circumitus: Seriously. Its 80 proof rum that was 8 bucks for a liter. I'm afraid. (you don't want any of i have)
Reybama ([personal profile] circumitus) wrote 2015-07-08 12:15 am (UTC)

the white room

It’s dark, but you know you’re awake because you’re moving. From the strain in your legs and the cramp in your neck, you understand that you’ve been walking for some time now. There’s dead weight slung over your shoulder, explaining away the cramp you feel. You can handle it, but it’s more of an annoyance than anything after you’ve been carrying the unconscious body of a grown man for some time.

As you walk, you hear the sound of footsteps following behind you. Although you can’t see them, you can sense their presence. Occasionally, they make a snide comment and it’s clear that your companion behind you is male, gruff, older. You know this man, you know his name... but he doesn’t know you. Not really. You’ve given him the fake identity of someone good, someone better than you and someone he could trust. Because you know that he would not trust the real you.

The two of you have been talking, but the conversation cuts in only at this precise moment:

“—I can’t fucking see anything,” the man complains.

“Right,” you say, pulling out a flashlight with your free hand, as your other arm is wrapped around the dead weight over your broad shoulder. Offering the flashlight to the man, you flick it on and tell him: “Make yourself useful.”

He takes it, and you continue, with the light coming from behind you illuminating the dark corridors. You think that the plan is to take this man back to the ship, figure out what to do with him then. It was never your intention to kill him, but there is still blood on your hands and the determination not to spill more is greater than the urge to turn around and slit his throat or burn him alive. The deeper in you go, however, the more the harrowing feeling wrenches your insides, starting to communicate that something is terribly wrong.

Before long, the glow from the flashlight lands on a door.

I must not kill this man, you tell yourself over and over you lay the unconscious third man you’ve been carrying down on the ground, so you can approach the door.

After that, your mind is a haze. The last thing you remember is an incomprehensibly blinding room. The shape of the man who had been with you, disappearing into the colorless light. You feel that something else is there. Something that sees, that claims the man you had promised yourself to save. It wanted you, but it wants him more.

It vibrates through the core of your being, this vision of the white room before you. Part of you wants to go in. To be able to see your brother again, the only family you have that you love very much.

Instead, you step back. And close the door, the light still stinging your eyes.

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