A Prisoner In Flesh

Chapter 1

Fu

                    Wh

I

                                      Ho

Ca           n               t

I fee                              l                           tho                    ug   t

Am I                   a   live?

What's                     going on? Some  thing's     wrong.

My brain feels... raw. Like it's coming back after... not being used for some time.

It has a... sluggish feel. Ideas are... hard to form.

I see them, scattered and vague... formless, you might say. It takes effort to give them shape.

Who am I?

That one is not coming to me right now. I'll get back to it.

Now, what's going on?

Amorphous images are coalescing in my headspace. A train. A bathtub. A person whose face I can't make out. Nothing helpful.

They all seem to lead to something... final. Like what a full stop is to a sentence.

Did I... die?

Oh fuck. Am I dead? Is this the afterlife? Is this an afterlife?

Okay, calm down.

I can feel parts of my mind getting clearer, almost like my brain is turning itself back on. So... am I in a coma? That could have been it.

I can slowly feel my senses gradually returning. I can't see or hear anything yet, but I can feel something. A shape. My shape. I can feel my form around me. It's unfocused, but I am definitely a soul housed within a flesh-and-blood body.

Maybe, if I can just remember how...

Yes, that's it!

I feel my torso expand, and a rush of air fills a cavernous expanse within it. The sensation of oxygen traveling into my body by my own conscious movement is a rush I can barely describe.

In and out, in and out, over and over. It's becoming automatic; my body is becoming self-sufficient and gathering its own oxygen. It's almost... magical.

Sensation is returning to my limbs, like they've been asleep all this time and blood is beginning to flow through them again. I consciously puzzle out my frame as best as I can without sight, and I definitely seem to be intact as far as I can see. Two arms, two legs, ten fingers and ten toes. Seems all good on that front.

I go to lift my right arm, but it feels like it weighs a ton. No matter how hard I try, it will not budge. Okay, fair enough: maybe I need to start smaller. Just one finger. I just need to move one finger.

I felt it! It moved!

I try with the others; they all follow. Before long I force my hand into a fist, filled with resolve and determination.

I go to try the other hand, and quickly form a fist with that one as well.

Wait...

Something's not right.