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Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla,
Teste David cum Sibylla.
Quantus tremor est futurus
Quando judex est venturus
The storm rages outside, harrowing winds shaking the blinds and gutters with the anger of a God's vengeful wrath.
Lightning strikes the old tree on the hill, the branches bursting into flames and leaving whittled leaves scorched to ashes in an instant.
Just a few hours ago, the skies were nearly clear and the sun shone down proudly with its chest puffed out, illuminating Central City in a glorious golden hue. There isn't a flicker of luminescence in sight anymore, the light having shut itself away behind angry clouds at the first sign of trouble. Something has angered the Gods tonight.
I sit by the candlelight, a measly spark in a sea of near darkness. The backup generator hums weakly in the background. The kitchen lights are dim, but there nevertheless. If I weren't so scared of the dark, I would have turned them off and resorted to only candlelight as a light source. But candlelight is too feeble, too easy to extinguish, too erasable. I don't want to be left in the dark.
It's cold, the flimsy insulation on the government issued house is a poor protector against nature's rampage outside. It feels as cold as it did 50 years ago.
The sound of the door slamming against the plaster wall has my eyes darting up. The candles by the doorway go out as the wind rushes in hungrily, gorging itself on any warmth that had escaped it outside. The smell of smoke fills my nostrils and I stifle a sneeze.
Rouge stands in the doorway, her silhouette ghastly against the faint moonlight shining in from behind her. She pants as her flimsy coat flies in all directions like the cape of the Grim Reaper.
With my superior night vision, I can see her sweat soaked face. Her eyes are like pinpricks, the white sclera riddled with red fissures. I can hear her heartbeat as the adrenaline courses through her veins. I can taste her panic, the fear dripping from her like gasoline and lighting the room ablaze with fear.
She doesn't move to close the door despite the old mahogany rattling on its unoiled hinges. Outside, I watch the burnt remains of the old Oak tree sizzle as the rainwater pelts down on it mercilessly. It looks its age now, all 400 years of it, half the top incinerated and what's left smoldering in the downpour.
If Rouge notices the rain splattering between her shoulder blades, she doesn't remark. Her chest rises and falls shakily. Her intricate eyeliner and mascara which I had watched her apply just this morning runs down her face in cascades of black.
My eyes focus on the red, viscous substance lathered on her gloves and thighs. The blood is fresh. If I were to touch it, it would still feel warm between my fingers.
“Sonic is dead.”
She says it so quietly that any other Mobian wouldn't have heard her over nature's rampage. To me, it's like gunshots being fired next to my ears.
I stand, the blanket that had been wrapped around my shoulders falling to the floor with a soft thud. “What?”
A clap of thunder hides the sound of Rouge's knees colliding with the floorboards. The sobs wrestle themselves free from her throat and escape into the room.
“He's dead! He's dead, Shadow!”
Suddenly, the air thins and my lungs deflate as if punctured. Water laps at my feet and with each passing second, it climbs higher. It will flood the house if I don't stop it.
“Who is dead?” I ask hoarsely. My ears are ringing.
The blood washes from Rouge's legs as she gets submerged up to her waist from where she kneels on the ground. Her tears add to it like an extra tap trickling treacherously. At least they're a warm welcome against the freezing waves that crash against my thighs.
“We watched the doctor drag his body away,” Rouge whispers, hugging herself so tightly I can see her nails threatening to rip through the fabric of her gloves. “There was nothing we could do. We tried, we really did.”
The dam breaks and suddenly, there's water climbing up my front. I gasp, but instead of inhaling air, water rushes into my airways, choking me.
No. No, no, no, no.
I thrash and struggle, but my vision is going dark at the edges. I'm sinking down, down, down, the surface getting further and further away, the light like a lantern let loose onto the river as we did in Chun-nan, floating out of reach. With my last ounce of strength, I scream but no sound escapes me bar a few pathetic gurgles. Drowning was always a horrible way to go.
I had felt the grasp of grief on my soul before. It latches on tight, hooked claws embedding themselves into my fleshy heart and refuses to let go no matter how much I pull or pry. It turns your bones to lead and with every tug of a muscle the claws sink deeper until you're just like it, a mechanical, emotionless fragment of reality with no thoughts or feelings.
