Fractured Red

It hurts. A burning pain encases my body, weaving through my veins, and wrapping itself around my bones. It's not real, but each breath, each heartbeat seems to get slower, counting down to when they'll end.

I manage to curl up in the fetal position, the awareness of my true self slipping further into this vision.

I'm alone, not even my wolf is here.

My limbs are heavy, but my eyelids obey when I force them to open; that alone takes all my courage. The scent of blood is heavy in the air and now I see why. Bodies were strewn around lifelessly.

It's just a vision—I am alive.

My fingers start to numb, a coldness taking over. I can feel my life slipping through the cracks and into death's grasp. I blink, all I can make out is the moon and blurred stars, but the sun just rose, it's not night.

Some awareness seeps back, a hum that resonates through my very being and instinctively I listen. It whispers its secrets, cutting through the dark abyss between conscious and unconscious, this victory will be their last. I don't understand, but it doesn't matter. The future is ripped from my grasp and the present is brought back. First the icy coldness of my fingers and then the rest.

On trembling arms, I push myself to sit up in bed. The thin blanket that was once covering me is in a heap on the floor. Grabbing it, I wrap it around my shoulders, trying to get some extra heat. My chest aches, the memory of the vision still fresh and lingering. Lily whines lowly; her want to help overwhelmingly strong, but this kind of cold and pain are not ones she can take away.

Standing, I walk to the kitchen, pulling the blanket closer as the warmth starts to seep back into my bones. I don't have time to dwell on what I saw. Moving quicker, I throw some more wood into the stove. There are things to be done. The fire grows steadily and soon after I stop shaking.

Forcing my mind on track, the vision can come later. I have to get ready.

Wetting a cloth I drag it over the already clean table doesn't take long. Ringing it out, twisting until my fingers ache with the force. My gaze wanders, making a mental note of everything I'll have to pack—which isn't much—and everything that I'll have to leave.

The Healers have called upon me one last time to see if anything can be done for my curse. Whatever they decide, I'll need my things. I'll either be leaving for good or moving into a more permanent cabin.

I've grown to consider this place a sort of home.

So similar, yet so different from my old pack. The cabin was bigger than this but ever so bleak and colder. My mother kept the fire roaring during the cold months, never let it go out. It used to be a home, then it turned into a place I lived, and now a place I dread. I seem to leave every place I call home. Forced to leave.

Hanging the rag on a chair, my hands rub together as I find myself pacing. It's drawing closer. I should eat something, but I'm not hungry in the slightest.

My morning was wasted, stuck in a vision unable to escape. Time is never easy when they strike, for it could be sunrise when I'm taken, only to wake-up to the moon high in the sky.

Making one last sweep, I open all the windows. The air is sweet with flowers and fresh air wafts in. The oven is dark with only small embers and most of the items are gone, packed away in my bag or placed back in the cupboards.

It takes a few tries to lock the door, my hands shaking, and my breath wavers for a moment. I pull myself away, stepping onto the path, wishing, longing to be by the crackling fire again. Hidden away from the world, my problems felt as if they may have had a chance of being solved. Away from the harsh realities, blanketed in light. It was mine, even for just a few moon cycles. A safe haven of hope. Rubbing my fingers together, I force myself forward. Always forward, never back.