Dreamers (pt. II)

She looked everywhere, for she could no longer see anything.
She remembered what it had been like to see, to find things that mattered, and to care.
But these things didn’t exist for her any more.
Where did they go? Where could they have gone?
How can a portion of a person be missing?
She wished only that she could care about this most important question, but instead, she retreated from everything.
She knew she only had a brief period of time in which to find such answers or she would surely perish, but she just couldn’t find the motivation.
She needed a catalyst.

Her heart did not beat as strongly, though she knew at some point in the past it must’ve.
She was degrading so rapidly, and for all of her insight, she could not even fathom a guess as to why.
She longed for the days she had neglected, when the world was before her and she could shun it openly.
Now she could not even plead with it, and for all her hard work, she was left with nothing.
Even sleep, the one refuge for her abandoned dreams, would not aid her.
The day scorned her, the night mocked her; there was nothing left.

She laid herself down, quietly but not comfortably, waiting to die.

She found nothing remained, and evaded her fate no longer.
But even death took its time toying with her, for it seems it too had been offended by her reckless disregard for life.
She could sink no further, though the weight she felt somehow kept pressing her deeper down from where she was. But of course, she could not feel the weight she felt, and it drove her insane.

She heard a voice, somewhere, someone, but speech was now beyond her recognition.
Still, it droned on.
Lucky for her, tone was something she could still grasp.
The more this disruption from the monotonous void continued on, the more she began to listen to what she had no hope of understanding.
Bu it sounded… familiar.

She knew this voice.
She didn’t know who it belonged to, but she knew it well.
Warmth. Unimaginable warmth. An all-encompassing embrace.
Even when she could still dream, never had she imagined something so unruly, yet compassionate as this.
To her best guess, with the remainder of her wit that was still intact, she believed this was love.

She had not the strength to move, but she listened intently, and the voice resurrected memories of her glorious past she had known, but could not remember.
Still, she could not feel her own feelings, but she could borrow the ones of this essence that appeared to be her lifeline.

She regained a small ounce of her strength, enough to keep breathing, before the voice finally faded.
She felt cold once more, but now she could thrive on the memory of what had just transpired.
She drew a small breath, and cherished each moment of it, though her spirit was slowly fading.
This was enough to sustain her until sleep took her once more.

She awoke, again unable to move, and wondering this time if death would finally take her.
But as she waited, she, funny as this may seem, grew impatient.
She was tired of even death, the omnipotent arbiter and ultimate judge of man’s fate, who appeared to have no regard for her.
As she lay there, waiting in silence, again the voice could be heard.
Immediately her will to survive took over, and she rejoiced at the fact her apparent savior had not forsaken her, but come again to protect her from herself.

This thought gave her new life.
Until she waited to die, she had never known love.
She suffered both extremes concurrently, but it brought her such vitality, that she was able to stand up once again.
This cycle repeated itself seemingly endlessly, day after day, until at last the woman was able to stand on her own.
And this she did.

She had grown accustomed to this mystery, enamored with it, but she slowly became obsessed and dependent.
The voice was beginning to fade, and became both less frequent and more somber.
The girl was petrified at the thought of losing this now virtuous whisper that had saved and redeemed her life.
But she was powerless to stop it.

At last, the day she feared most came to pass.
A day without the voice.
Silence filled her head and mind; she shut everything else out with the hope that perhaps she was just not listening close enough.
But she could hear nothing.
She collapsed.
This time, entirely willing to surrender her strength back to her death god she had been waiting upon for so long. But as always, this so-called deity of hers, did not come.

She waited, and waited, and drifted through her mind with no consciousness or thought to speak of.
Only waiting for either her salvation or damnation to take hold.
But as was the condition she had become accustomed to, she remained impervious to both.

Slowly, the memories filled her head, of the voice that saved her life.
That love that brought her back, what a waste it would be, if she tossed away her own life when something fought so hard to protect it.
She now had a safeguard.
Love had saved her life.

She did not feel her strength, and though her will was weak, she stood up.
She did not know how, but she didn’t care. How no longer mattered.
She stood up and breathed. She remembered the first time she heard the voice.
She felt a violent pain deep inside, at the loss of the only thing that ever mattered.
She doubled over in agony. She did not want to continue breathing.
But she did. She could not let this cripple her.
It was more than a miracle, it was her miracle, and she could not let it go to waste.

She survived the day.
And the next come to pass.
And finally the week.
She found ways to make it through each day, though the thought of her perishing and her transient voice never faded from her mind.
She abandoned her research of the human mind and condition, for it had lead her down a destructive path, and in truth, she had acquired more data than she had ever hoped to achieve as it was.

She instead sought to find the warmth she had found that day.
She looked at what she had ignored all those years, what she believed she was too busy or important for.
She disregarded what she had learned (though she never forgot it, and even used her ‘skills’ when she found them essential) and lived as though this was to be her only life.
She stopped being concerned with matters where love and warmth, where people, where life, was not the focus.
Most importantly, she found she could finally dream.
Once again, she could finally dream.

All of the memories she had found no use for in her past few years, she recalled with such delight and welcomed them back, though many of them held nothing but anguish.
She knew she would need this pain, as well as her joy, if she was to become whole once again.
This time, however, she was not only to become whole, but she found now that she could accept everything as it was, she was becoming strong.

She dreams now of the times that were, and the times that are to come.
She feels the hurt as it arises, and embraces it, for it too is a part of who she is and who she will be.
She does not fear death, for she has accepted it as a part of her life, and lives in spite of it.

She never forgets the voice, and long awaits it’s return, but she is now strong enough to endure the wait.

She cries in silence while alone, and sometimes the pain is too much to bear; she collapses and cannot move. But she knows, and believes, that the pain will pass, and when it ends, she stands up again.

She has faith now, and is resolved to live until she can be loved, no matter how much she may suffer.

This is the story of the girl that saved her own life.

The End.