Grief drapes itself over you, weighing you down until you asphyxiate on your own wretchedness. It will have you begging for mercy, for an ounce of divine forgiveness and have you down on all fours begging to a God that you never believed in to ease your pain and bring you to salvation.
Grief welcomed itself back into my arms, knowing exactly how my tendons and ligaments would either hold it in place or fight against it. It slotted against me like a missing puzzle piece, the parasite finally reunited with its host that had shrugged it off and left it to dwindle and die. I can feel the upturn of its mouth against my cheek in a smirk as it embraces me like a long lost lover.
Welcome home, it drawls in my ear, did you miss me?
How could I miss you, I reply, you never went away.
I don't know how she managed it, but Rouge re-emerged from the flood, even managing to pull the plug out and the water slowly trickled away. Her teammates nearly all resurfaced soon after. The two tailed fox did not. He had sunken down to the bottom of the abyss like me. His youthful voice was always remarkably absent when the remains of the Resistance flocked to Rouge's living room to try and recuperate when the whole world was against them.
The first few days were the calmest in my opinion as everyone grieved. Amy cried the loudest, the pink hedgehog only quietening down when she had exhausted herself and her vocal chords had strained themselves past repair.
Knuckles was deathly silent, even the thrum of his faint chaos energy stilling to a weak pulse. He'd frequently leave the house and I could hear the sounds of his fists pummeling into the ground. The sound of muck flying and fabric ripping wasn't nearly loud enough to hide the whimpers that would escape him when he thought no one was listening.
Rouge was never a big crier; she had gotten it out of her system already. She would drink the cupboards dry and then keep everyone awake at night when she'd throw up into buckets and sinks, not having the energy to get herself to the bathroom.
But as the weeks went on, their depression morphed into indifference, and then desperation. The small house would fill with activity, the members of a leaderless army coming together to try to scrape up a pathetic plan to reestablish control of a corrupted nation. I would hear them through the paper thin walls, their shrill voices arguing with one another about this, that and the other.
Who would take Sonic's place?
What is the next course of action?
How many fatalities?
Someone, I think it was Vector, put my name forward as Sonic's replacement. He was met with silence.
“The loss destroyed him,” Rouge had eventually muttered, utterly defeated. “I can't ask him to do that. I’m already asking too much of him. I don't know how much more I can push.”
A scoff laced with disbelief followed. “You haven't asked him to do anything. He hasn't come out of his room, hasn't said a word to us, and hasn't even visited Sonic's memorial. We’re running out of time, someone needs to step up.”
Rouge had snapped then, the sleepless nights and persistent hangover having worn her patience thin. “I'm trying, Knuckles, or would you rather we have two dead hedgehogs on our hands?”
If I still had my voice, I would have told her to not worry. I was dead already.
The days and weeks blurred together as the war raged on inside and out. I spent my time floating between time and space, my body a motionless vessel as my soul roamed the purgatory, searching for something I cannot name.
Rouge peeked her head in every morning, hoping that I would move from where I was sprawled on the bed. I saw the glimmer of hope in her trickle out day by day.
“Shadow please,” she had begged one night, creeping up close to my bedside and resting her hand on my shoulder. The resistance had fought the whole day, most members storming out in frustration. “We need you. I need you. You need to get up. Please, show me that you're still in there.”
She pointed to my heart and I had just looked at her through empty eyes. I noted the chapped lips, visible cheekbones and eye bags no amount of makeup could conceal. She had brushed a finger over my brow and I had tensed under her touch. I didn’t know why she was still trying to save me. I didn't want to be saved. This was my retribution, my karma, my payback for defying the laws of the Earth. This is what I deserved, wasn't it?
Why did she still treat me like a person, like an organic being? I didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't move. I was an object at this point, waiting for someone to discard me.
When I hadn't even acknowledged that her desperate words reached my ears, she sighed in resignation and got to her feet.
I hadn't even realised I had been holding my breath until the door slammed shut behind her, the tower of untouched dishes filled with now expiring food clattering against the wall.
A tear fell from my eye and onto the soiled duvet, and then another, and another. I didn't even have the energy to wipe them away. I just let them fall.
