Chương 2: What Happened After...
That's it, right? The characters—hero, friend, and confidant—all die in an unavoidable tragedy. Their stories forever twisted and distorted into tales of fiction.
Wrong.
Through a haze of darkness, our hero awakens.
Her awareness of the world is as foggy as her final moments, snuffed out by the surrounding void.
She understands one thing.
Athena Satori was supposed to be dead.
"A ghost?" She asks herself, bringing a hand to her head. It seems like the dumbest conclusion to come to, even if the situation itself makes it seem the most realistic.
Quietly, almost hesitantly, she brings her hands up to her nose and chest. She's too calm and still for the situation, and her lack of breath and heartbeat seem to lull her deeper into that state.
Her life ended. She was gone. She was dead. So why does she feel so alive despite the lack of breath in her lungs? Why does it feel like her heart's racing despite the fact that she has no heartbeat?
She's walking through something; it's dark and grimy and sticky, similar to the time she was forced to wade her way through sewage but so much worse.
The endless void of nothingness she wades her way through doubles as a smoke screen, ensnaring her vision as she attempts to stop herself from continuing this unknown journey.
She wants to scream—a loud, terrified thing filled with her pain, her grief, and her fear—but it won't come out. No matter how hard her fingers shake or the slight tremble in her frame, not even the silent tears streaming down her face seem to be enough to force her body to release her anguish.
Her nostrils flare in anger, starting to dull out the anguish in her heart, when suddenly she straightens, her features contorting into a blank canvas, her body going slack like a puppet on strings.
When she moves again, she's no longer wading through nothing; it's safer to say she's become a part of it.
Her steps, while silent, seem to echo in the vacant expanse like a deadly war scythe. Her legs tremble as she's forced to push against some unknown force. Her body is unresponsive as it rips itself apart from the inside.
She lives through this pain for as long as she can, enduring it like she was always taught to do as a child, even as her face remains unresponsive and even as her mind tears itself apart.
When it's all over. And what's left is but a mere skeleton of a former self; her body finally gives out, and she finally loses consciousness.
*****
The second time our hero gains consciousness, she finds herself staring through a blue expanse of sea. Her once-broken body fully healed on the ocean floor.
Her eyes widen, and her hands rush to clutch at her chest as the world tumbles around her. A strangled cry leaves her lips, her breath coming out in slow, shallow breaths as memories flood her body.
She could handle anything once upon a time; now she can barely handle the aftermath of her torture. Her body trembles in the sand as tears streak down her face, strands of hair falling onto her features, blocking her eyes and her soul from the light-filled world.
No matter that she shouldn't even be able to cry under the sea, much less feel it, she could.
She felt the way each tear fell from her face and onto the sand, the way each sob that racked her body caused a distinct shift in her heart and in the ocean itself.
She felt it all—the way everything around her seemed to react to her and her emotions—and allowed that feeling to consume her.
Her guilt? It ebbs away at her mind, slowly consuming it like a persistent tumor.
Her anger? It drives her to get up again and again, willing her to fight back against her pain.
Her sadness? Surprisingly, the enemy of her anger drags her back down in the hopes it may override her grief.
Her sorrow sits still everywhere and nowhere, never settling for just one place but making a home where it hurts most: in her heart.
And while she tries her best to pull herself together, these beings do their best to take her apart.
*****
The third time our hero wakes, we question if it's her last as a scream rips itself from her throat.
The third time she wakes, she questions why her death wasn't enough. Why must she go through this cycle of blacks and whites?
She's shaking and crying and gasping for breath all at once; she's hoping, begging, and pleading that what she's been through is enough—enough for it to stop, enough for her to rest.
Please, make it stop! Make it stop! Let me rest, please!
At this point, our hero is so lost in her frenzy that she doesn't realize where she is or what's going on.
Around her, nurses and doctors scramble, trying and failing to figure out just what is wrong with her.
The sparkle of energy inside her fluctuates, disappearing and reappearing at random intervals, and these doctors can't seem to figure out why. At some points, she's so quiet you have to question if she's alive; the next, she's a harsh cacophony of human sadness.
Something's wrong with her.
But some have hope for her. A doctor who's determined for a child to live, a nurse who's determined to aid this doctor in his endeavor, and a loving couple who stands with her through both.
When her body racks with sobs and tears stream down her face, these two hold her close and lull her to sleep.
When she's as silent as a lamb, these two smile down at her, shaky, fear-filled but hopeful smiles, and wish for her to live, to live her life as herself and no one else.
As their daughter and as their light.
All this is happening around her, and our darling hero has yet to even realize it.
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