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Chapter 115: Falling

He thought he heard something pop.

Roger could hardly remember being taken and lifted into the ambulance. He did not remember at all the looks that were given by all the patrons in the restaurant, or the explanation that the lion gave, and the momentary panic. It was not poison, they were assured.

He felt drowsy. He could hear little bits and pieces every so often. Hunter could not come with him in the ambulance. Why?

There was something about a critical state. The paramedics already knew why he was there. Who told them?

They stuck something in his arm. He was already much too tired to resist. Everything was so bright. The beeping was so loud, so incessant. He could feel himself getting angry at it, and it only got faster. That damned beeping.

He was in a bed. He did not remember being in a bed. It had wheels though. Where did the table and chair go? Where did the café go?

He could smell something in the air. It smelled sweet, kind of like hot chocolate. Did he drink hot chocolate recently?

He turned, and evacuated the contents of his stomach. Something did not feel right. He could not feel any of it. The paramedics began to talk rapidly amongst themselves, but he did not understand what they were saying. It sounded like a bunch of gibberish to him. He felt so dizzy.

They did not look worried that he had vomited. He wanted to apologize, but his jaw was not working. What was in whatever they stuck in him? It made him feel all fuzzy inside, and warm. He vomited again, except he had been facing up.

There was not much, just a little. They turned his head so that he did not choke on it. They were so nice to him. So gentle.

Was he in a vehicle? He remembered everything swinging back and forth, like they were dancing. He found amusement in it. He wanted to laugh. Instead, more vomit.

He heard sirens. What was going on? He could not remember anything. Where had he been before this? Things were so fuzzy. Everything was turning an odd shade of pink.

He could not open his eyes anymore. Suddenly, he felt like he was in a pool, lying on his back. The water tossed him around a little, but it was gentle. He began to get tired. The beeping was finally going away. What a nuisance it had been.

His body expelled the rest of what it had held. He felt very embarrassed. He liked those pants. He could not bring himself to utter a word of apology, though. It was just too much work.

He could smell it. Not the feces or urine or vomit. Something that smelled a little bit like the fresh rain on a metal shed. Something rusty. It smelled a little salty. He could not figure out what it was.

And then it was gone. And so was everything else. It was like all the pieces that had been brought together had fallen away, like a shattered window pane. Where was he going?

It hurt to think. He stopped.

It hurt to hear. He stopped that, too.

It hurt to taste. It stopped.

It hurt to smell. It stopped.

It hurt to feel. It stopped.

It hurt to stay awake. It stopped.

-

He had been dreaming. Everything was dark in his dream, and a little wet. He did not remember where he had been or what he was doing there, or even who he was. He wished he could see, but there was no light.

He wandered around for what seemed like forever until he came across a tiny, flickering flame. He held his paws near it. They were brown. What was he?

He sat down. The floor felt cool to the touch, though somewhat damp. It was hard, though, like tile.

And then he saw them. Bright little lights, flickering by. Images of a time past. A life. Memories. They were coming and going so fast he could not identify which one was which.

A series of them flickered by, all showing him the same thing. A fox, looking in the mirror. It was a young one, and then it grew older. It grew tired. It grew painful, and then it was gone.

He could see a wolf in some of the images. Sometimes he saw another fox, and a skunk. He saw many other animals.

He saw a couple of foxes, a bit older. They always looked at him with such kind eyes. Were they his parents? He wanted to go talk to them, but they were always gone.

That wolf. Who was he? He kept popping up. When he saw him, he felt warm. Very warm.

There was a lion. What was he doing there? It was so brief, but he was afraid of him. Something about him was off. Something about him filled him with dread. And anger.

His head began to hurt just from thinking about it. Things got a little brighter, but it did not give him any real information on where he was at. He was still in what looked like an infinite, empty room. As bright as it was, it was as if it were dark.

Everything began to warp around him. He began to warp. He twisted, contorted, grew, shrank. None of it mattered. Nothing changed, except how dizzy he felt. He felt like the world was moving him. He flickered in and out, just like those memories. He remembered it all. He forgot.

There was a deep yearning for something, but he did not know what it was. He just wanted it.

It hurt to want.