word of the day: safe

Safe. That was the word of the day. Ever since he’d landed in this country, and to some extent before that, all the way up to when he’d been clobbered and picked up in the forest where he’d first seen her, he had felt hunted. Even before that, if he was being true to himself. Possibly even before that. Hunted. That’s what he’d felt. In her arms, he felt safe. No more of those dreams of falling. Waking up, legs feeling shaky, body disoriented, heart racing, nostrils smelling the perfumed scent of danger. In her arms, he felt safe.

It was night, owls were hooting above, stats were twinkling. The trees swayed gently, even though there was little wind. She had assured him that they would be safe here, in the forest, safe here, with her. He was home, he thought. He felt. And he was. As he fell asleep in her lap, looking into her eyes, twinkling as they were with that glow that so beautifully animated them, he smiled. He sighed a peaceful sigh of relief, and realized how hunted and unsafe he had felt his entire life. And now, he felt like he was home.

He was falling. And then he was there. The pit. Fire everywhere. The cavern. Laughter coming from all around him. Then it stopped. The bubbling and hissing of the fire sounded like it was laughing. He was in the pit. He closed his eyes. He knew there would be a moment of silence before it began. He red glowed on the other side of his eyelids and then it blinked. He opened them, confused. At first, he couldn’t see what it was. Then he saw a shadow dancing around the walls. A big cartoonishly large chest, an equally cartoonishly small waist and legs. The shadow flirted around the walls of the cavern, and he felt as if it were boring into him with eyes that he could not see. And then it began. The pain was excruciating. Exquisite. If he had been able to think about anything other than the burning pain, than the thousands of needles of fire poking into his pores, he would have realized that it was actually a work of art. Pushed to the limits of human endurance. Skin burnt to a crisp, until he mercifully passed out. And then he was revived. A brief moment of respite. In which he saw the creatures with holes where their eyes should be, and fire poking out of them, intelligent, seeing fire. And then it began again. Over and over. And over. After what felt like the thousandth time, he closed his eyes, wincing in anticipation of the pain. It didn’t come. He opened them. He was looking from outside. At himself. It wasn’t himself. It was her. Her. He screamed. He woke up screaming. The burning was singing his nostrils. She was asleep. The forest was ablaze. He woke her up, in silence they began to run out of the forest.