Mortal Wounds

Figs, pomegranates and apples sit on the coffee table with a hole in its glass face. I eat the fruit, greedily stuff it into my mouth, but even with juice leaking down the corners of my lips, I cannot taste a thing. I spent all night contemplating whether my reality, spent in an estranged retro 90’s apartment, was real. The possibilities were cripplingly limitless. This could be a dream. A nightmare, yet, never have I experienced one as vivid, as repetitive and time-consuming as this never-ending night. My aching back rests against the wall as the scentless flames creep from the living room couch, spreading to the window to my left, engulfing the shattered glass. The thick darkness outside goes untouched by the flames’ light. Neither does warmth turn my pale skin pink. I am nothing beyond what I can see, feel, taste and hear. I am nothing. “Game over.” A pallor glow emanates from the television. The words flash loudly, connected to the Nintendo 64 where I played Final Fantasy IV. The distraction is not enough. I reach for the flames. As if an illusion, they harmlessly pass through my fingers. I play the fool, trusting my five senses to relay the n***d truth of this apartment. This unsanctified hologram. Its retro appearance misguides the viewer to perceive the room as ordinary. The décor suggests nothing out of the norm. Movie posters and Nintendo games from the 80s and 90s plaster the pea-green wall in an eyesore of a collage. Red and yellows splash the couches, a small television sits above the fireplace— a fire hazard if I ever saw one. Chaos defines the room. I kick over the table, shattering the console under my heel and rip the curtains. No matter how much I shatter, I am numb to the pain. The blood spilt on the jaded glass simply flows without pain. There is no scent, no sound, just a blasted void in which I simply exist. The time is always 2:13 pm. I fling open the apartment door, admiring the ring on my finger. An ouroboros, a snake devouring its tail wraps around my shaking finger. Tremors run through my body as I examine the 23 written in marker and the moss green paint peeling from the door’s surface. This time is different. This time I will escape. Darkness greets me like an old friend when I step outside into the endless void, I cannot hear myself breathing. I clench my teeth before I back into the apartment. Thousands of times I left out the door, climbed through the window, and walked into the darkness. This apartment is surrounded by an everlasting nothing. I draw in a deep breath and I rush out the door. The moment I blink, I am back inside the apartment. Everything is restored to its undamaged state, but I swear something is missing by the television. Something was there. A game console perhaps? I feel the loss in my bones, but I cannot prove anything. I rip open the kitchen cupboards. The labels on the canned foods are blank. I swear there was something written on the label. None of this makes sense. But why do I feel like there should be something on the label? I had the feeling minor changes are made to the room every time I try to escape. Things fade, vanish, and my stomach churns at the horror. With a sigh, I turn to find something to break when I notice the door to the bathroom is open. I stiffen, gawking with confusion. It was not open before. Hesitant, I walk up to it, reaching for its handle. Something wet and cold touches my bare feet and I pull back at the sudden feeling. My eyes snap down. A mixture of water and blood spills beneath the door. The door slams shut, the lights switch off and the fireplace illuminates the room in the darkness. Only this time, I hear everything and my ears ring, coping with the unexpected noise. My stomach lurches when I hear breathing. Someone is here with me. "At least you still have your despair," a deep voice whispers in my ear and I gather the nerve to turn around, “Better hold on to it before you have nothing left.” A man stands behind me, his irises flare orange like the flames in the fireplace, glowing fiercely in contrast to his snowy hair and black clothes. He wears a cocky smirk, seeming at home in this madhouse. It has been long since I interacted with someone and I'm sick of giving random inanimate objects names and talking to them, like Jerry the lamp and Tina the ugly couch. They suck at holding a conversation. The stranger laughs as though listening to my thoughts. "Who are you?" I ask. I cannot hear myself speak but this man seems to understand. "So many with much potential wash up here. Delightful watching them fall apart. But I must admit, two years and you have not lost your fire.” Two years. The revelation is a stab to the gut, and I sit on Tina the couch before I grow too dizzy. It couldn't be that long, could it? “Where am I?” “A hellscape called Purgatory. Not that there are other cushiony destinations which would take your soul in,” he explains with a s******c grin, “Here, your sins become the architect of your despair to cleanse your soul. But, let’s face it, they would keep you here even if there was nothing wrong with who you are. Your problem lies within what you are.” I gather my hair in my hands as the revelation settles in. So, this is my fate, to wait in an unfamiliar apartment until my memory decays? What if I had a happy life out of here? Maybe I had a family, friends, a lover. Do they mourn me, or have they forgotten about me? I release a sharp breath and my stomach twists. I jolt when the stranger places his hands on my shoulders. I snap my eyes up to see him gazing down at me with a charming smile. "You hate this constant isolation, being trapped with your thoughts, do you not? Don't you want to be able to speak, taste," his fingers trace down my arms. He slides it up to where my heart beats beneath my skin. "To feel. I'm sure you want more than this, to be able to feel the warmth on your skin, to feel your heartbeat shake your chest. You want to feel alive, don't you? But, how badly?” I suck in a breath, noticing how I can feel the warmth of his skin. "If you stay any longer, you'll be stuck trying to savour this room because before you know it, you won't even be able to remember it. Your fears, your goals, your memories of what matters to you will disappear. Everything that made you, you, will disappear." I crease my brows. "Where are you going with this?" "I want to piss off some angels by letting a soul out. Lucky for you, you caught my attention." I frown, ready to call bullshit, but judging from this guy's expression and tone, he is dead serious. "I'm awfully fond of body swaps. The deal is that you spend a month possessing the body of a random human and they'll take your place here." What sane person would choose to trade places with me? The stranger smirks. "Think of me as the host and you're the contestant. Amuse me enough, you'll get to stay out of Purgatory. Permanently." There is an unsettling glint of amusement in his eyes. Too easy. There is a catch. He is not offering this out of the goodness of his heart. After a moment, the stranger sighs in disappointment. "You know, I'm a very busy man. I don't have all day," he turns to leave. In an instant, I catch his arm. "I'm guessing that's a yes." After a moment, I give him a reluctant nod. "Ah uh, do you think to agree is as simple as nodding?" he muses. I stare deadpan look at him. How else am I meant to agree to this? This amuses the stranger and he holds out his hands. A bright, orange light engulfs his palms before he conjures a blade. The phrase ‘Che la mia ferita sia mortale’ is carved into the metal surface of its fold-in floral handle. "She needs your blood." I wrap my hand around the blade, flinching as the knife sharply draws back. "Smart choice, Invidian." My chest swells at the name’s familiarity and a tear escapes my eye. My name? "Do you know what the engravings mean?" he asks. Blinding pain shoots through my me as he rams the knife into my chest. My heart pounds violently as my vision fades. As soon as it fades, I hear him whisper, "May all your wounds be mortal."