2019-10-07 - Don't Leave Me

Itzhak dreams fitfully the next time he sleeps, wakes up unable to remember what it was about. This happens a handful of times until the flu really begins to set in, and then, he starts to remember them.

He's walking with Pwill through a garden. It looks lovely at first, but Itzhak can sense something is wrong. "It's not over, you know."

Of course it's not, you think I'm stupid?

"I think you're only 5% smarter than everyone, not 15% as you believe yourself to be." Pwill casts him an amused, sidelong glance. He's dressed in a rich, red and gold brocade vest and black pants that cinch at his knees.

The ground under their feet is covered with black mildew and and blood. The trees around them are withered and rotting. They walk on, unhurried. "We didn't free everyone."

Well yeah I'm sure they--

"That's not who I mean."

They're back in the prison. In the oubliette. But now, next to Itzhak's cell, one is empty. In the other is someone pearly gold and white, curled up on themselves. They're sobbing quietly.

Hey, are you--

They turn their head just a fraction. A gold and black eye is all Itzhak can make out among the rest of them. They shimmer somehow, like they're covered in a thousand little scales of ivory and pearl.

Their voice is small and desparate. "Please. Don't leave me here."

And then he wakes up.

Itzhak wakes up, gripping a handful of sheet. He was reaching for the bars in the dream, to rip them open. His Song--his Art--this damn prison got nothing on him. I won't leave you. You're gonna be okay.

But no. He's already left them. Itzhak groans a rusty protest.

Who are they? Pwill, you goddamn rake. Tell me! Itzhak bites his lip. He knows he won't get an answer.

So he just has to go find his own.