17 Ashan, 723
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Kotton awoke with a start, scrambling among the various fabrics and cloth accosting him blamed by his blankets. He tossed and turned, wrestling with the material as if it were an alligator, its massive jaws clamped tightly shut against his legs. Finally the blanket conceded and let go of his body.
Beads of sweat had formed themselves over his eyebrows. He brushed them away with the back of his hand before throwing the blanket off his lower body. He was lying in his bed, a bed that had seen better days, but with no hope of refurbishment. He even had yet to wash it in the last couple weeks.
Why was he here and not half-dead, laid across the vacant streets of the underworld? How had he ended up unconscious in his bedroom to begin with? Had his venture in Emea been thatforgetful that he couldn't recall-? No, there was something more to the story.
His front door had been left ajar, revealing a city of buildings flooded Fwith obnoxious candle-light. There was no doubting the reason behind his excessive perspiration. Leaving the front door open had exposed him not just to the heat of the night and the many bugs and insects that ventured in favour of the moon’s position, but to the natural concern of privacy unchecked- he had been vulnerable to any random squatter and homeless person in the city! He looked over his body and was relieved to find no evidence of having been bit, much less molested. He really didn’t need the extra work.
So he sighed and exhaled a plume of warm breath into the already humid air. The temperature had been confusing as of late. Was it cold? Was it hot? Would there be rain, sleet or snow? All this bipolar hubbub forced him to pass inaccurate decision toward his sleeping habits; with or without a blanket? That was the question. But, unfortunately, there was another question that needed to be answered and that was: had he been drunk?
His eyes hurt with such intensity that once he stepped out into the morning sunlight he found no other choice but to close them. The palms of his hands could only keep out so much light, rays filtering themselves between the slats of his fingers. Although, this task gestured an encouragement upon the memories of the previous night. Suddenly images of the past evening flashed before his eyes (as expected). He had been walking down an alleyway when he came across a woman wearing a dress far too tight to suggest anything other than 'working woman'. Her makeup had been dripping from her eyes and had smudged itself across her cheeks in a way that screamed to him, 'things are not okay'.
The young man didn’t know what to do. But with a hero complex in the making, he sought to aid her. Although, during his attempt to help the lady, she lashed out, threatening to hurt him if he chose to make any additional means in her direction.
For whatever reason her reaction brought tears to the young man’s eyes. Was her reaction based solely out of fear? Was it instilled in her from experience? Was she merely playing him? He couldn’t recall anything other than waking up with the intent of subjecting himself to another day filled with the very same thing, the exact routine as the last.
He shook his head and scratched his eyes with the pads of his fingers before opening them again. He tried again to see the morning and the optimism supposedly associated with it. He sat up, used his knees to propel himself before finding balance with the vertical. He took a tentative step forward before emerging from his abode and into the awaiting world of the present. But why was it so hard? Why was it so hard to not lie and say traffic made him late when in fact traffic did not make him late but his inability to remove himself from the comfort of his bed did?
With his foot out the door, he pivoted and was faced with the wild scenery of the common. It was beautiful to the normal person, to the person who woke up with the smell of ginger tea, to the person who spent twenty minutes performing yoga, to the normal person who was able to take a shower and feed themselves without the feeling of being rushed, and to the normal person who could expend the right amount of energy to make their lunch, but to him it was just another reminder that there were people who were happier than he was.
His eyes scanned above and observed the morning sky. The sun had barely lifted itself above the horizon, meaning that it was only a few hours past the sanctioned definition of what was regionally determined morning. If morning was a term he was entrusted to define, Kotton would say it was whenever the average person managed to wake up and fit themselves with the regular preparations required of the day. But he was not entrusted with anything of the sort; he simply acknowledged orders and followed them to a 'T'.
But this was his day off, which meant he didn't have to confine himself to the capitalistic demands of society. Thus, the first thing he desired to do was hike through the Sweetwine Woods and examine every flower he passed and all wildlife that flourished, from the highly stretched limbs of trees to the lowly squatting masses of shrubbery. Everything was beautiful, lively and… free. Why couldn't he be a tree or a bushel of shrubbery? Why was he made to perform humanly duties amidst a society that caters only to successful residents? If he wanted to stop work and retire, he would have to wait another decade or so before he had the currency to do so.
Nevertheless he smiled, for once in the longest of times and continued to traipse through the glory of nature, that was until his foot stepped onto a fallen branch, it eliciting a crunching sound far too loud to have not disturbed the rest of the forest.
