with a mountainous background.
I yawned, trying to sweep the tiredness from my body, but I was still very warn out and couldn’t even rouse myself to sit upright. I was week from one limb to the other and all the noise I could hear was my hearty beating in my chest.
I looked over onto the small nightstand next to me and saw a rose. No doubt the one I had smelt earlier. The blossom was elegant, as it stood single in a glass vase with only the water droplets to keep it company. On every petal was a streak of orange running down the vain, seeming to be sun struck.
I wanted to touch the flower. Even though I hated the site of it I wanted to know how something so simple could be so peaceful. Is it possible to be that way, to be like the flower even though you had lost everything? I wanted to reach out and grip it in my hand. What was it like to be that way? Peaceful…
Across the room sat a small table that had a few plants lying in a wooden bowl. It seemed mixed together in some type of herbal remedy, but I had not seen anything of such since my father and his priest work.
My body, as appalling as the pain felt, seemed to have been drifting off to slumber. I wanted to stay conscious, to see where I was actually at. But, even as curious as I was, I come to realize that time was shortening to me watching the inside of my eyelids.
The only thing I could hear were footsteps growing louder and a door sliding open, bringing forth a glorious bright light.


Was I being haunted?

I lay there on a small cot, wrapped in bandages that soaked up my blood. I struggled to rouse myself wholly, but my awaking awareness seemed aimless, bobbing in a cosmic, shadowy sea. My abdomen roiled. I suddenly had to pull all my mental strength into throwing up. I knew all too well that in my present condition. My eyelids sagged closed again, and I foundered to a place darker yet.
I caught myself, forced my thoughts to the surface, and willed my eyes open again. I remember: they gave me herbs to dull the pain to help me sleep. The pain, if not as sharp, still found me there.
There were so many of them, their faces enshrouded in gold embraces, but the one who stood out the most seemed to be the main one. It had long, wavy brown hair and eyes that glittered like the stars on a full moon night. Yet, that was all I could tell, all I wanted to see. The blood I had shed still smelt shoddily and remained in my sense until I dozed off further out of my dream.

Stirring from an uncomfortable sleep, I peer into the same room. My body limp and useless, I am weighed down by fear and exhaustion. My lungs pinching at my sides, panic fondles my churning veins and restless mind. My body tingling, I disregarded that lack of overpowering soreness. An awkward feeling, I awake with swollen eyes and my body encased in canvas dressings. I leaned over to my left and, accidentally, fell onto the cold, hard floor, knocking my head against it. Placing my body weight in my arms, I pushed myself upwards onto my knees. Knees? My legs, had they healed?
I was beginning to think the dream was more than just a vision. As I scrambled to my feet, my legs shook, not remembering how to stand. My eyes were a bit blurry and my stomach empty. I was quivering continuously, gasping in as much air as I could. Breathing felt so wonderful to me.
My first step in such a long time was as if I was a baby all over again. I had to learn from phase one how to do everything over, possibly even to eat, if I still could. Even as good as I felt, my back still felt enormously stiff.

My thoughts turned back to the rose once again.

I scrambled over to the table, trying to keep my balance as steady as I was able. I grasped the bloom in the palm of my hand and pulled it to my face, taking in the fresh scent of the petals. The scent was original and all it’s own. The simpler it was the more I wanted of it. I wanted to see a field of innocence.
I looked over at the window where the daylight descended and felt warmth. Below it lye a rather hefty, rustic chest with two leather straps wrapped tightly around it. Kneeling down I unbuckled both and opened the squeaky lid. It was unusual for what was inside. An outfit of slick, black clothing lye before me with a cross-shaped necklace positioned on top, it was a fitting garment. I brought it forth to my chest. My eyes widened as I peered at the long, lilac jeweled blade lying at the pit of the trunk. I reached inwards and pulled it out feeling the mass of the steel. Why had I felt like I had seen if before, like it was mine all along? Questions were the key to everything I wanted to know, like why I had no idea where I was, yet I felt like I had been there before? Would I even get the truth?

The clothes that I bore were much too irritating. The heavy canvas weighed my shoulders down and itched quite frequently. It seemed I had no choice but to change into the dark garments. I was still drawn to that sword and when I held it I felt unbelievably strange, for that matter, cold. After I had fastened the sword to my belt I felt a cool breeze against my back, noticing two slits on either side of the shirt. Something was not right. Why were there slits, and most importantly why was it left for me to find?
I stumbled over to the bed and sat down to rest my horrid headache. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to stay focused, but my mind drifted as to weather I should leave the room or not.
I fell silent, pausing, not breathing. I heard the blood beat in my ears and someone’s footfalls in the hallway. I just stared at the door for a minute, not knowing what was there, but flinched in surprise when I heard a voice. Mellow, I strained to pick up the words. Vibrating in my mind were the words “is it he”? I am sure he was speaking to someone else, but I had not heard the other unless there sync was exact. Was it I that they spoke of, or another who had so carelessly allowed them to end up like I?
Sitting, I slowly began to remember soon forgotten memories of my existence, back on the dreadful world as it were. The only thing I have ever learned in this misfortune was that memories fade, memories of nothingness. My life was never my own, it belonged to every one else and yet they cared not. I meant nothing to anyone and they meant nothing to me. I was unlike them, and that brought their average lives to a screeching halt when they realized that their lives were of no true relevance.
I don’t choose to remember such things, but it seems like I was meant to keep some documentation of my past life. I was abandoned and unwanted. My actions, never seen, my words, never breaking the silence.
I vigilantly gripped the door bar. What was on the other side if not fatality again? Who was there? Breathing heavily I squeezed the lever and pulled the doorway open, my eyes closed in fear. I needed my courage. Courage. I smiled bitterly. Once I’d imagined myself afraid of nothing. Over time, I’d come to realize I’d been afraid of everything. I had lived in fear: fear of failure, fear of being alone, and mostly fear of dying. Why had I lost my courage so instantly? Was it the intense light that made me warm? The door itself felt like fire rushing through my veins.

