People say sickness is a battle. That is too valiant a word for the eye gouging, hair pulling, dirty fight it is. There is no honor. Only a battered victor, or the shell of someone who gave all.
I am a hairless shell of a woman, lying not in my hospital bed, but on a warm California beach. It took my last energy and forty-five dollars to get to this sandy outlook. Watching the sun slowly setting over the ocean; my last wish.
A man in a gray suit leisurely walks to me. He lies on his side, intently watching the struggle of life on my face.
“My lady, why do you lie here alone dying? Have you no family to hold your hands and profess their love in your final moments?” His calm voice holds none of the anguish expected while watching another suffer. I wonder at his intentions.
I shake my head, no. Wearily, I wave him away, as you would an annoying fly. My last moments aren’t meant to be watched with morbid amusement.
The man laughs at my rudeness. “Do you want to die?” he asks jovially.
Ignoring his strange tone, I consider the question and manage to nod, “Yes”. Choices are few for me but I find making this one for myself comforting.
“Well, good.” He claps his hands together and smiles widely. His grin is disturbing and I begin to suspect he’s only a hallucination. Another lovely gift brought by my inner enemy.
I groan with pain as he lifts my frail body. My breathing has become flighty gasps. He carries me a while, then a car ride. I have no idea of time. Steadily losing my hold on reality.
I know well, the cold of a steel surgical table. It’s where I am placed. The lights are low, not bright as they should be. I’m unafraid, nothing worse could be done to me.
I am wrong. There is a pinch at my already scarred arm and within seconds it feels like someone has filled me with fire. Chemotherapy was never this torturous. I wouldn’t have thought I had the strength for it, but I scream. Horrible, anguished, screams that bring no one to my rescue. Pulling out my I.V. is impossible, there are straps on my arms and legs…I don’t understand.
I hear him quietly in my ear. “It will be over soon, don’t worry.” The nature of his words are comforting but his tone is unaffected, clinical. From that point it feels like days in varying degrees of hell. I can’t figure why he would torture a woman this way. I am convinced he is the devil. I am surely in hell.
After the fire that burned for days. Then comes the ice.
I am submerged in freezing waters, still strapped to the table. Ten, three-second baths with one minute intervals. I know because I count, no longer am I complacent with time. Short seconds pass until the knives of ice pierce my skin. “No!, No!, No!…” I plead, when I hear the machine begin lowering the table once more. “Please!” I beg before sucking in a breath. The man does not answer; he watches.
I must have died. My body was in no shape to bear this. My soul must be enduring. I try to think what I could have done in my life to deserve hell. I was nice to others, helped people. There is no explanation for this punishment.
The third trial of fire and ice has ended. I await the arm prick that brings my pain. It doesn’t come. I slowly unclench my eyes and find my captor’s ice blue stare. They are void of feeling. I expect no less.
He silently unlatches my restraints and stands back.
My vision is miraculously clear, my arms and legs free to move. I find I can stand and walk without pain. “What have you done?” The steel lined room echoes the horror in my voice.
“I’m am Eleazar. You are my new pet.” He smiles and I see the clue that was missed by my sick eyes. There are fangs. He has fangs. “Eleazar?.. What are you?” I cry.
Eleazar throws his head back and laughs at my hysteria, “We are the same now.” He raises his arms dramatically, “Immortal!” then turns and walks from the room, pausing at the door.”…You’re welcome.”
Darkest Savior was the fifth post I put on WP and I thought a few of you may have missed it. And I’m busy today, and a little lazy. So hope you enjoyed it!