Day 211 – Coma – Short Story
“A while,” she replies softly.
“W-What does that mean? Like a couple of hours, a day, a week?” He asks quickly.
“SEVEN FUCKING YEARS!” He yells.
“Gerald, calm yourself, getting an…”
“FUCKING CALM MYSELF, DO YOU REALLY THINK I SHOULD BE FUCKING CALM RIGHT NOW?”
“Please, I can understand you’re fr…”
“THEN DON’T PREACH TO ME, SEVEN FUCKING YEARS STACE! SEVEN FUCKING YEARS AND YOU ACT LIKE IT WAS NOTHING,” he yells as he forces himself up and off the table, crashing to the floor in a heap.
“You need to be careful, take it slow, it will be a little while until you’re back to one hundred percent.”
“FUCK!” He yells as he scrambles to his feet, holding himself up with support from the table, the next few minutes pass quickly as he stands there, his breathing slowly becoming shallow, and calm, sweat drips from his body, and he turns to her, his eyes show his panic, his fear, but also, his frustration. “W-W-What took so long? And where’s Hallifax?”
“Hallifax fell in battle, five years ago, you, you were lost to us. We believed you and the canister to be destroyed, that is until stories of a beast frozen within a box started to surface, and we knew, there was hope, that maybe the war could still be ours.”
“So, we’re losing then?”
“Without you leading us, and without Hallifax, we could not hold them off. They decimated us, tore our cells apart, one by one, until those left burrowed deeper, or in most cases, disbanded completely.”
“Less than fifty.”
“And, what of him?”
“He’s still out there, like the dog he always has been, at the forefront, leading them.”
He smiles as he lets go of the table, and shakily stands on his own, clenching his weak, frail hands into fits, “Well then, my dear countess, let’s strike back, I have so many years worth of terror to send his way.”