The foyer seemed everlasting. Me, the wretch I was, sulking through the hallway, my eyes limp and red. There were no doors, no people to be heard or seen. Where it seemed to go ceaselessly there were more turns than a labyrinth. I slid my hand along the wall, feeling the bumps and notches. Then, I came across a smooth surface. A window.
I could heed water running. Yet, there was nothing creating the clamor around me. Peering outside I saw a large fountain, one that looked similar to the one in London. The one I always seemed to see.
Before my lonely death I would hide in the darkness and gaze at the children playing in the park, couples walking hand in hand blissfully together, and so much happiness I could not help but hate them all. I was envious of every single one of them, so bad that I wished to be then, if only for a mere second. To know what it was like. Yet, I had none of this, only my grudges and myself. I was empty inside. I was nothing more than a phantom, a phantom everyone saw, but never had enough time to see.
I smiled only to walk away from the memory.
The walls began to fade to the painted blue from the mysterious room and with every tread I shivered. I thought the blood had rushed to my head when I had reached the end of the corridor. A light, a certain kind of radiance had been shining through the crevices of the sleek-glossed gate. Why such beauty for an inanimate object of such?
A deep sigh, I turned the knob.

Inside, lye a very vacant room. I could see no walls, no floor. I was concerned to take even the next step in alarm I would collapse through. Yet, something in the distance, something so visible caught my eye. What appeared like a tower was nothing more that a cupboard. Sliding open the door, I noticed several folders lined up in chronological order, all with passed written on them. A paper with a blood drops lye in the first file. Reading along it became clear that I had hear this somewhere before.

Age 5 June 6th, 1864

Dear God?
Daddy’s sick. He says I should pray as much as I can for him, so I get worried. I don’t even know if you are real, but if daddy says it will help, then I believe him. I over heard the doctor say that he has something called Heart Cancer. Even though I have never heard of it, it sounds scary.
I went to see him today, at the hospital. I only saw him for a few minutes because they said they had to run some tests. Daddy looked pale and he kept throwing up his food. He didn’t act like he wanted me to be there. Auntie Amelia says it’s all my fault and that I was something called a burden, that if I was never born by my mother daddy could have lived a happy life together with her and they would still have all the money they once did. I told Daddy that and I heard them arguing in his room. I am taking it they don’t like me very much.
When I said goodbye and left, daddy said that whatever happened you would be there for me, will you? What is going to happen to him?
For Daddy

I pulled the paper behind the others and continued to read about the child.

Age 5 June 8th, 1864

Dear God,
Why? Why did you put daddy to sleep? I shook him and cried for him to wake up and he wouldn’t. He always wakes up for me! The doctor said you took him. Where did you hide him? Please don’t take daddy from me; I need him so much!
They were all making phone calls to something called a funeral home. Daddy did allot of funerals. He said that is where people go away forever. I don’t want him to go away! You already hid my mommy! Give them back, please? Please…
How can you do this?



Age 5 June 11th, 1864

Dear God,
I hate you! I saw daddy today and he was freezing. I hardly even got to say goodbye before Auntie Amelia shoved me out of the church and told me to never come back. Now I am alone. Daddy is in the ground at St. Andrews Cemetery. He’s never coming back, just like mommy all over again. I hate you; you are not there for me! Why didn’t you help? I prayed…I prayed.
Daddy’s little boy

I prayed. Outrageous as it was, in the diminutive time reading I had regained memory of all this. This was my life, my prayers. How did they have such things, things that belonged to me and no one else? I detested him so much. Father did not deserve such conduct, and neither did I. I fell beneath my own mass, sulking to the floor. Everything slowly became distorted my eyes clouded with my tears.
I believed they wanted to impair me; they wanted to see me in horror, as I never was on earth, ever.
I couldn’t feel the blood leaking from my head, as I lie curled on the floor. I couldn’t even remember my name. I was disorientated and sore. I was convinced my anesthetized head to turn on its side. Squinting, I saw a monumental structure in the distance, one with a garden surrounding it.
Remembering the rose from the room, there was a profusion flourishing from the shrubbery, which lie just ahead a few yards. The bizarre thing was that when I had walked in here a moment ago, nothing of that standard existed.
Crawling seemed to be the only movement I was capable of in my present condition. The steps were cold marble and the pillars solid limestone, beautiful. What really stood out was the abundance of candles that lie piled on the altar. Each one was lit in a glorious vivacity of flames, burning, warm. Just before losing consciousness, I reminisced about something that was not even in my own mind. A crash, eerie eyes, and something disturbing, struck the back of my mind, elusively.

Again I was slumbering. Again I was alone. Again I was angry. I was infuriated at these people, and yet, I was relieved to know I was alive. It was cold, lights seemed to be coming from everywhere. Was I dreaming? Is this real? Should I believe in what I am feeling?
Amethyst…Amethyst…


Who called me by such, who called me by my name? Was it her, was it the girl I saw, the one with wings, the one with cerulean eyes?

Awake, for you do not have to hurt any longer.