Ouroboros
“Alix
He-- Alix was eleven years old and our beacon of hope. A boundless source of energy, he jabbered away constantly and almost always had a grin plastered on his face. More than once he was beaten for talking too much, and of course he never could smile proper after, his cheeks splitting open like overripe peaches, but his eyes never once dulled, always gleaming with amusement. That was Alix Bear. A kid too young and too innocent to be where we were.
"“He and I were the only two who escaped that damn camp. Under the cover of night, we fled like thieves, our bare feet blistered with sores and open wounds. We took care that our chains didn't rattle; we pressed the sun warmed metal links against our chests and ran like the devil was at our heels because in a way, yeah, he was.
“We traveled in a straight line. Didn't know where we were, couldn't exactly ask for directions, so our best bet was to try and stumble upon civilization. We walked for two days. Blazing hot sand scorched the soles of our feet and filled our lungs. You'd go to swallow and your throat muscles would spasm and grit would scrape down your esophagus instead of saliva. Our stomachs were the size of a quarter but still ached desperately for food. Hunger sapped our limbs of strength and fatigue had our heads spinning.
“On the second day, Alix collapsed. I took him up in my arms because he needed to live. He babbled on incoherently, voice rough and brittle; his meaningless chatter slowly lessened in volume as we made our way through the desert. As advanced dehydration set in and his voice disappeared into the waving heat, his eyes became glassy orbs. He grew heavier with each step. I won't say dead weight but—
“I kept staggering on, fighting the wind which sought to tear my flesh from my bones. The days were brutal. My skin peeled and blistered under the glaring sun. The nights were worse. The air froze inside my lungs, as painful as inhaling ice water. My breath swirled like smoke in front of my face. It was that night, as I curled up with Alix and tried to keep him warm, that I realized he was ungodly cold and his lungs were still. No fog escaped his mouth, and that's when I finally figured it out. He'd died in my arms and I hadn't noticed. He just died. I don't even know when. Was he aware that he was dying? Or did it sneak up on him too?
“I couldn’t – I couldn’t keep carrying him. You know? I wouldn’t be able to keep going if I had to balance his weight on top of my own. I would be too slow. I’d have died if I hadn't left him there. I understand that, logically. But in here, in my heart, I just can’t rationalize leaving him behind. I know he was dead, but, damn, I feel like I failed him, like I should have carried him out of that desert and given him a proper burial. I didn’t even bury him. I just left his body to rot, to be feasted on by vultures and bugs.
“I dreamt that I was back in the desert with him, except this time I knew he was dead, his corpse was stiff with rigor mortis and his mouth and eyes were full up with maggots... But I still had to carry his body. I had to get him out of there.
“God.”
"“He and I were the only two who escaped that damn camp. Under the cover of night, we fled like thieves, our bare feet blistered with sores and open wounds. We took care that our chains didn't rattle; we pressed the sun warmed metal links against our chests and ran like the devil was at our heels because in a way, yeah, he was.
“We traveled in a straight line. Didn't know where we were, couldn't exactly ask for directions, so our best bet was to try and stumble upon civilization. We walked for two days. Blazing hot sand scorched the soles of our feet and filled our lungs. You'd go to swallow and your throat muscles would spasm and grit would scrape down your esophagus instead of saliva. Our stomachs were the size of a quarter but still ached desperately for food. Hunger sapped our limbs of strength and fatigue had our heads spinning.
“On the second day, Alix collapsed. I took him up in my arms because he needed to live. He babbled on incoherently, voice rough and brittle; his meaningless chatter slowly lessened in volume as we made our way through the desert. As advanced dehydration set in and his voice disappeared into the waving heat, his eyes became glassy orbs. He grew heavier with each step. I won't say dead weight but—
“I kept staggering on, fighting the wind which sought to tear my flesh from my bones. The days were brutal. My skin peeled and blistered under the glaring sun. The nights were worse. The air froze inside my lungs, as painful as inhaling ice water. My breath swirled like smoke in front of my face. It was that night, as I curled up with Alix and tried to keep him warm, that I realized he was ungodly cold and his lungs were still. No fog escaped his mouth, and that's when I finally figured it out. He'd died in my arms and I hadn't noticed. He just died. I don't even know when. Was he aware that he was dying? Or did it sneak up on him too?
“I couldn’t – I couldn’t keep carrying him. You know? I wouldn’t be able to keep going if I had to balance his weight on top of my own. I would be too slow. I’d have died if I hadn't left him there. I understand that, logically. But in here, in my heart, I just can’t rationalize leaving him behind. I know he was dead, but, damn, I feel like I failed him, like I should have carried him out of that desert and given him a proper burial. I didn’t even bury him. I just left his body to rot, to be feasted on by vultures and bugs.
“I dreamt that I was back in the desert with him, except this time I knew he was dead, his corpse was stiff with rigor mortis and his mouth and eyes were full up with maggots... But I still had to carry his body. I had to get him out of there.
“God.”