OBLIVION {self para}
C O N F I N E D. I M P R I S O N E D.
A figure was sat in the small cubicle, barely able to move from the piss-soaked floor as her head leant back against the tiled wall. She could barely move, barely breathe in time, as blow after blow rained down against her abdomen, against her throat. Her body was burning from the continued impact of the blows.
She was L O S I N G. Losing the will to continue. Losing the motivation to keep fighting for her S U R V I V A L.
The blows struck through her body, shattering her porcelain bones and shuddering through her veins, leaving behind a deathly poison to flow twisted within her blood. It fought; demanding dominance over the fluid with kept the woman alive, demanding respect and leaving only pain and weakness behind whenever the demands weren’t met. She was incapacitated, completely unable to move as bursts of pain erupted all across the woman’s body. She was completely under the whim of her assaulters and she hated it. She hated the weakness that had gripped her and held her down as a lamb for slaughter. She hated that her muscles were screeching at her; both for not doing anything in retaliation and because she had tried to stage a counter attack.
Her attackers ran before being caught, leaving the beaten woman in the shower cubicle in a pool of red. Everything was red; the tiles, her body, her vision. The colour had embraced her, taken over and claimed her as its own.
F A L L I N G.
The woman’s body gave up on her and slumped down from the cubicle wall and to the slightly damp floor, jolting her out of her hallucination. In that moment Alexia could be described the definition of beaten down. Hair tangled into thick knots. Red staining her chin from where she’d coughed up blood. Limbs sprawled across the floor, unable to support the woman’s weight. A sheen of cold sweat coated her body as harsh panting breaths tried to suck oxygen back into the ex-convict.
As Lexi remained, unable to move, on the tiled floor of the school toilets, her eyes unconsciously closed as she thought of all she’d be losing. All she’d be leaving behind. Trix; the woman who’d looked out for her since day one, who’d treated her as a lioness rather than as the tabby she truly was. Axel; the man who, despite all odds, had somehow managed to sneak his way past Alexia’s cold shields and worm his way into her life. Scarlett; the girl-turned-woman who’d accompanied the ex-convict as a child when they were forced to scavenge for food off the streets and had somehow become reacquainted after the world turned to shit. She knew they’d be fine; they didn’t need her, they had each other to fall back on. If she closed her eyes then it could be over. She’d have nothing left to worry about and the weakness which had constantly flooded her body for the quarantine would finally be over.
But she C O U L D N ‘ T just give up, could she? She was a F I G H T E R and always had been. She couldn’t just let this infection take her out without fighting it all the way to the end; that wasn’t who she was.
With those thoughts in mind, along with the faces of the few that Lexi held close, the ex-convict forced her screaming limbs to work with her for once. She forced the determination which flooded her body to her arms and legs, hoping it’d help get her off of the floor and back into a sitting position. Her muscles screamed at her for the action, feeling as though she’d been working out non-stop for a week and then carried on.
It took a while but soon enough she was leaning her arms and forehead against the seat of the toilet, taking in deep, heaving breaths to try and steady herself. She could do it. She knew she could force herself back to her feet. She needed to do it; if not for herself then for the others locked away in the other quarantines.
A few more shuddery deep breaths and Lexi managed to pull herself to her feet, her legs shaking intensely at the effort of holding her entire body as she once more leant against the wall of the toilet cubicle. Before allowing herself to slump back down to the floor in her weakness, the woman forcibly pulled herself away from the wall and began staggering forwards. She could quickly feel herself losing control of her legs and knew that she needed to reach the sinks soon or she’d once more be stranded on the floor.
Just as she felt her legs begin to completely give out under her Alexia managed to securely grasp the sink in front of her as she took in a few more deep breaths, once more hoping to stable herself enough that she could continue on away from the toilets.
Pulling her head up from the crook of her arm, the woman caught her reflection in the mirror and froze. She saw her knotted hair; matted with blood and who knew what else. She saw her stained mouth, teeth and chin; looking as if she’d just ripped apart a kill with her bare teeth. For the first time she took notice of the red trails dripping from the corners of her eyes; the final stage of the infection taking its toll on a victim. For all intents and purposes she looked
F E R A L.
The image that she saw wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. It was a hallucination, a side effect of the infection which was ruining every aspect of her life. She hadn’t even looked like that in the prison; the place that had stripped everything from her. Rights, dignity, confidence. How could an infection do something to her that the prison hadn’t? It was impossible. The image she was seeing was an imposter, a manifestation of her imagination to try and make her give in. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t.
Not wanting to think any further on the matter, Alexia raised a weak arm from its support on the sink and went to lash out at the imposter in front of her. She wanted - needed - it gone and forgotten about. Alas, before her fist could reach its target, the ex-convicts legs gave out beneath her and brought her down on the sink, her forehead impacting the filthy ceramic edge as she slumped to the floor.
D A R K N E S S claimed the woman’s consciousness as a trail of blood snaked from her forehead to the floor.
