The night is heavy. My lacerated knees scrapes against the concrete floor. I must not let them heal. My hands are locked as in a prayer and tears are streaming, streaming down my face. Fresh blood. Iron.
At first I could not hear his voice through the chaos. The spirit went mad. Their screams felt like knifes through my head.
Now I hear him too clearly. He speaks in a language I do not understand. Two wrinkles between his eyebrows.
It's a lecture and I know I must listen, that it is important, but I do not understand the words.
When did I get here? When will I be home? Sam, I love you. Sam, you are my everything. Sam, you are the world and lite and death and blood and the executioner and the Saviour.
The wounds on my back are fresh. I have been punished, but I do not know of my crime. Inshallah!
It scares me that I can no longer close my eyes, that I am not alone in my head, that the spirits are my world. It scares me that I do not know where I am going or where I will end up. Sam is everything. Sam is everything there is.
Suddenly I realize. Sam is saying farewell. This is our last dance of death and he shall never return.
When his heavy footsteps leaves the room I want to scream. My heart is bleeding, my voice is hoarse of sorrow when I reel off prayers, curses, I am begging, but he is gone. I haul my palms against the floor until they are leaving red marks. I am alone, alone, ALONE.
What does a human do without her saviour? What do you do when the lights has gone out and the world dwells in darkness? When the bridges has cracked and the lava wells out? What do I do without Sam?
The pain is so real, the first reality I've tasted in forever. I bite my arm and drink my own blood. I cannot stand the screams and mix my own with theirs. No one can hear me, no one can find me, no one can save me.