INTRAMUSCULAR 2.08 (Patreon)

And after a bit of a hiatus, here we are again! I'm faaairly certain I repaired the issues with my medication, if the last few days of recovery are good indication, but... well, fingers crossed! This one came out a bit shorter than I'd like, but the original version was way too short, so I feel like the fusion is a good compromise. Welcome some new (faces? Not-faces?) to the cast, and enjoy! I'll hopefully keep up the pace tomorrow, though no promises as to which story in particular it'll be. I kinda miss RfR, so who knows, maybe that'll end up what helps me to kick things back to a smoother gear.

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Resurrection means that the worst thing is never the last thing.

-Frederick Buechner

Death is a funny thing, isn’t it? The first person who read these words might have already died. I don’t have much way to know, where I am, when I am. We’re all dying, all the time. The sun will die. The universe will die. All the little things that depend on both paltry topics will die well beforehand, but even still, we die always. I wake up, and I have awoken from death. I take a step forward, and I have stepped away from the death which was me, but which no longer exists. The person who read these words, in many ways, is already dead- and in other ways, it’s you.

To your perspective, I’m dead right now. To mine, you’ve never even lived. Or maybe you’ve already gone away. So hard to keep track.

You’ll die again. The trick, in truth, is to die better each time, and not to worry about what happens in the moments between.

Because there are, you know. Moments between. Moments between moments, between death and life, between what was and what is. Sounds counter-intuitive, I know, but only because we are all so very small, and language is even smaller than that.

I’m carving this by hand. I may never know if it is found, or read. In some ways, I am already dead. So are you.

In others, I am between moments, in a way that you do not yet understand. 

But you will, I think. You will. You’re still reading, after all.

Such a funny thing, death. We’re both already dead. We’re both still alive. We are both in between.

Do you see me yet? 

I can see you.

-Unknown, carved into bones found by Dr. Liona Silverstein, in an archeological dig dated ~230 BCE

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It’s like dreaming. Like my new dreams, anyways. Empty, and nothing, and I am there but I am nothing. I have no knees with which to kneel, no voice with which to pray, and now, no mind to even want to.

I am in the nothing.

I am not alone there.

There are things swimming in the nothing. Though perhaps swimming is the wrong word. They are… hmm. Motion isn’t quite right either. They are… non-static. Or perhaps unstatic. Changing things, that move not by moving but by being, that are in fact not moving at all. 

And I am here, with them.

They are so far away, but they are also so very large that it doesn’t matter. I would be able to see details of them, if I could see. I would be able to feel them, if I could feel. They are infinitely far and infinitely vast, and there is nothing of me, of the whisper of me that remains, that does not know them in a way that terrifies and hurts and leaves me enraptured.

I used to be agnostic.

I don’t know if I’m real. I don’t know if I can know things.

I do not think that I’m agnostic anymore. I don’t think I can be.

I’ve met god. All of it. 

It lives in the nothing. The between. The beyond.

It Lives.

For a moment, I do not. In a dream-moment that is forever and is never at all, that is greeting and goodbye, that is good morning and good night, I am dead, and gone, and in the nothing and of the nothing.

And then I am awake, and the dream is past.

I vomit.

It tastes like bile and blood, mixed together with whatever the hell I ate for lunch. It keeps coming, non-stop, flooding out of me like a fountain. I swear I can trace the entire path of my esophagus by the motion of the up-chuck which just keeps going.

I manage to stop just long enough to pull in a breath, and then I’m puking again.

Eventually, it slows, well past the point of what feels possible. The floor around me is absolutely coated in fluids, most of it looking like liquid scabbing, crimson that’s gone off and turned to maroon and black in my gut. I can still taste it behind my teeth, caked into my gums and the space that surrounds me, and it’s vile, acidic and chunky and granular, wet and slimy all at once, the overwhelming taste of copper drowning my tastebuds. 

I inhale fully for the first time in what feels like minutes, and taste something new.

Honey.

The air feels… sweet. It tastes almost herbal, almost floral.

I blink, trying to see where I am.

SHE smiles down at me.

I’m laying on what looks like some kind of… wax? Springy but solid, off-white and full of chunks. As my eyes wander, trying to see the shape of where I am, I catch a glimpse of the edge of the platform we’re on, and-

It’s still nothing.

There is nothing left in me, but I try to vomit again anyways.

SHE pats my back gently, almost matronly. I try to look at HER but I just- I can’t-

“It won’t be as easy next time,” she whispers. “You won’t always have your friend to vouch for you.”

SHE waves a- not a hand. Not a limb. A shape, outlined only by the fact that it is not the nothingness, not the gaping forever-not of the space just beside us or the strange wax I’m currently dying on.

In that shape, there’s a phone. Or frankenstein’s version of one, maybe- it looks stitched together from a dozen different generations, with what looks like a gameboy console for a face and a scrunched-up keyboard for typing.

As I stare, the screen flashes.

