Amy Cross - Persona

Before he can finish, I push his head down under the surface of the soupy water. His right arm, reaching up from below, is still trying to gouge my eye out, and I gasp in pain as I feel him struggling to get back up. Deep down I know that this is my last chance, so I focus all my remaining strength on a desperate attempt to push him further into the depths. For a moment, I feel as though his thumb is actually going to burst straight through my eyeball, but finally I realize that he’s starting to weaken. I let out a cry of pain as I force him deeper into the water, and slowly his struggle starts to fade until he falls still. After a moment his thumb stops pushing against my eye, and his hand slips down my face before splashing lifelessly into the soupy water. Refusing to accept that he’s dead yet, I hold him under for several more minutes until I realize that there’s absolutely no way he can be alive.

When I let go of his head, he sinks down into the depths.

Leaning back against the muddy wall, I desperately try to get some air into my lungs. Every breath is agony, and I’m starting to think that I might have fractured a rib, but after a moment I realize that if I’m going to get out of here, I have to start moving. Turning, I dig my hands into the wall and start climbing, pushing through the pain. My tunic has been soaked since I first fell into the pit, but now the water’s extra weight seems to be dragged me down with more force, trying to make me fall. Somehow I manage to reach the top, and when I clamber over the edge I feel the metal spikes digging into my side. I roll away, finally stopping on my back and staring up at the vast starry sky.

Closing my right eye, I find to my relief that despite Walter’s best efforts, I can still see through it perfectly. At that very moment, a shooting star arcs across the night sky.

“Remember when we saw one of those?” Della’s voice whispers.

“Yeah,” I try to say, momentarily forgetting that I can’t speak. All that emerges from my mouth is a faint gurgle, and then a moment later I roll over and start to vomit, bringing up some of the foul human soup that I accidentally swallowed during the struggle.

“Walter was right,” she continues. “Life is too hard. Not only here on the island, but everywhere. Little moments of pleasure, like watching a shooting star, aren’t enough to make up for all the misery we have to endure.”

That’s not my sister.

She’d never say anything like that.

If she was here now, she’d tell me that things are going to get better, that I can get out of this mess. She’d tell me to get up and start walking, and to make sure I find Steadfall so I can warn Asher.

“Believing in something is one thing,” I remember Bran telling me once, before I betrayed him, “but you have to actually fight for it. No matter how hard it feels, you have to haul yourself up and fight for what’s important.”

“It’s too hard,” I imagine myself telling him. “I’m not that kind of person.”

“Everyone has to die some day,” he continues, “but what day do you want that to be? Do you want to die right now, alone and sick, shivering in the mud, with your friends in danger? Or do you want to last at least a little longer, and try to help them all?”

For a moment, I feel my mind dimming, as if I’m losing consciousness.

“You have to warn the others,” Bran reminds me finally. “You can’t rest now.”

He’s right, but I’m too tired. I just need to rest.

“Iris,” Della’s voice continues, as I roll onto my side, “what are you doing?”

“Sleep,” I imagine myself reply. “I need to sleep.”

“Iris, no,” she continues, “you have to get up!”

“I’ll sleep for a little while.” My mind is fading now, as I start to lose consciousness. “The morning sun will dry me, and then I can…”

For a moment, my thoughts fade to darkness.

“You’ll die if you try to sleep!” Della’s voice hisses.

My eyes flicker open.

“Iris,” she says firmly, “you have to get up!”

Even though I’m in agony, I know I have to find a way to let Asher know what’s happening. I might be too late, but there’s still a chance I can get to them in time. I might have been tricked into betraying people in the past, but this time I can do the right thing. There’ll be time to sleep later, but right now I have to help the others.

Hauling myself to my feet, I use the north star to work out the right direction and then I start walking, stumbling through the forest. I feel almost like a zombie, as if my mind is fading and I’m simply making my way through the darkness with a single goal in mind. I don’t even know how far I have to walk, although I’m pretty sure that I doubled back around toward Steadfall over the past few weeks, which means I shouldn’t have to go too far. A few days at most, maybe even less. All my addled mind can think about is the fact that I have to warn the others that there’s danger on the island.

“That’s right,” Della’s voice whispers, as if to encourage me. “Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. You can do this!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Asher!” Doctor Phillips hisses, making some more notes on the chart at the foot of my bed. “Frankly, I expected better from you by now. What’s wrong? Is military training too hard for you?”

I know this is a dream, I know it’s just a recreation of something that happened a long time ago, but that knowledge isn’t enough to keep me from panicking. Pulling on the restraints that are holding me to the bed, I try desperately to get free. The metal frame shudders, but after a few seconds I realize that I’m completely powerless.

“Focus, Asher,” Doctor Phillips continues, stepping around the bed and leaning closer to my face. “Ignore your fears. Ignore any pain you might be feeling. Just try to focus on your training. Remember what—”

“Go to hell!” I gasp.

“Do you think you’re improving, Asher?” she asks. “Can you feel yourself becoming a better warrior? It’s not just a physical change, it’s also about your attitude. Can you feel yourself getting stronger?”

I want to tell her yet again to go to hell, but I figure it’s just a waste of energy.

“Come on,” she says with a smile. “If you just admit that you’re getting better, you might start to embrace the change. Don’t you want to be the best possible soldier? Don’t you want to push yourself to the limits of your potential?”

Holding my breath, I try to focus on the restraint around my left wrist. If I can just get that loose, I might be able to work on the rest.

“Come on, Asher,” she continues, “don’t be obstinate. The next phase in your program is acceptance. We’ve done all we can while you continue to struggle, but now you must come to terms with your role in life. You were born with exceptional gifts, and we simply want to help you make the most of your potential.” She pauses for a moment, watching as I struggle with the restraint around my wrist. “Asher, this childishness is unbecoming.”

She leans over and presses something on the side of the bed, and the restraint immediately snaps twice as tight around my left wrist, causing me to cry out in pain.

“Are you satisfied now?” she asks dourly, clearly unimpressed by my efforts. “Accept what you are, Asher, and then you can move on to the next level of the academy.”

“Never!” I spit back at her.

“Asher—”

“I’m not a soldier!”

“You’re absolutely a soldier,” she replies, setting her clipboard aside and making her way along the side of the bed, before leaning down to smile at me. “Not only that, but I have a feeling you’re going to be one of the most effective soldiers we’ve ever produced. After all these years of training, you—”