The pale green eyes set in his head glance up towards the stars. It’s so cold, he thinks. There’s a warmth, like warm water being poured over his shoulder, forehead and chest. Some of this warmth trickles out of his mouth from the corner of his lip. Slumped against the house of an acquaintance he had promised to watch over, his legs lay sprawled out and his mind uncertain how long exactly it took to crawl from where he fell to where he now is. The events of the evening spin around his head, from refusing a drink with an old friend, to heading to his house before checking on this one, to spotting the maniac in the purple attire and the informant in the darkened robes, and finally the fight. The encounter itself wasn’t particularly spectacular, the events are already becoming foggy. A few things, however, Stitches is certain of.
They locked eyes, him and the aggressor, for what felt like an eternity. It isn’t clear who made the first move, but someone sure did. Another certainty is that he was not the only wounded one by the end of it. He managed to swipe at a bit of the maniac’s torso, but Stitches was the one who lost. He remembers the knife in his stomach, the hatchet that careened down into his shoulder and brought him to the ground, and the boot lashes across his face and ribcage. He remembers the deep and sluggish voice of the informant, who warned the madman that they had been spotted and should leave. He didn’t listen at first, intent on ending the problem that is Stitches. It was almost certainly about to be over, for good.
Stitches remembered that it stopped, that the axe was removed from his body, and the knife as well. That’s when the warmth started. The pain actually stopped soon after he managed to prop himself up. It got cold, and it got numb. Stitches blinks once as the sound of crickets around him fades. He can’t even hear himself breathing. His head hangs loosely and cants slightly to the left. Yet then, to his right there is movement. His eyes can see some heavenly being setting a basket down beside him. At first the figure is just a white silhouette, glowing like a bright fire. The only thing he can gleam about the presence next to him is that its white delicate hands start to pull things out of the basket and set them on a blanket surrounding the container. Then it speaks to him, a voice soft, smooth and familiar, yet he is entirely unsure who it belongs to. Still, she sounds comforting, “I haven’t seen you this relaxed in a while, love.”
Stitches grunts, opening his mouth to speak. This ends in a cough, in which he sputters more of that warm and thick red liquid into his stubble. He tries to grasp a breath, but he can’t get a full one, likely from a broken rib constricting around his lung. He turns his head over to the figure. The blood from his head drips from his forehead into his left eye, darkening that side of his view, making the glowing figure even brighter somehow. He tries to breathe in and speak again, unable to feel the pain through the shock, but his body stops him, resulting in a pitiful wheezing inhale. The figure tilts her head at him, and though her face is indistinct and unclear, it’s obvious that she smiles at him. She speaks again, softly as she reaches over to touch his limp right hand. He cannot feel when she grabs his palm and fingers, she’s not really there, but he doesn’t know that, “Stitches…I’m glad to be here with you. Will you stay with me, for a little while, or a long while? Maybe even forever…if you’d like.”
Stitches looks at the figure and smiles. The warmth doesn’t bother him. The numbness and cold doesn’t bother him. The lack of air doesn’t bother him. His fingers curl around hers. No longer is he slumped on a wall, rather a tree, and the cold wrapping his body is just a cool breeze. He’s not there anymore, the night has faded into an endless void, with an oasis involving a picnic keeping him somewhere safe. He forgets it all, the only remainder of what had happened is his form in reality as it grows colder and colder, and the faint sounds of rapid concerned voices. Maybe it’s over, but he can’t even comprehend it anymore. Until he falls into his rest, all he can do is enjoy a life he yearns for, and can’t seem to have.
