Categories > Original > Fantasy
The Sixth Day
2 ReviewsIn Havian lore, it takes six days to go crazy.
In Havian lore, it takes six days to go crazy, but Mishka stopped counting what felt like years ago but was probably only two meals spent; two meals meant he was still on that first day, and he wouldn't go crazy for five more days, but he already feels like he needs to go/, he needs to get out and run, but they have him locked up in a cage so tight that he can't even see the light through the window or the hands in front of his face. He can feel the back of his neck, the sweat trickling down to soak into the collar of his shirt, and he wants to wipe it away but it just keeps coming back; he wonders if it's really sweat, if it's not blood, if he's bleeding and he doesn't even know it. Maybe he won't make it to the Havian Sixth, as his lover--dead, dead; maybe it's /his blood on the back of his neck, because Havian legend also says lovers will stay with their loved ones, looking as they were found dead, until they are avenged-had called it once in a drunken binge.
So, the first day is the worst, he figured. But he's wrong.
On the second day, he can't feel his fingers or his toes--not because he's cold, but because he can't see them and Aikens depend on sight to sense touch. The guards that feed him think it's funny that he can't pick up his food with his hands or feet, that he has to use his tail to grab anything. They laugh and heckle and call him foul names in the brutal southern-drawl of Havian that Mishka never bothered to learn because his lover never spoke it around him--always common, or Aiken, or northern-drawl Havian, so he could understand everything, if he said it very slowly. He recognized a few words: "queer" and "junkie" and "freak" and "/deadmeat/", but none of it made any sense. And he couldn't feel his fingers or toes.
On the third day, it felt like his head had fallen off his shoulders. He couldn't hold it up, and everything was at a strange angle, and he couldn't feel anything holding his head up, so he figured his tail must have been and his head fell off while he was-not sleeping, but whatever it was that prisoners did in the penitentiary. The guards still call him names, but now one worries, and speaks in common when none of the others are near. He smiles, and says everything will be fine. Mishka doesn't think he's real, but it's only been three days; he tells the guard that, and the guard must think he's already crazy, but it's only been /three days/.
On the fourth day--Mishka doesn't remember.
On the fifth day, it must be his lover, because it feels like him, and smells like him, and sounds like him, and he doesn't complain or make any sound when he's pulled away from the wall and slammed into the floor. He doesn't make any sound when he's stripped of his shirt and breeches. He doesn't make any sound as someone who isn't his lover (because he's dead/, damnit) but who sure as hell /feels like him, fucks him into the rough frozen ground of the cell they'd given him. It brings the sun with it. He thinks he can feel his fingers again, but his toes are too far gone to worry about. He sleeps.
When the sixth day comes, Mishka isn't around to see it, and he figures that his lover must be right, with the Havian lore.
But he only lasted one day.
So, the first day is the worst, he figured. But he's wrong.
On the second day, he can't feel his fingers or his toes--not because he's cold, but because he can't see them and Aikens depend on sight to sense touch. The guards that feed him think it's funny that he can't pick up his food with his hands or feet, that he has to use his tail to grab anything. They laugh and heckle and call him foul names in the brutal southern-drawl of Havian that Mishka never bothered to learn because his lover never spoke it around him--always common, or Aiken, or northern-drawl Havian, so he could understand everything, if he said it very slowly. He recognized a few words: "queer" and "junkie" and "freak" and "/deadmeat/", but none of it made any sense. And he couldn't feel his fingers or toes.
On the third day, it felt like his head had fallen off his shoulders. He couldn't hold it up, and everything was at a strange angle, and he couldn't feel anything holding his head up, so he figured his tail must have been and his head fell off while he was-not sleeping, but whatever it was that prisoners did in the penitentiary. The guards still call him names, but now one worries, and speaks in common when none of the others are near. He smiles, and says everything will be fine. Mishka doesn't think he's real, but it's only been three days; he tells the guard that, and the guard must think he's already crazy, but it's only been /three days/.
On the fourth day--Mishka doesn't remember.
On the fifth day, it must be his lover, because it feels like him, and smells like him, and sounds like him, and he doesn't complain or make any sound when he's pulled away from the wall and slammed into the floor. He doesn't make any sound when he's stripped of his shirt and breeches. He doesn't make any sound as someone who isn't his lover (because he's dead/, damnit) but who sure as hell /feels like him, fucks him into the rough frozen ground of the cell they'd given him. It brings the sun with it. He thinks he can feel his fingers again, but his toes are too far gone to worry about. He sleeps.
When the sixth day comes, Mishka isn't around to see it, and he figures that his lover must be right, with the Havian lore.
But he only lasted one day.
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