I lie in Her lap, empty. The stench of piss and excrement doesn't bother me anymore. I don't really feel anything anymore. Except this whirlpool of nothingness that sucks me into my chest and expels me back out again while I lie here, immobile.
I hear my breath and feel Her nails raking through my hair, carving open minute gashes on my scalp. We are surrounded by people but they ignore us. So we stay here, hoping they'll feign ignorance forever.
I look up and see Her glassy bloodshot eyes darting from one person to the other, terrified, enraged, terrified again. I whisper Her name and She looks down. But She doesn't really see me. She could rarely focus. The world overwhelmed Her. And that is why She stayed in the Pit.
Are we in the Pit now, I wonder? Who are all these people? Are they down here with us or are we up there with them? I can't focus either.
She pats my face, Her nails scraping the skin and drawing blood. I don't think She means to hurt. Then She coos at me, her voice rasping and shrill. Lulling me to sleep, perhaps. And resumes Her frantic observation of the blurs that dart past Her vision. I wonder how much She sees.
Sometimes I can sit up and talk to Her. Her way of communication being incoherent rasping monologues that cease and turn into a hiss whenever the blurs stray too near. I try to distract Her with songs that I remember, recollections of my childhood that I covet and fistfuls of leaves strewn nearby. Those are the good days. She loves the leaves as much I do, the emerald glow in them. They made us calm.
Most days I just lie in Her lap, my throat raw and my eyes raw and my heartbeat pounding loud within me. Most days that is all there is.
But lately She appears lucid for short periods of time. Sometimes, for a few minutes, Her mumbling is even rational. Almost. Her eyes focus onto my face and She sees me. And She stares, confused. I don't think She recognises me. I don't think She remembers who we are. But there is a flicker of clarity within Her eyes, which become sharper, whenever it happens.
I keep looking up at Her face more often now. Hoping I could grasp those moments and remind Her of who we are. Of what we are. And what needs to be. Maybe I can convince Her to help us now. Maybe we do have a chance.
