• undergroundcrowds

No Pillow, No Rest

When Sam could not take it any longer, for the suspense was killing him, he abruptly asked, “So….w…what …do I do?”

Battle, this time without blinking anything, responded, “get some sleep.”

Sentience followed, “rest tired one. You have so much reflecting to do.” Was that a hint of warmth Sam was picking up on? It was so hard to tell with rabbits.

“Re…what?” The last thing Sam wanted to do was sit around and think. “Reflect…a…about what?” When Sam made time to think, it was a flood of horrors. There were very few filters that he had at his disposal, they had all been demolished, one unexplained traumatic experience at a time.

Battle seemed to understand Sam's deep apprehension and reiterated his directions, “just sleep, Sam.”

The large rabbits hopped around their little den and threw some blankets into a pile for Sam to use as a bed, at least that is what he supposed it was. Rabbits did not know how to make beds, at all.

“Would you like some straw?” Sentience queried.

“Um…n..no…no I wouldn’t” Sam grimaced for a moment starring at the pile of mismatched towels, blankets and cloths and wondered if Sentience and Battle had ever heard of a pillow.

“Suit yourself!” Sentience responded with an air of doubt, and Sam was not sure how it was done with a rabbit’s non-existent shoulders, but thought that he saw a shrug of some sort.

“I’ll b…be fine,” Sam reconciled himself to this position for the moment, the overall circumstances as they were, knowing full well he would have to fight his reoccurring urge to escape in the morning. Why must he stay and learn from these two? This was still the pervading question. He collapsed in defeat on the pile of lumpy fabric and watched Sentience and Battle hop away to their respective rooms.

He lay there on the floor a long while, starring up at the dirt ceiling. The fire in the stove was burning brightly, casting all sorts of eery images everywhere. A strange fear began to well up inside of him, it was the kind of fear that amused itself by asking too many questions, strange, deranged ones like, Will I wake up? What if these two rabbits are really just kidnappers and I’ll never see mom again? What if finding the Source is a bad idea? What if it swallows me whole like a black hole? What if this is all just a crazy long dream? Or what if I’m delusional and mom puts me in a loony bin?

So it was with Sam and so many like him, whose short lives, having been filled with extreme trauma, were now marked by this harrowing secret enemy they carried around with them. If it were somehow tangible, if it were explainable, if it were a person, it would be the darkest villain in any comic series, able to do the utmost destruction to whole city blocks, but it was his soul that lay victim. A perfect friend that kept him safe if he felt he should escape, only revealing itself to be the perfect enemy, exacting unrest to his mind and heart and pulling him away from all forward momentum. So young, yet so old.






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