10-30-2016, 01:00 PM
Ohhh god, my head...
She squints, raising her head and glancing around the grassland. Her forehead is burning, as if a lightening bolt is pulsing through every twenty seconds, and twenty seconds doesn't even feel like an exaggeration. How long have I been sleeping? Where the fuck am I? At first everything is a blur, a mesh, but slowly the wisps of reality are starting to knit together and she can form a picture of her emerging world – all at once it begins to look familiar. She's in the field. Glancing about the fauna with their terracotta leaves, she's can piece together the season. She can't remember what time of year she'd fallen asleep.
Presently, her legs begin to shudder into life. They unfold beneath her, gathering their strength and propelling her up. She launches herself with such exuberance that she topples right back over, like a newborn filly faulting at the first. Jesus, what's going on? Dazed and perplexed, she tries again and succeeds, but her legs are teetering on the verge of insecurity. They're damned stiff, thats for sure.
Am I dead? Is this heaven? How disappointing if it should be so... She turns around, puts her nose against her flank. She's not glowing, she can't feel the warmth of the sun as she did before. The light doesn't wash around her, flood and ebb against her sides. Swinging her head to see her left side, she can't see her tattoo. Neither can she see the scar from when she betrayed the Amazons. They've gone. The big white scar that was once inflicted by magic, that's still there though – how unlucky, that she be left with the most gnarling and grotesque reminder of her past lives.
She is acutely aware of the breaths rattling through her ribcage, the slow expansion and retraction. She isn't dead. Not like she'd know, but this just isn't how she would imagine death. It wouldn't take her to this field so knows so well.
If I've lost all my powers, then how am I still alive? I must still be immortal, or this would be impossible, surely? She ponders the thought, then her memory goes back to recent events (well, recent to her mind only), to the Deserts, to her being Queen. I'm assuming I'm no longer a Queen... Where's my daughter? Where is Hurricane? What has happened to me?
Fervently, she glances around, trying to make out the forms of other horses. This must be how it feels to wake up from a coma, and even the companionship of her worst enemy would suffice in this moment of acute longing. Anything is better than the feeling of panic rising in her chest.
She squints, raising her head and glancing around the grassland. Her forehead is burning, as if a lightening bolt is pulsing through every twenty seconds, and twenty seconds doesn't even feel like an exaggeration. How long have I been sleeping? Where the fuck am I? At first everything is a blur, a mesh, but slowly the wisps of reality are starting to knit together and she can form a picture of her emerging world – all at once it begins to look familiar. She's in the field. Glancing about the fauna with their terracotta leaves, she's can piece together the season. She can't remember what time of year she'd fallen asleep.
Presently, her legs begin to shudder into life. They unfold beneath her, gathering their strength and propelling her up. She launches herself with such exuberance that she topples right back over, like a newborn filly faulting at the first. Jesus, what's going on? Dazed and perplexed, she tries again and succeeds, but her legs are teetering on the verge of insecurity. They're damned stiff, thats for sure.
Am I dead? Is this heaven? How disappointing if it should be so... She turns around, puts her nose against her flank. She's not glowing, she can't feel the warmth of the sun as she did before. The light doesn't wash around her, flood and ebb against her sides. Swinging her head to see her left side, she can't see her tattoo. Neither can she see the scar from when she betrayed the Amazons. They've gone. The big white scar that was once inflicted by magic, that's still there though – how unlucky, that she be left with the most gnarling and grotesque reminder of her past lives.
She is acutely aware of the breaths rattling through her ribcage, the slow expansion and retraction. She isn't dead. Not like she'd know, but this just isn't how she would imagine death. It wouldn't take her to this field so knows so well.
If I've lost all my powers, then how am I still alive? I must still be immortal, or this would be impossible, surely? She ponders the thought, then her memory goes back to recent events (well, recent to her mind only), to the Deserts, to her being Queen. I'm assuming I'm no longer a Queen... Where's my daughter? Where is Hurricane? What has happened to me?
Fervently, she glances around, trying to make out the forms of other horses. This must be how it feels to wake up from a coma, and even the companionship of her worst enemy would suffice in this moment of acute longing. Anything is better than the feeling of panic rising in her chest.