He feels. He can feel. He doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he can. This is what it’s like, isn’t it? This must be. God. The ground beneath him, cool, cold, individual strands of grain bunching beneath his fingers, and it’s so much to take in because he’s never had fingers before, no, he mustn’t have, this feels so incredible, so real, so wonderful; there’s so much around him and he feels like it’s struggling to push through every inch of him so he can feel it all.
And then he realizes that he’s breathing.
He hears himself take a soft inhale—it hurts a little, just a little, not as much as everywhere else—and he can hear the shaky, slow release. This is one of those things humans do, right? Breathing. They have to do it or they’ll die. It’s something for their brain, isn’t it? Oxygen. It’s a subconscious process that they don’t even have to think about. It just happens so they don’t have to worry about it. And once he worries about it, it stops.
The sudden halt of airflow is sharp and obvious. There’s a swelling feeling centered in the middle of him, swelling and grasping and desperate and oh god, oh god, what does he do, the world is seeming to burst from inside of him—and then something clicks. He takes control, inhales, trying to suck in as much air as he can, drawing in sweet relief and ecstasy. Everything settles, the pain subsides, and it’s with another grateful breath that he recognizes something: the damp scent of the earth.
It triggers something. He doesn’t know why it seems familiar, but it is, and it’s something so deep and buried that he’s having trouble understanding exactly why this sense of I’ve done this before is permeating everything, and then he begins to panic because the world seems to bleed into darkness, black closing in.
Posted 8 months ago [Monday, September 17th
2012 @ 12:48 AM]