The first thing that came to his mind was 'shit,' but he continue his hype and kept up with his pep so as to not dissuade himself from the emotions of bliss and contentment.
A flock of birds lifted off from the forest floor several kilometers aft his position; they flapped their wings up into the branches and past before reaching an elevation high enough to spread their wings further, as far as they could be extended, and boy, did they soar above the canopy with elegance and grace.
Kotton stood and stared in awe, watching them fly. He couldn't help but slip in his desire to be one amongst them. With the scene slowly dying, he corrected his immersion and noticed he was in a position that required pivotal focus. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before his gaze panned against something of peculiarity. It was stationed yonder, meeting the horizon with only the shading of the sun that crested delicately against the horizon.
He tentatively paced one more foot ahead and regrettably stepped onto yet another branch. He mentally cursed himself for his failed attempt at being stealthy. He tried again, clearing a branch with the back of his hand and continuing with his endeavoured and ill-advised invisible façade. With a presence unknown, he continued to sneak through the forest, hiding behind various trees and crouching behind many shrubs.
It was all too sudden. The thing he had found peculiar had situated itself within reach and lo and behold it was a man. He was naked with only a large maple leaf covering his private parts.
Kotton knelt down and gazed upon his newly appointed patient's prostrate position and he did so with an intensive gaze. There he was, this originally peculiar object, lying prostrate, flat out, against a random grassy area in the middle of a small clearing in a forest. His shoulders were muscular and well-toned- characteristics Kotton kept in mind as he ran through the many different approaches he could take in addressing this unusual situation. His hair was stark black and matted against his forehead. His head was tilted slightly to the right, lips slightly blue, but not reflective of the shade that suggested oxygen-deprivation. Kotton knew this from his many encounters with 'dead on arrival' patients.
Many theories and several more thoughts swelled within his skull. Why was he nude? How long had he been like this? Had he been drowned or had he simply fallen from a high altitude? Whatever the answers were, there was no time to waste dwelling on each and every probability that trekked about the circumference of his brain.
Instinct swept in, forcing him to revert back to his state as medic- he needed to see what he could do. Could he transfer him back to his place without any additional injury? He had things up his sleeves whether they were devious, dubious or just plain insane. But he understood the importance of not moving a victim if there was any doubt of injury to the cranium. That would warrant far more medical attention that Kotton was willing to give at the moment. Deep inside him was the inquiry that all emergency technicians face and that was, 'If I do this, would it help or hinder?' The aspiring medic inhaled deeply and proceeded to intervene.
Upon reaching under the young boy's limp and bare body Kotton came across several deep lacerations. Bruises littered the patient's body, abrasions that had otherwise been concealed by debris or vestiges of previous altercations. Simply noticing these blotches made his stomach churn. But Kotton maintained his professionalism and everything that his job description entailed.
What had happened to this poor boy?
He drew his arm under the child's stomach and used his other arm to latch itself around to the other side. Kotton laced his calloused fingers together as he fought to raise the victim from against the ground. The boy was heavy and the very act of moving him forced his muscles to burn. Kotton's forehead began to seep particles of sodium prolific of liquid. But there would be no physical ailment deterring him from helping someone in need. He would endure the pressure and continue; he needed to get this man back to his house, for he was wounded and tired and would undoubtedly be starved upon awakening. That was, if he even woke.
Kotton crouched so he was more level with the victim’s aweary body before hoisting one of his nearly determined flaccid arms over his shoulder. Before the young medic could comprehend what was happening, the boy’s entire body was drained and made limp across the entirety of his back. It was very uncomfortable and gave Kotton no time whatsoever before becoming almost too overloaded with responsibility. His level of endurance was rapidly dropping before the need to rest propagated his mind with ferocious priority.
He knelt down again and propped his own weight and that of the injured man’s upon his quaking knees. He had only undergone a few steps before finding the necessity in taking a break. But it was enough of an accomplishment to make him feel some sort of accomplishment. The pause continued, spanning more than just a simple minute or two before Kotton mustered the strength to stand back up. He was straining both his back and arm muscles so as to fulfil this feat, and he undeniably persisted. He was not easily swayed by difficulties posed against him.
He made another few yards before his legs started to give out. However, instead of taking another break, the young man forcibly continued his push ahead, hastening his pace in favour of time. Kotton was unremitting in his decision to push until he had made his way out of the thickest portion of the forest and into familiar grounds.