Then, something inside me changed. I didn't know how much time had passed when I opened my eyes and felt a shudder as my lungs drew in a breath, I knew something had shifted. The rush of oxygen made me feel dizzy at first, my deprived brain overloaded after being starved for so long. I blinked, my eyes trying to adjust to the darkness, retinas focusing on something physical for the first time in whoever knows how long.
My hand was outstretched before me and I clenched and unclenched my fist, feeling the nerves come alive after not having been used for ages. The pinpricks that shot up my arm felt like little electric shocks, sparking me back to life after dormancy. l pushed myself up and into a sitting position, joints cracking in protest and muscles screaming at the sudden movement.
My ears twitched backwards and forwards, listening for any sounds of other life, but found none. It was deathly quiet for once. No crying, no arguing, nothing except my own heartbeat pounding in my ears and raspy breathing. My head felt like it was filled with cotton, numb and empty, the absorbent material mopping up anything that dared leak from my wretched brain. Dark spots appeared in my vision when I got to my feet and I felt weightless for a second until it passed.
Before I could think twice (did I even think anymore? Was I even alive anymore?) my hands were fumbling with the latch on the window, a thick layer of dust coating my fingers stiff from disuse. I vaguely remember sliding my shoes on before clumsily hauling myself up onto the windowsill.
I sat there for a minute, panting from the effort despite my body feeling nearly weightless. The fresh air hit my muzzle and I sighed, suddenly rejuvenated. My legs itched to move and I swung my feet back and forth, my heels knocking against the wall. It felt nice to move and my lungs longed for more of that fresh, cold air that wafted inside from the open window.
With a swing and turn of my shoulders, I chambered out the window and took off into the distance. I didn't look back.
I don't recall how I found myself on the overpass. The sky had darkened significantly, some dark clouds even hovering over my head. I was hoping it would rain, my skin was sticky and my mouth as parched as a desert. I imagined the sensation of rain rubbing down my fur?
What was it like to feel?
Dragging my feet along the concrete, I heard the sounds of vehicles passing by below me, their tires squealing on the road. I occasionally stumbled over an outcrop of rock and I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face when I found myself in free fall for those few milliseconds before I regained my footing again.
How would it feel, to feel?
One thought (a thought! I can think!) led to another and when I looked down I noticed a trickle of blood running down my shin from where I must have knocked into something. I hadn't even noticed the slight sting as air hit the cut until I focused my gaze on it. One droplet of red blood pooled at the edges and when I went to wipe it away with my thumb, I made sure to press down until I could feel the wound pulsing. The sliver of pain that coursed through me had the neurons lighting up in my brain, endorphins upon endorphins being released and it felt so, so good.
A gasp escaped me when the pain slowly started to fade as the wound stitched itself back up before my very eyes.
I-I wasn't done feeling yet!
I drove my knee into the concrete barrier, almost bursting out laughing when the pain blossomed around my kneecap when it made contact with solid rock. The resounding crack had tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, not out of sadness or pain, but out of pure elation.
I could feel. I want to feel more. I never want to stop feeling.
A glint of glass on the ground had me scrambling before I could even command myself to reach for it. My body just moved on instinct. The shard was about the size of my palm and was heavy in my hand as I examined it. The fading light glinted against the razor's edge.
Feel, feel, feel, feel, feel.
Something clouded over my eyes like a blindfold and I sprung into action, chasing that high I had missed for so long. I didn't think as I acted, slashing viciously at anything I could reach. Sharp, white hot sparks of pain erupted from my skin as I severed into flesh, nerves and muscle. Blood gushed from every cut I inflicted, the sight of red splattering into the air had my pupils dilating with ecstasy. Wrists, upper arms, stomach, thighs, shoulders, chest, anywhere I could reach.
A maniacal laugh rang out in my ears and it took me too long to realise it was coming from my own throat.
More, more, more. I needed more.
I went deeper and faster, ignoring the dizziness and nausea that was nearly forcing me to my knees. I licked the blood that had flown up onto my face, the metallic taste lighting my taste buds on fire.
A wave of vertigo had the glass shard slipping from my blood soaked fingers as I swayed sidewards, barely catching myself from falling over on the ledge. The cars raced below me, a blur of colour and rushing wind. Tremors shook my body as I looked down, bouncing up and down on my feet. The void below was calling me, beckoning me forward, its voice sickly sweet in my ears.
