"Drink," a disembodied voice demands, "You want to be saved? Drink."
The words float along my black dream. Echoing and repeating in the empty void, though scarcely understood.
Warmth slides through my insides. It's blacker than pitch but the bizarre heat encases me, warps me into something formless. I recall things like anger and fear and then it all...liquifies. I drift aimlessly along to the sound of a light drumming. The word 'Drink' hovers like the remnant of a tune in true abyss. Is this what it is to be nothing – do I want to be *nothing*?
My eyes flutter, welcomed by deep blues before extreme discomfort violates every feasible space. It's as if I can feel the planet screaming. I black out, unable to comprehend the suffering.
Am I unconscious? I have this hazy awareness of a faint thumping. Notice the beat faltering, the pace becoming more languid with each passing second. I try to grip this seed of consciousness but feel utterly shapeless. I spread in all directions, through every crevice. I'm splitting apart, have no control of where I'm going.
This sensation is frightening, I'm losing grip on who I am. *What* I am.
I make another effort to stay tethered, forcing open my eyelids with labored success. Twisted branches of naked trees reach for the stars above – a view I would only get laying on my back, but I no longer feel the ground. I'm hovering, levitating through the air, being carried to Heaven, maybe Hell. Is there even a Heaven or a Hell?
The scene is hardly a snippet, the sky fades as I'm taken back into the strange dream-like state. The barriers of my flesh are undetectable. My gelatinous tendrils reach out, extending, searching for a familiarity. If I have eyelids and eyes I must have other pieces too.
Embracing the foreign energy as an ambiguous sense of self, I take control and disperse. Eventually I slide inside every one of the limp fingers all the way down to the toes, fill up the space where a brain should be. The quiet pulse has slowed so much that ten seconds go by before I hear the next thud.
*My* pulse.
Clinging to the passing rhythm, I wait in anticipation for the next note to hit, sense the body straining to strengthen its dying tempo.
My body...this is *my body*!
I attempt a breath but it's impossible, I'm drowning! I can't think, my insides are imploding, lungs bursting from the pressure. There's this weight crushing against my ribs, blocking my airway. An awful, horrifying helplessness.
I can't move, can't see! My heart, my *heart*! It's stopping, it *hurts*, I'm dying.
Then the last beat ripples into emptiness as everything goes grimly numb and silent.
⭒☽◯☾⭒
I take a huge gasp of air, flinging myself forward. My head swims from the abrupt awakening. A fever dream.
Steadying myself, I let a calming exhale out my lungs until I can sit without teetering.
'Wait a second, that breath didn't hurt,' an uncomfortable reckoning begins trickling in, 'I'm not drowning. Didn't I break some bones?' I touch the right side of my ribcage, pressing lightly.
Hold on, it's coming back to me now. I was totally beat up. My hands dart around like I'm dancing to the Macarena, checking all the areas I could have sworn were either broken or bloodied. It was bad, so bad I should be dead right now. I was dead...wasn't I?
Clutching my throat I grimace, remembering the unpleasant experience of choking on my own blood. My neck was practically torn out.
"So, you've awakened after all."
Startled, I spin to the sound of a silvery voice, mouth parted in a stupid gape. I lay eyes on an overtly relaxed figure swaying gently in a rocking chair. A slender girl fixed on mending an old-timey dress. Long crow-black hair masks her face as she meticulously sews up a large tear by hand. She appears quite youthful despite her formal articulation.
Too stunned to say anything, I continue watching the young woman's focused needlework and can't help but be drawn to the incredible detail in the dress itself. Dynamic shades and colors I never knew existed. I can almost feel the fibers of the intricate cloth, feel myself being looped in with each stitch. The lace and fine fabrics tickle my nerves from across the room. I'm utterly absorbed…
'What the hell is going on?'
She looks up from her work, her gaze is piercing. I stare, now hooked into those unearthly irises. Eyes like sapphire ice, a color so vivid it seems to radiate with electric light.
I rip my eyes away from her magnetic stare only to have them wandering over a flawless face – she's stunning. The woman looks molded by an expert sculptor, the high cheekbones and gentle point to the chin, dressed by poreless skin. The contrast of dark hair makes her look porcelain. It's hard to place the woman's age – the maturity expressed in the curve of her eyebrows belies her teenage youth. Those soft lips curl upwards in a small giggle.
"Sorry," I apologize, lowering my head in embarrassment for gawking so openly. I close my eyes and shake off the spell, remembering my initial alarm. Where am I, who is this person, and most concerning, what on earth happened?
"No apologies necessary. I am certain your perceptions are…rather heightened."
I give her a cautious glance. What a weird thing to say, though she isn't exactly wrong. It's not just the brilliant dress or her captivating features that stand out. The dingy room should be off putting from the lack of upkeep, uncomfortably dim seeing how none of the lights are on but it's rather rich with alien hues and textures. The cluttering of antique furniture is flamboyant and popping in spite of the dust.
I can even smell things that should be virtually scentless. The old wood from the beamed ceiling is potent, so is her aged sewing project with its warm must. Even the woman herself has a perfume that can only be described as sweet like cherry blossoms but cool and striking as mint. And on top of all that, my nose detects dew clinging to the outer pane of the nearest window as if I'm standing right next to it.
As if that isn't enough, there's sound in what should be silence. It makes this inanimate room seem alive, speaking with groans and creaks. When I focus I swear I can hear far beyond the walls. Wind blowing across grass and wrestling trees.
