"And you will be, alone," it whispered.
I wasn't sure where I was. But I couldn't see. I couldn't see anything. There was only darkness around me. It seemed fitting.
"All…all alone," it sang. It rang out, covering this blackness. It was an androgynous voice. It was neither male or female; dead or alive. It was just there. Everywhere. Talking to me.
"You know what you did," it murmured.
I swallowed and curled up smaller, wanting to run my fingers through my hair, my face, to wipe the tears away. There was something wet on me. But my hand wouldn't move; not because it couldn't, but because it wouldn't. Something told me not to move.
"And you just sit there. You don't even feel bad."
"I feel bad," I whispered. My voice echoed, so loudly, but I tried to talk quietly…I was like the voice. I could hear it everywhere. And yet, it was so soft. I was inside something. I had to be. "I do. I'm crying."
"You're not crying."
"I'm wet." I echoed again, sounding distant, but everywhere. Everywhere distantly.
"It's not tears."
"What is it?"
"You know what you did," it whispered again.
I swallowed again, eyes darting around. Blackness. Nothing else. But I felt crowded, and claustrophobic. I didn't like this. I wanted to leave. I didn't move. I shouldn't move.
"No I don't," I said, loudly, but it sounded like a murmuring. "What did I do?"
"BITCH!" it screamed. "You don't even care! You know what you did! It's why you'll always be alone. You…are alone from the living."
"Where's Edward?" I muttered. "Where's Edward?" I asked again, more panicked. "Where is he!? I can't find him! I can't find him! Where is he!?"
"Disgusting," it hissed. "You're disgusting. He's gone."
"Where'd he go?"
"Away from you," it sang again, it's voice ringing out and chiming in. "Aw-ay!"
"Leave me alone. Please…leave me alone."
"You already are sweetie," it crooned. "You already are in the land of the living. You know what you did."
"I don't know," I breathed, wanting more than ever to move. I shouldn't move. I didn't move. "I don't know. Tell me. I'll fix it."
"Broken beyond repair…" it laughed joylessly. "You can't fix it. The clock has run out of time. The last grain of sand has FALLEN, my friend! It's over. You can't fix it."
"I want to leave. Let me go."
"I'm not making you stay."
That same slick, wetness rolled down my face again. "I'm crying! Look! Whatever I did, I'm sorry! I regret! Redemption, please, I'm sorry!"
"You're not crying," it whispered again.
"TELL THEM THAT!"
A flash of light burst through the darkness like a strobe, and for a minute I saw everything.
Bodies. Twisted, millions, hundreds, gray, lifeless corpses strewn about each other, on all sides. They hung on the ceiling; to look up I could see all their mouths open in this terrible, silent scream. They were at my sides, and to see their matted hair, rotting flesh, everything was so gray. And ahead of me, directly in my face was another dead one.
A woman, her mouth open an inch from mine, cracked yellow and black teeth and a white tongue, her face like cement, so thin, and she bellowed silently. Her black hair strewn all about, almost touching mine. Her skeletal hands surrounding me; a corpse's embrace along with the rest of her counterparts, everywhere, they are everywhere.
And inside her glassy white eyes I saw myself. Blood. There was blood. I was the blood. My face was slick with it, my hair died with the paint from their bodies, the crimson running down my face and my eyes in rivulets, my body was greased in their sacrifice, for me. I shivered and at that movement all their fragile, crumbling brittle dead bones brushed against my naked flesh. I was naked so I had to feel them. Had to feel the rough texture of rotting death, and I looked down and opened my mouth to throw up. They were there too, I was on a floor of corpses, I was in a box of them.
This one's mouth like all others' opened in a thin, shrieking scream, and my vomit went straight into it, keeping this dead wax doll forever tainted with sick. The bodies fell on me, suffocating me in their stinking mass, and I laid in the center of my destruction, my murder, to obtain true knowledge of what the ultimate decaying passion is.
"You are alone," it crooned again as darkness fell and I was bombarded with the textures, the knowledge of sight, the smells. "Alone for the living. But you will forever hold court here in the middle of your crimes. Wear your crown of blood and bones well. These sacrifices are all you have left."
And the voice, too, was gone.