“Pain, will you return it? I won't say it again, pain.” Depeche Mode

DATE: UNKOWN

Pain.

Pain was my only existence, it shot roughly and quickly throughout my entire body; my hands felt as if on fire, and my feet and legs, although numb, were throbbing incessantly.

I wished, no pleaded for ****, but it did not come to me. The pain came to rest upon my eyes and head, settling there, a sharp and quick dagger through my mind.

What is this eternal ****?

Am I alive?

I don't want to live.

———————————————————————

Feeling slowly returned to me, as did soreness, the immense pain of earlier slowly diminishing.

Voices called out to me, distant and incomprehensible to me. I could tell I was lying down, yet I was terribly dizzy.

Fatigue overtook me, and I fell asleep for what felt like the first time in years.

———————

A dream.

Or memory?

The crash.

No, it couldn't be.

Instead of the comforting voice of my parents, I heard the voice of a man, low and gruff, yet strangely familiar to me.

“Highness?” He called. “We are here, are you certain this is the correct address?”

“Do not second guess me, man,” I responded bitterly to him.”

I peered through the eyes of a dream, this man who had my voice yet did not sound like me. I felt anger, hatred, and boredom. Also excitement?

I felt leather, cold, and expensive around me. In front of me, a shield of glass, dark and cloudy blocked me from this other man.

In this dream, I was in a car, a very expensive-looking car.

“The person I am here to meet will arrive shortly. Park here and you may take leave.” I stated flatly.

“Will they know which car to enter, Highness?”

“I don't doubt it. We are the only limousine with royal flags and plates on this lot.” I said with a smirk.

The man paused as I heard the driver's side door open. “That's what I am counting on.”

The ominous tone in his voice was ignored by me as the door slammed.

“Impertinence,” I growled to myself as I opened a small console in front of me, pulled a bottle of clear liquid out, opened it into a glass, and placed an olive.”

A vodka martini? I don't drink.

What kind of dream is this?

Yet as I continued to watch, continued to dream, I looked out the window, impatient.

Then I saw it.

Red.

A semi-truck, with glossy red metallic paint. Speeding.

Speeding straight towards me.

The driver, I saw only a moment. She was beautiful, with dark raven hair pulled in a tight bun, and eyes too far to see yet something shone in them, contempt.

A short angular face glared at me with pure hatred.

She seemed Asian, Japanese perhaps.

My thoughts cleared I saw the truck door open, and the woman jumped out.

“Oh.” I said simply, in my dream. As the truck collided with my car.