I grip the walnut coffee table I woke up on, which also happens to have a strong woodshop scent, trying not to get lost in the haven of overstimulation. There's no way I'm in my right mind.
"Did you...drug me?" I ask stupidly, not able to think of a single drug that could make me feel this way. I'm too aware to be hallucinating, hyper aware. My thoughts have never run clearer and I feel admittedly better than ever. Just like she said, everything is heightened, noticeably amplified.
That laugh dances through the air again, so pleasant it's dumbfounding.
"No, I did not drug you," she says, looking quite amused. I wasn't kidding around but apparently this is all a joke to her.
"I don't know if I believe you," I say with a skeptical squint, becoming less at ease with this whole situation.
"I didn't drug you, but you're not the same person, understand."
'What is that supposed to mean?'
"Um, ok. Do you care to explain that? Want to start with who you are and how I got here?" I pause, eyeing her up and down, "Some context would be nice."
Her grin fades into a prudent line. Those entrancing eyes dig deep into mine, seeming to search my soul.
"Simply put, you died last night."
I stare at her speechless, straining to keep my mouth from impolitely twisting up. I wait for the punchline or a crack of dark humor but she's completely unmoved. Her demeanor unchanging as she examines me in the intense yet noisy silence. This woman...is nuts.
"I...Well, I don't feel dead?" I point out. Not knowing exactly how I feel, but seriously, dead? 'Yeah, right.'
"Ok," I say, having trouble keeping my disbelief polite, "so did I go to Heaven or is this supposed to be Hell? Limbo?"
"No, you perished but did not pass on. Alive yet changed. A revival, if you will," she says with a tilt of her head, more engrossed in my behavior than in an effort to clearly explain, "You're in the same woods, but in my cabin – I carried you here. Do you have any memory of it or of anything at all?"
Her stare bores into me expectantly. I glance around the room in confusion and frustration. I have a thousand questions and she can't even answer one sensibly. Maybe starting with the simple stuff will push her to be less cryptic.
"You know, you still haven't told me your name."
"Juniper is what they call me," she says with an air of frankness, "And yourself?"
"I'm Ashlen," I say hesitantly.
"Ah, so you remember your *name*. Humor me, do you recall further?"
She waits patiently for any response, the curiosity brimming through an otherwise composed face. There's a fearsomeness about her. Naturally, I'm wary but also strangely drawn to the idea of trusting Juniper. This is disturbing, there's definitely something weird between us, an unexplained connection. It's as if I've been reunited with a long lost sister or stumbled upon my guardian angel – a total freak phenomenon.
A small frown tugs at Juniper's mouth from the pause. She seems more lost in thought than upset, however. My gaze drops as I recollect. From what I can tell there are no holes. I know who I am, just a little fuzzy on the recent bits before I, allegedly, died.
Squinting, I try to think through the fog, backtracking to Demon Derek and…
"A *reaper*," I whisper aloud.
I look up to see Juniper's eyes glitter with untold secrets.
"So you *do* remember in quite detail," she murmurs, "How interesting."
'The Grim Reaper, I wasn't sure if it was real, but the way she just reacted to me thinking out loud…' As I ponder my eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar dirty cloak hanging behind Juniper's chair. My attention snaps back to her.
"Are you...are you the Reaper?"
She simpers, "I suppose I have gained a reputation."
I freeze up, feeling more anxious than ever. Is this delicate looking woman really the same monster that tore a man apart? 'And we're acknowledging that it actually happened.' I could have never imagined that kind of brutality, it was downright savage.
The back of my neck prickles from the sudden flood of adrenaline. I begin to consider my options for escape, an opening to slip away. It's a real possibility this woman is genuinely sick in the head, and what if she's not planning on letting me leave?
I jump inwardly realizing Juniper has been intently studying me this entire time. I try to relax but my poker face has always been terrible.
"Do I frighten you, Ashlen?" she asks coolly.
There's a pause as my brain stutters for any response.
"I don't know," I admit, half honest. Then purse my lips in hopes it was the right thing to say.
"I have no intention of harming you. If I did, it would already be done."
"You said I died, what do you mean?" I say, attempting to redirect to a more comfortable topic, but feel severely distracted. The smells and sounds are cluttering around, drawing me in. I glance up at the vaulted ceiling where dust spins above my head like fairies sparkling in light rays. There's so much going on and I'm exceptionally aware of seemingly everything, it's overwhelming.
Juniper leans back in her chair and I catch the movement like a hawk. She lowers her chin still staring at me.
"Why don't you find out for yourself? The sun has set, venture into the night and it shall explain more than my words ever could."
'Riddle me this, riddle me that,' I almost scoff in annoyance. I turn to look out the large paned window beside me. Colors of twilight shine down from the sky. How many hours I was unconscious?
Juniper isn't paying attention to me anymore. I fix on her and swear the abrupt gloom is palpable as she gazes out that same arched window. But I guess it is sound advice. I'm taken hostage by my senses as they press more intensely, urging me to experience their new tangibility. A sensation beyond my understanding is calling to me.
Eyeing Juniper, I lift myself off the table. She's quiet and still, looking thoughtfully beyond the spotty glass. I creep toward the door, my light steps make music in the wooden room and the door harmonizes as I open it to the world outside.