I vaguely remembered someone, their blue fur striking against any backdrop, telling me that I never listened to anything or anyone.
They were wrong.
I listened to the voice and let myself fall forward, relishing and laughing at the feeling of weightlessness before darkness enveloped me.
I regained consciousness slowly to the sound of beeping machines. There was something soft cushioning my back and an annoying tickling in my throat no matter how much I swallowed. I opened my eyes and was instantly blinded by white, fluorescent lights overhead. Every movement ranging from lifting a finger to breathing sent waves of agony through every nerve in my body. My memory from before waking up was incredibly fuzzy. I don't like not remembering.
Biting back the groan that would have escaped my lips, I turned my head in the direction of raised voices. There was something wrapped over my forehead covering my ears, rendering my hearing nearly useless. When I tried to lift my hand, I nearly cried out in pain and the monitors spiked, a high pitched noise ringing out that made every neuron in my head pulse. I whined just as footsteps hurried in my direction.
“Shadow! Oh my God!”
Rouge practically threw herself on me and I yelped, my wounds flaring to life.
“You fucking idiot, what were you thinking?” She was crying, the despair in her voice almost shattering my heart into small fragments. “You nearly died, you hear me! Don't ever fucking do that again!”
I wanted to reply, to tell her that I don't know what she was talking about, but no sound came out. All sorts of emotions welled up in me but I couldn't get them out no matter how hard I tried. A sob finally escaped me when I felt as if I might have burst if I had kept everything contained any longer.
Feeling really hurt, and I didn't want to feel anymore.
Acute manic episode, the doctors had said.
Patient placed on 1:1 watch due to suicidal and self harming tendencies. Nasogastric tube placed to combat effects of prolonged starvation. Will be transferred to a secure psychiatric unit once medically stable.
The words on the page felt like needles under my skin. Why were they keeping me here? Why were they watching me like I was some sort of freak? Why wouldn't they leave me alone?
I couldn't help fiddling with the bandages wrapped around my limbs from where the worst of the cuts were. They had spent ages trying to stitch me back together, Rouge had said. I shuddered at the thought of foreign hands and fingers touching me.
My time was trickling down every second I sat wallowing in that bed. With my accelerated healing, I was due to be medically discharged soon and the terror that crept up my spine every time I thought about where I would end up and who would be touching me and looking at me was enough to make me dry heave.
I didn't want to go through that again, to be looked at like a fresh piece of meat on a butcher's block ready to be dissected.
I needed to get away.
I needed to get away for Sonic.
My mind was made up the instant the nurse turned her back to me. With a strong tug, I pulled the feeding tube out. Gathering up the faint chaos energy in me (most of it was used up in healing broken bones and repairing internal injuries) I steeled my mind and teleported away.
It was Rouge of all people who found me, bleeding out and convulsing on the bathroom floor. I wish I could forget the expression on her face as she skidded on her knees on the floor slick with blood and vomit to get to me. She didn't care that she got my blood all over her clothes or her wings tangled in the bandages that held me together, instead she cradled my head in her lap and applied harsh pressure to where I had torn my stitches out.
She wiped some white froth from my cheek as I coughed. “What did you take, God damn it! What did you do?”
I chuckled, nearly choking as a metallic taste flooded my mouth. “It's okay, Rouge. You can let me go.”
She shook me and oh God, she was crying again. She turned over her shoulder and hollered, “I need some help in here, my friend overdosed! Hurry!”
With what remaining strength I had, I gripped her trembling hand. “Please. Let me be with him.”
“What do you mean? Be with who, Shadow?”
“Sonic,” I croaked, suddenly my eyelids becoming too heavy and I struggled to keep them open. Rouge’s face blanched. “I miss him, Rouge.”
And Rouge sobs into her free hand, smearing red across her face. The biggest look of despair washes over her. “Sonic is alive, you idiot! We found him, we were coming to tell you!”
I feel the water rising up my sides again, cold and unforgiving. I watch as Rouge sobs as she runs her hands through my quills as I shudder in her arms. When the water reaches my mouth, I don't hold my breath and instead embrace it.