C4LL3D 1N 4 F4V0R! $33 Y0U $00N! 8Y3 L177L3 848Y!

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Confused, I push, disoriented, trying to exhale into the right shapes, but-

Oh.

I have lungs again.

I’m in the nothing, I think, but I’m me, not some unknown figure, not some anonymous perspective. I’m Ilia Silva, and I’m here.

On an island of wax in an ocean of nothing.

“Hmm. I didn’t expect it when they told me, but I suppose it’s true. You’ve barely awoken, have you? Here~”

The wax, which was beneath me, which was the floor, becomes more. The process of how is… it doesn’t feel like it changes, per se, more like some more of it came into view, or like an optical illusion shifted and let me see more of what it tricked me out of seeing. I blink, and I am in a room, the nothingness replaced by still-wet wax.

When I breathe, it tastes even more of honey than before, but it feels… familiar. Like whatever I was breathing before wasn’t really air, it just sort of felt like it. I try to speak, and this time, I do make a sound.

Out of my throat, an unholy croak, like that of a dying animal, matches with a squealing of rusted hinges.

I feel more than see my host’s reaction to that, a polite but noticeable wince.

“No need for all that, dear,” SHE says, a hint of an edge in HER tone. “You aren’t used to it, at least not yet. You’ve skipped a few steps, haven’t you? Though I suppose every journey has its own twists and turns.”

I force myself to turn. I force myself to look.

I can see her. There is a space that isn’t wax, that’s shaped almost like a person, but it sort of blends in, until it’s more imprint than outline. It’s like an indentation in the world, appearing only in the wax and dripping wetness of the chamber I’m in, and it moves like a shadow unbound from a person, circling back around me. I try to follow it with my eyes, but they sort of… slip away, again.

I don’t know where I am, but I know that something, someone is speaking to me. Which means they want something. And apparently, my “friend” called in a favor with whatever this is, so…

There’s too many unknowns. Too many possibilities.

I think I just died. Now I’m here.

Better not to irritate my host yet.

I decide not to bother trying to talk a second time, instead just giving a sort of little bow, one hand touching my head and then my throat.

“Ah, at last. A hint of politeness. I suppose you aren’t entirely lost to us, then. I amaze even myself with my talents.”

I wave my hand, trying to find the right way to ask a question-

“No no, hold still. This is delicate work, and you’re a mess as is. Your friend is going to owe me for this one, dearie, make no mistake, favor or no favor. You were doing… passably, I suppose, but it’s still taking you a while to get back. Best not to draw too much attention, don’t you think?”

A flash of memory, half-formed and barely real. Things, swimming out in the nothing, bigger than everything.

“Yes. Better not worry your little head over them. Nothing you can do about all that, and all this squirming is making it much harder to hide you.”

Hide me? Not…

Not bring me back?

SHE snorts, even as a mix of embarrassment and grief begin to fill me. I felt myself die. I did, I felt it happen. I’m dead.

I’m dead.

“Yes, and doing a rather terrible job of staying that way.”

…what?

“Your… friend cashed in a chip on your behalf, though I haven’t the faintest clue as to why. You’re not a very impressive specimen, if you ask me, but I was called to hide you, nothing else. You were doing a fine enough job of making your way back on your own.”

Making my-

I can’t help, this time I absolutely do turn to look at the indentation, glaring at her. I open my mouth, ignoring the way the imprint flinches preemptively, ready to ask something, anything.

It comes out as an incomprehensible mess, a babble of cracking noises and screaming animal sounds, and-

“Ah! None of that!”

My jaw clicks shut hard enough that I feel my teeth begin to ache.

“Have your little hissy fit somewhere else, missy. I am not so enchanted by your computronic patsy that I won’t leave you here for a passing maw, so sit your be-hind down and shush. You are as lucky as fresh meat gets and you don’t even know it, so why don’t you appreciate that- oh. Well, that’s you I suppose.”

I almost go to try and ask what the hell that means, when I feel something warm on my leg.

Looking down, I’m sinking into the wax. It’s become porous, turning to a strange wet muck, and-

Ah.

That’s blood. I’m sinking into blood.

“Finally. Next time you get your pretty little head knocked off, don’t expect me to come rushing in. Hmph!”

Something reaches up out of the blood and grabs me.

I have time for one more breath- and then I’m falling.

Through layers of wax, woven from still-living organs, full of crawling and wriggling and shifting things just barely hidden in their own clusters and eggs and forms and-

And then I’m through, and it’s just red.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And then I blink- and the floor isn’t wax anymore. It’s hardwood, covered in splinters and wood and blood, and I am lying on the floor of a ruined building, the taste of blood and honey thick in my throat and coating my teeth.

“Damn. That was really something.”

And that breaks the dam.

