Page 32 of A Most Abhorrent Vessel

Stop, I want to say, but nothing listens to my plea.

Involuntarily, my hands spasm like being pulled from a string. Might it be death’s fingers coming to claim mine?

Then, a faint flutter.

Could it be hope?

No.

There is only darkness now.

I no longer see, nor hear, nor feel. All that remains are memories of a lonely, miserable, queer life.

My lungs refuse to obey. My heart ceases to pump.

I fall.

And I fall.

And I fall.

Such weight. Too heavy. Too much.

Then—

Nothing.

“Orlando? Orlando!” I shout, gripping his hand.

Orlando shows no signs of recognition, he’s merely lying there unmoving. I jostle his shoulders, but he remains still.

Did he perish this close to salvation?

I no longer hear his exhales, nor the rushing of his essence. His blood’s ghost is still visible, but I know it remains even once a mortal’s life has been extinguished.

“Please, Orlando. Just one more instant.”

I continue to dig as quickly as my limbs allow. My nails are crusted in soil, from which pieces splinter off every time I encounter a rock or a root.

Crouching in the midst of nearly a dozen shallow holes, I desperately try to find the exact spot Orlando had described.

Frustrated, I abandon this section, then turn around to burrow at another site. The grass is ripped to shreds quickly, the clotted soil underneath is cleared in two swipes. Suddenly, my fingers graze something solid. Might it be another forsaken root? No, it could not be, for it was too amorphous. Desperately, I claw at the dirt surrounding it. A round, soft shape slowly appears.

A pouch!

“Orlando, it’s here,” I exclaim, but the man does not respond. Nonetheless, I refuse to give up so close to salvation.

I drag him by his arms until he rests beside the new discovery. Leaving the pouch unheeded in the dirt, I remove his gloves, tossing them carelessly to the side.

First, I place the so-called stick between his fingers. Then, holding it closed, I drag his hand to the edge of the shallow pit.

I close my eyes.

This will work. It shan’t be too late.

I let go of Orlando’s fingers. They open reflexively, and the artifact drops into the hole.

Nothing happens.