“We’re… almost… there,” he panted, adjusting the boy against his back so he was positioned in a more comfortable place.
“We… are… almost… there.”
Beads of sweat had formed themselves over his eyebrows. He brushed them away with the back of his hand before throwing the blanket off his lower body. He was lying in his bed, a bed that had seen better days, but with no hope of refurbishment. He even had yet to wash it in the last couple weeks.
Why was he here and not half-dead, laid across the vacant streets of the underworld? How had he ended up unconscious in his bedroom to begin with? Had his venture in Emea been thatforgetful that he couldn't recall-? No, there was something more to the story.
His front door had been left ajar, revealing a city of buildings flooded Fwith obnoxious candle-light. There was no doubting the reason behind his excessive perspiration. Leaving the front door open had exposed him not just to the heat of the night and the many bugs and insects that ventured in favour of the moon’s position, but to the natural concern of privacy unchecked- he had been vulnerable to any random squatter and homeless person in the city! He looked over his body and was relieved to find no evidence of having been bit, much less molested. He really didn’t need the extra work.
So he sighed and exhaled a plume of warm breath into the already humid air. The temperature had been confusing as of late. Was it cold? Was it hot? Would there be rain, sleet or snow? All this bipolar hubbub forced him to pass inaccurate decision toward his sleeping habits; with or without a blanket? That was the question. But, unfortunately, there was another question that needed to be answered and that was: had he been drunk?
His eyes hurt with such intensity that once he stepped out into the morning sunlight he found no other choice but to close them. The palms of his hands could only keep out so much light, rays filtering themselves between the slats of his fingers. Although, this task gestured an encouragement upon the memories of the previous night. Suddenly images of the past evening flashed before his eyes (as expected). He had been walking down an alleyway when he came across a woman wearing a dress far too tight to suggest anything other than 'working woman'. Her makeup had been dripping from her eyes and had smudged itself across her cheeks in a way that screamed to him, 'things are not okay'.
The young man didn’t know what to do. But with a hero complex in the making, he sought to aid her. Although, during his attempt to help the lady, she lashed out, threatening to hurt him if he chose to make any additional means in her direction.
For whatever reason her reaction brought tears to the young man’s eyes. Was her reaction based solely out of fear? Was it instilled in her from experience? Was she merely playing him? He couldn’t recall anything other than waking up with the intent of subjecting himself to another day filled with the very same thing, the exact routine as the last.
He shook his head and scratched his eyes with the pads of his fingers before opening them again. He tried again to see the morning and the optimism supposedly associated with it. He sat up, used his knees to propel himself before finding balance with the vertical. He took a tentative step forward before emerging from his abode and into the awaiting world of the present. But why was it so hard? Why was it so hard to not lie and say traffic made him late when in fact traffic did not make him late but his inability to remove himself from the comfort of his bed did?
With his foot out the door, he pivoted and was faced with the wild scenery of the common. It was beautiful to the normal person, to the person who woke up with the smell of ginger tea, to the person who spent twenty minutes performing yoga, to the normal person who was able to take a shower and feed themselves without the feeling of being rushed, and to the normal person who could expend the right amount of energy to make their lunch, but to him it was just another reminder that there were people who were happier than he was.
His eyes scanned above and observed the morning sky. The sun had barely lifted itself above the horizon, meaning that it was only a few hours past the sanctioned definition of what was regionally determined morning. If morning was a term he was entrusted to define, Kotton would say it was whenever the average person managed to wake up and fit themselves with the regular preparations required of the day. But he was not entrusted with anything of the sort; he simply acknowledged orders and followed them to a 'T'.
But this was his day off, which meant he didn't have to confine himself to the capitalistic demands of society. Thus, the first thing he desired to do was hike through the Sweetwine Woods and examine every flower he passed and all wildlife that flourished, from the highly stretched limbs of trees to the lowly squatting masses of shrubbery. Everything was beautiful, lively and… free. Why couldn't he be a tree or a bushel of shrubbery? Why was he made to perform humanly duties amidst a society that caters only to successful residents? If he wanted to stop work and retire, he would have to wait another decade or so before he had the currency to do so.
Nevertheless he smiled, for once in the longest of times and continued to traipse through the glory of nature, that was until his foot stepped onto a fallen branch, it eliciting a crunching sound far too loud to have not disturbed the rest of the forest.
The first thing that came to his mind was 'shit,' but he continue his hype and kept up with his pep so as to not dissuade himself from the emotions of bliss and contentment.