I scramble backwards like an animal, head on a swivel, hyperventilating wildly, desperate to find who’s here, who’s come to hurt me, and-

They’re not hiding. They’re crouched, off to one side, highlighted primarily by the glow of the moon and city lights behind them, leaking through where the front wall of the house used to be. Their form is- fuck, it’s hard to define, hard to pin down, but I think I see a hood, maybe, and I definitely see a blinded eye on the back of their hand.

It’s fainter than it was before, its edges turning grey instead of vibrant red, like it’s dying- but that’s the same sigil I saw just a few hours ago, back at the bar.

And then the figure raises their hands in a universal gesture of surrender, making a noise similar to a cough. “Woah! Sorry, pup, I didn’t mean to startle you so bad. I think your trick worked, big and ugly is-”

“Who the fuck are you!?!”

Not my best moment. In my defense, I think I just died and came back.

Hallelujah.

“Uh… sorry, but-”

“No! No!” I can barely breathe, fighting to get my adrenaline back under control, but I raise a shaky arm at the figure, pointing at them accusingly. “You! You… you’re a- Fuck you, you know that? That’s what you are. Where the fuck do you- and I’m- and-”

“Deep breaths, ok? You’re kinda rattled, I think-”

“Your brain is a pile of mush full of dogshit and bad opinions! So shut the fuck up about it for a second!”

They blink. I think. Maybe. They… they don’t not blink?

“And stop doing that! It’s- god, fuck! What is, what, what is wrong with you that-”

I stop.

I look at my arm.

The arm I’m pointing with.

The arm that the bigfoot’s alien gorilla-dog very politely removed from my body.

Which is currently attached, whole, and unbroken, a ring of dried, crusted blood wrapped around my elbow- where it was very politely removed.

I let out a single breath, harsh enough that it’s almost a cough.

For a little while, the ruined cabin is quiet, except for the sound of my inhale and exhales, each one shaky and broken.

Eventually, I claw back enough control that I manage a question.

“What the fuck is going on?”

The strange figure lowers their hands, and lets out a long, slow sigh.

And then, they reach over to the back of their wrist, and scrape away the eye there.

I flinch, expecting some kind of gore or reaction on their part, but no- as they wipe at the strange organ, it just kind of… comes apart. After the first few scrubs, it looks… it looks like marker. Scrawled onto the back of a hand whose skin is olive-toned, rich and tanned, which leads into a hoodie that is made of leather and sewn-on patches, which leads to a face that…

A face that is wearing green lipstick. With bright brown eyes, edging into golden-hazel, and short hair, curly enough to very nearly turn to an afro, and a look of genuine concern that I… don’t know how to process.

“I get the impression that maybe we got off on the wrong foot, yeah? My name’s Leisha.”

I don’t answer. She already knows my name. I just hug my arm close to me, and stare up at her, quiet. 

“Right. I… don’t assume you’d prefer to have this conversation somewhere else? I don’t know what kind of stuff that big monkey’s got, but it won’t keep people away from here forever, and you guys made a lot of noise with that fight.”

Hah. Fight. Funny way to classify that series of events.

I don’t move. I continue staring at… Leisha, very closely, my eyes not wavering as I slowly fix my breathing.

It’s important to focus on the little things sometimes.

“Ok. Message received. We got a little time, that should be fine. Listen, I’m getting the impression that I did not read you right on our first meet, and I certainly was not expecting… this. This is messy, and I’m kind of shocked that it happened. I don’t have a lot of answers, but I can promise you that I have some, and I am willing to share them with you so long as I’m not sharing them here. Ok?”

In the distance, I see lights. Blue, then red, blue, then red, flashing off in the distance. A few streets away now, but if they’re close enough that I can see them reflecting, that I’m beginning to hear the echo of the sirens, it means that they’re going to be here soon.

Leisha turns, sees what I saw, hisses through her teeth.

“I’m not trying to stick around for the pig parade, lady. You coming or what?”

“How… how do I know you’re not going to…”

She looks at me then. I look back at her. I don’t think I’ve blinked since I woke up.

She sighs.

Then she takes something out of her pocket. It looks like a locket, or maybe like a woven string? It’s got some sort of beads to it, and it feels… off. Like it’s heavier than it looks. Like I’m watching someone lift a bowling ball a bit too easily.

Leisha wraps it around her wrist, holding the edges together, and looks me in the eyes.

“I, Leisha, solemnly swear that I will not harm the Ilia I see before me unless she attacks me first, until sunset tomorrow.”

And just like that, it’s not a bracelet anymore. 

I watch, eyes wide, as tiny, crab-like little pincers bloom from out of the bracelet, locking onto each other around her wrist and digging into her skin, anchoring themselves. She acts like she doesn’t even notice, no reaction at all from what must be excruciating- she just stares at me while the bracelet digs in and settles.

“Bound by my word. See? Magic bracelet. You’re staring at it funny, so I’m pretty sure it’s working. Now are you coming, or am I leaving you here?”

The sirens get louder. The lights get a little brighter.

“...Ok.”