The Weight of the Ice
Posted: Fri Aug 11, 2023 12:21 am
She was alone.
Alone in the darkness. Alone in the night. Alone with the pain and the sorrow and the fear.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED FROM "The Long March"
Claire had walked all day. She ached from her outer shell to the marrow in her bones. Exertion was not something she was used to. A regret of hers, thinking about it, would be that she died in a body that she loathed. She had never had the chance to improve herself, to mold her form to one that her mind would not reject. This island had taken that chance away from her. If only she had acted sooner. Another regret to take to the grave.
The shadows still pawed at her, threatening to swallow her up. Dark thoughts filled her head whenever her dull, glazed-over eyes caught the sharp edge of the khopesh in her hands. How far could she drive it into her skin? A useless thought. But one that she could not manage to keep away. Death was scary. Facing it alone was scarier. But the most terrifying thing to her was that a part of her wanted to welcome it as a confidante.
"No," she said to nobody, the final word on it. Then, she sighed again. Her lips hurt; her mouth hurt; her teeth hurt; her tongue hurt; her throat hurt; her lungs hurt. She hurt. Everywhere. All over. Her heart, worst of all. Of the total of two words she had said over the past day, that was the second. The first was a reply to Evie's frantic communique earlier—about halfway through the day if time was something that even mattered now.
'Okay.'
Nothing she said was worth her regrets. The things she didn't say were what lingered on her conscience. But, maybe—the faintest maybe—if she lived to see that day, she wouldn't have to take that to the grave. There were enough remorses to torture her with for a thousand years already. One more was the last thing she needed on her mind. She took another step. The cold wasn't so bad. It hurt. That made her feel something.
"Good," she thought. The pain kept her alert. And she had thirty minutes or so before she had any risk of becoming hypothermic in this weather. She had endured similar temperatures for almost as long while waiting for the bus to school. Either way, she had weathered worse storms. She vividly remembered the 2008 Ice Storm. Likely the only person in the class who did, as Salem existed untouched. Her town wasn't so lucky.
With a huff, Claire buried her true face deep in her mask, scarf, and hat. And she walked—she walked through the pain, the sorrow, the fear. She walked through the night, snow and ice crunching and cracking under her steps, and though each step was a torture, the alternative—the silent ringing in her ears, the omens in her head—was so much worse. So she walked, and she walked, and she walked, further and further and further.
Claire walked into the darkness.
And she felt so utterly alone.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "Memento Mori, Memento Vitae"
Alone in the darkness. Alone in the night. Alone with the pain and the sorrow and the fear.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED FROM "The Long March"
Claire had walked all day. She ached from her outer shell to the marrow in her bones. Exertion was not something she was used to. A regret of hers, thinking about it, would be that she died in a body that she loathed. She had never had the chance to improve herself, to mold her form to one that her mind would not reject. This island had taken that chance away from her. If only she had acted sooner. Another regret to take to the grave.
The shadows still pawed at her, threatening to swallow her up. Dark thoughts filled her head whenever her dull, glazed-over eyes caught the sharp edge of the khopesh in her hands. How far could she drive it into her skin? A useless thought. But one that she could not manage to keep away. Death was scary. Facing it alone was scarier. But the most terrifying thing to her was that a part of her wanted to welcome it as a confidante.
"No," she said to nobody, the final word on it. Then, she sighed again. Her lips hurt; her mouth hurt; her teeth hurt; her tongue hurt; her throat hurt; her lungs hurt. She hurt. Everywhere. All over. Her heart, worst of all. Of the total of two words she had said over the past day, that was the second. The first was a reply to Evie's frantic communique earlier—about halfway through the day if time was something that even mattered now.
'Okay.'
Nothing she said was worth her regrets. The things she didn't say were what lingered on her conscience. But, maybe—the faintest maybe—if she lived to see that day, she wouldn't have to take that to the grave. There were enough remorses to torture her with for a thousand years already. One more was the last thing she needed on her mind. She took another step. The cold wasn't so bad. It hurt. That made her feel something.
"Good," she thought. The pain kept her alert. And she had thirty minutes or so before she had any risk of becoming hypothermic in this weather. She had endured similar temperatures for almost as long while waiting for the bus to school. Either way, she had weathered worse storms. She vividly remembered the 2008 Ice Storm. Likely the only person in the class who did, as Salem existed untouched. Her town wasn't so lucky.
With a huff, Claire buried her true face deep in her mask, scarf, and hat. And she walked—she walked through the pain, the sorrow, the fear. She walked through the night, snow and ice crunching and cracking under her steps, and though each step was a torture, the alternative—the silent ringing in her ears, the omens in her head—was so much worse. So she walked, and she walked, and she walked, further and further and further.
Claire walked into the darkness.
And she felt so utterly alone.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "Memento Mori, Memento Vitae"