Work Text:
Is it worth it trying to recover what has been lost?
I often ask myself that, thinking about whatever and wherever my thoughts had taken me.
Another evening passes by in this manner, only myself and my thoughts occupying this bare room.
I face four grey walls, three pieces of furniture that actually serve a purpose to me, two kinds of medication, and one person with my likeness staring back at me from his own realm of aluminum-backed glass.
Upon reaching my bed, my hands already moving on their own towards the bottles atop the table next to it, the full force of my exhaustion hits me all at once.
And I am exhausted, despite being unsure as to why. Today there was no fighting or exploring, nothing that would have brought on this feeling of lethargy.
But such tiredness is woven into my very being, with pangs of exhaustion feeling as normal as breathing or moving.
But no matter how I feel about that, I'd rather not dwell on something that I do not attempt to change. It does me no good at all.
My hand shakes as I bring a tablet to my lips, its course still steady despite my trembling.
It rests on my tongue for a brief moment, as if my body is displaying the hesitation I had forced out of my mind. The small part of me that acknowledges my own slow unraveling having managed to take control in that instant.
But it's gone as quickly as it had come, and not wanting to go down such a path of contemplation, I swallow.
It’s dry, but I can’t be bothered to get some water. Every time I swallow afterwards, the back of my throat burns.
It doesn't stop me, and I lose count of how many I ingest. Maybe it’d be better not to remember.
And I lay back as sleep begins to tug on me, like it’s pulling me by the arm. Slowly, gently at first. But when it finally has the strength to overtake me, I welcome it.
When I wake, my limbs are heavy. Not in the way that they are when one is groggy, I don’t think, but when the weariness left from an exhausting yesterday begins to soak into your very bones.
Indeed, I find sitting up much harder than I usually do, and when one of my coworkers comes to fetch me for breakfast, she’s slightly less enthusiastic when she bids me good morning. There’s something she wants to say, I can tell, but she holds it back and leads me out of my room.
It’s almost reminiscent of older conversations, from the times when people were openly concerned for me and my health.
“How many did you take?”
If only I knew. And since I don’t know, I say nothing. It’s easier to pretend I didn’t hear, no one wants to have such a question answered with “I don’t know”, after all.
The questions they used to ask me still remain unanswered, and I can’t recall ever trying to explain myself to them.
And if I had, it’s doubtful that I would have said anything worthwhile. I can’t even manage to justify my behavior to myself, let alone to anyone else.
After waking up, next comes breakfast, and then whatever else our Executive Manager will task us to do. It’s all irrelevant to me, and I can barely remember what I had done for work the previous day.
My days are overtaken by a pathetic feeling of fatigue that never leaves me. Exhaustion had pierced me with its claws a long time ago, and it has yet to let go or even slightly loosen its hold.
All I can do now is embrace the reality that things will not change.
They won’t because deep down, the thought of change frightens me.
And it’s not that I enjoy the slow unraveling of my body and mind, no. Not when I can see the unvoiced emotions in the eyes of people I work with.
Disdain. Annoyance. Concern. Pity.
Few of them have any patience left for me. Only two of them choose to remain at my side, despite everything that I am.
One with enough enthusiasm it would be infectious to anyone with more energy than myself, and another who believes in himself far too little despite having proved himself as capable time and time again.
There’s more to them both, much more. But on days like this, both their faces and personalities are blurred within my fatigued mind.
Even so, I’m still close with them both, as they appear to at least tolerate my company. I would ask them why, what they see in me, but I can never will the words to leave my mouth. I'd rather allow myself to listen as they speak, not wanting to stain their brightness and their hope with my own thoughts. Simultaneously organized and abstract.
I'd hate to say something that would make them worry about me. More than they already do, anyways.
Today’s work was the same as the last excursion I can remember properly, traversing ruined hallways splattered with blood. Looking for pieces of ruined technology to salvage, for a reason we don’t have the privilege of knowing.
One can only imagine the kinds of horrors that were once contained behind some of these walls, and had escaped long ago for whatever reason. Perhaps they wanted to kill whoever had imprisoned them, to do it with a newfound advantage. Or maybe some of them just wanted freedom, to not live in a cage and only be used for the gain of others.
But after a while, there’s no need to imagine what once remained locked away here. Coming face-to-face with an abnormality is typical, and my coworkers are all prepared.
We all look on at the creature. It hasn’t noticed us, not yet, it only makes small sounds, not unlike water rushing. But my colleagues prepare themselves regardless. I hesitate while one brandishes his guandao at it, and another unsheathes her kopis with careful precision.
The abnormality resembles several kinds of aquatic animals, in the way that all of the monsters here seem to take after some kind of animal, or object, or even trauma. Some aren’t based on anything at all.
Before I can finish observing, it notices our presence. The creature turns toward us, inky tears flowing from its eyes. It opens its two mouths, but the only thing that can be heard is pained, almost childlike whimpering. It drags itself towards us, leaving behind a trail of blood and soap.
It stares at us, almost like it’s begging us for something, and then charges.
My coworkers, being agile and ever-adaptable, are able to all move out of its path due to the abundance of space in the hall. Only myself and one colleague remain.
He could have dodged immediately like the others, being as young and quick as he is, but he stays and holds out a hand for me. The abnormality grows closer by the second, and with a burst of strength, I shove him aside. He calls my name, and tries to come back for me, but another friend holds him by the shoulder, urging him to stay out of harm’s way.
I can hear his shout when the creature reaches me, a cry of frustration and fear. And when it collides with me, I can hear myself cry out as well, the loudest sound I’ve made in a while.
There’s the sound of something crunching, and I can feel the first flashes of pain from the impact before everything goes out of focus, and my consciousness slips away. Like when one tries to hold water in their cupped palms.
Days pass after my “incident”, and I find myself able to function like nothing had happened. I’m not sure why so much effort is put into preserving my life, considering how little it actually matters to my superiors, to almost anyone else in the City.
Two of my coworkers, my friends, had chosen to remain at my bedside every chance they got, wanting to make sure I was okay. Their concern was unfamiliar to me, but not unwelcome.
And well after the completion of another task and a conversation where I only listened, I find myself in my mundane dwelling once more.
This time, the light dances in my vision, interrupted only by my eyes attempting to shut before I force them open once more.
Not yet, not quite yet. I want to hold onto those memories while they're still fresh in my mind, just for a little longer. The time I spent with people who somehow see me as a friend.
I sway slightly on my feet, my fatigue worsened by the slight aching of my limbs. A reminder of my inability to react fast enough, of my shortcomings in general.
When I reach my bedside table again, I hesitate to pick up one of the bottles. The image of one of them holding my hands in hers flashes in my mind, followed by the lingering happiness from the embrace of another, who could only beg me not to get hurt for his sake ever again.
I don’t want to cause them worry, but I also don’t want to go without my medication, considering how much I rely on it at this point.
So I take a few less tablets than I usually would, and sink into temporary nothingness. I may have failed them today, but I’ll think of their faces, and be filled with a sense of hope I haven’t felt in years.
And besides,
There’s always tomorrow to try again.