Haze

That was an awful lot of hatred, he thought. So much raw sinew and muscle and just… red. He tried to turn away from it, but it was everywhere. Stained onto his vision, into his bones. And he was so very cold.
He was all ready to give up, all ready for the torrent of colour to sweep him away, when he saw it. The tip of a diamond sceptre, shining in the distance. The tip of some kind of unspoken hope.
He dragged himself against the tide, which pushed back tenfold. But he kept going. He refused to take his eyes off the twinkling light, and that kept him going.
It must have been weeks, months even – of pushing, and pushing hard. But one day, it was just ahead of him. Not a sceptre, as he thought it was when he had started, but a curtain of tiny droplets. It beckoned gently to him, allowing him to take those precious final steps.
He touched the curtain hesitantly, just the pad of his finger, and it flowed through him, infusing him with a warmth he had never felt before. He placed his hand against it, and it parted for him.
He stepped through.
You are safe here, he said to himself, smiling inside. And the voices in his chest agreed. You are safe here.

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