A flock of birds lifted off from the forest floor several kilometers aft his position; they flapped their wings up into the branches and past before reaching an elevation high enough to spread their wings further, as far as they could be extended, and boy, did they soar above the canopy with elegance and grace.
Kotton stood and stared in awe, watching them fly. He couldn't help but slip in his desire to be one amongst them. With the scene slowly dying, he corrected his immersion and noticed he was in a position that required pivotal focus. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before his gaze panned against something of peculiarity. It was stationed yonder, meeting the horizon with only the shading of the sun that crested delicately against the horizon.
He tentatively paced one more foot ahead and regrettably stepped onto yet another branch. He mentally cursed himself for his failed attempt at being stealthy. He tried again, clearing a branch with the back of his hand and continuing with his endeavoured and ill-advised invisible façade. With a presence unknown, he continued to sneak through the forest, hiding behind various trees and crouching behind many shrubs.
It was all too sudden. The thing he had found peculiar had situated itself within reach and lo and behold it was a man. He was naked with only a large maple leaf covering his private parts.
Kotton knelt down and gazed upon his newly appointed patient's prostrate position and he did so with an intensive gaze. There he was, this originally peculiar object, lying prostrate, flat out, against a random grassy area in the middle of a small clearing in a forest. His shoulders were muscular and well-toned- characteristics Kotton kept in mind as he ran through the many different approaches he could take in addressing this unusual situation. His hair was stark black and matted against his forehead. His head was tilted slightly to the right, lips slightly blue, but not reflective of the shade that suggested oxygen-deprivation. Kotton knew this from his many encounters with 'dead on arrival' patients.
Many theories and several more thoughts swelled within his skull. Why was he nude? How long had he been like this? Had he been drowned or had he simply fallen from a high altitude? Whatever the answers were, there was no time to waste dwelling on each and every probability that trekked about the circumference of his brain.
Instinct swept in, forcing him to revert back to his state as medic- he needed to see what he could do. Could he transfer him back to his place without any additional injury? He had things up his sleeves whether they were devious, dubious or just plain insane. But he understood the importance of not moving a victim if there was any doubt of injury to the cranium. That would warrant far more medical attention that Kotton was willing to give at the moment. Deep inside him was the inquiry that all emergency technicians face and that was, 'If I do this, would it help or hinder?' The aspiring medic inhaled deeply and proceeded to intervene.
Upon reaching under the young boy's limp and bare body Kotton came across several deep lacerations. Bruises littered the patient's body, abrasions that had otherwise been concealed by debris or vestiges of previous altercations. Simply noticing these blotches made his stomach churn. But Kotton maintained his professionalism and everything that his job description entailed.
What had happened to this poor boy?
He drew his arm under the child's stomach and used his other arm to latch itself around to the other side. Kotton laced his calloused fingers together as he fought to raise the victim from against the ground. The boy was heavy and the very act of moving him forced his muscles to burn. Kotton's forehead began to seep particles of sodium prolific of liquid. But there would be no physical ailment deterring him from helping someone in need. He would endure the pressure and continue; he needed to get this man back to his house, for he was wounded and tired and would undoubtedly be starved upon awakening. That was, if he even woke.
Kotton crouched so he was more level with the victim’s aweary body before hoisting one of his nearly determined flaccid arms over his shoulder. Before the young medic could comprehend what was happening, the boy’s entire body was drained and made limp across the entirety of his back. It was very uncomfortable and gave Kotton no time whatsoever before becoming almost too overloaded with responsibility. His level of endurance was rapidly dropping before the need to rest propagated his mind with ferocious priority.
He knelt down again and propped his own weight and that of the injured man’s upon his quaking knees. He had only undergone a few steps before finding the necessity in taking a break. But it was enough of an accomplishment to make him feel some sort of accomplishment. The pause continued, spanning more than just a simple minute or two before Kotton mustered the strength to stand back up. He was straining both his back and arm muscles so as to fulfil this feat, and he undeniably persisted. He was not easily swayed by difficulties posed against him.
He made another few yards before his legs started to give out. However, instead of taking another break, the young man forcibly continued his push ahead, hastening his pace in favour of time. Kotton was unremitting in his decision to push until he had made his way out of the thickest portion of the forest and into familiar grounds.
“We’re… almost… there,” he panted, adjusting the boy against his back so he was positioned in a more comfortable place.
“We… are… almost… there.”
