The trembling shook every joint until his body sounded like a pile of sticks being tossed into a forgotten corner. But he was already in the corner. And all but forgotten. But he would remember him, right?
He tried to call for him but only a plaintive whine came forth. He was too wracked to open his jaw. Too weak to cry loudly. He was so hungry. So hungry. … so very hungry…
Loud angry voices answered him. Voices that told him to die already so they can have peace. Voices that told him to abandon the spirits his father taught him and embrace a new ghost-white god. Voices that mocked him for living. If it meant listening to those demanding his death for a moment with him, then he can hold on a moment more.
Just a moment more.
Is he coming?
He feels a painful wrench in his bowels and a horrid wet stench comes from his legs. The angry voices are even more angry.
A calm voice covers him. The angry voices are sent away. Is it him? No. It’s the man with the bitter pills and the even more bitter drinks. Hands that see better than eyes wipe away the cooling stickiness under his buttocks. There are calm mutters about inhumane treatment and a statement on how dogs are treated better. The calm voice talks more but the fever makes the already strange words harder to understand. The hands caress the stomach, the wrists, the neck, the face while the calm voice caress the knotting mind as he waited for him to come.
A wet cloth is forced between swollen lips. The heat inside his head dries up the cloth before the tongue can taste what the lips lied. A slip of stale bread is laid at his lips. He is so hungry that if his body could, his gut would split open to swallow the bread and the hand offering it. But the illness has gripped him so hard, he can’t open his mouth to receive the offering.
The calm voice sighs and leaves.
Suddenly he is distanced from the heat in his flesh. He wants to shiver, but his body doesn’t move. He realizes his eyes are open but he has realized he has not been able to see for a while already. He struggles to keep his useless eyes open, but if he closes his eyes it doesn’t hurt as much. However, he knows if he closes his eyes he won’t see him again.
It hurts.
It hurts to breathe.
It hurts to be.
…
It doesn’t hurt anymore.
In the distance his father and uncles are calling for him. In the distance his mother is chiding his younger brothers about a prank. In the distance… is home. The home he struggles to remember without the pain of how he left it.
And all he had to do was sit up. Sit up and leave this place. Get up and leave him.
He realized he didn’t hurt anymore. But he was still hungry. So very hungry. But he isn’t hurting now. And the tents are gone now. And the angry voices from the angry men who only smiled when they were hurting him. And the hurting spirits brought by the angry men.
Instead, there was his family. Off in the distance. Just over there, away from where he was now. All he had to do… was leave… him.
He wanted to say ‘Goodbye’ to him, first. He is too tired to tell his family that he’ll be coming home soon. He is sure they will understand that he has to say ‘Goodbye’.
The tents return. The hurting spirits doubles in number. The angry voices returned but they weren’t angry at him now. The calm voice was back. And he was there.
He tried to sit up and take hold of him. Sit up and hold his hands and speak to him and…
No, don’t cry! Don’t cry! Everything will be okay! You’ll see! Look! No more pain! Look! I’m…
I’m…
His hands passed through the crying man’s arms. Now he understood why he saw his family. Off in the distance. Just over there, away from the living. His family that was massacred and the survivors sold and forgotten. He accepted that he was dead and wanted to go back to them but the hurting spirits surrounded him.
The hurting spirits mocked him for wanting to tell anyone ‘Goodbye’ and said he will never be allowed to leave.
And somehow, even though he was dead, he was still hungry. So very hungry.
The sound of him crying over the ashen body brought his attention back to the living.
I won’t leave you. I’ll be right here when you want me. I’ll keep the hurting spirits and the angry people away. I’ll eat them! All of them! I’ll never leave you. I promise.
…
…
Last night, I held Jack, and fell into his memory detailed above.
Last night, as I watched him holding Sir Nathaniel’s spider leg with the hand not holding mine, I could smell a cooking fire. Off in the distance. I heard a woman scolding some children. Off in the distance. And I heard men calling a name in a language I’ve never heard. Off in the distance.
…
I think Sir Nathaniel and I are going to have words soon.