Apotheosis

I was reading a piece of narrative nonfiction, and came across the word "apotheosis." Not a bad title for something, perhaps?

We'll see:

***

Julie flexed her hands, the leather restraints rubbing her wrists. The light above her was bright, and she squinted at the figure to her right.

"How long is this going to take?"

The needle entered her leg before she realized he held a syringe, and she jerked despite herself. Luckily her legs stayed in place, the straps still tight.

"A while."

Her calf throbbed where she'd been injected, in time with the heartbeat in her ears. A strange heat began to spread from it, like an infection creeping from a cut. As soon as she made the comparison she tried to rid her mind of it. What you thought was important, they said. It could affect the process, thoughts becoming real once you were at the threshold.

Of course, once she'd thought that, Julie remembered the horror stories. People reaching the peak and losing sight of reality, their arms turning to palm fronds or their voices fleeing their bodies.

She heard him move away. "Wait! What if it goes wrong—what do I do?" The door closed behind him with a click.

It felt like an elephant had sat down on her chest. It was too soon for something like that to be actually true, though, so Julie closed her eyes and focused on the way her body pressed into the mattress, the way the cuffs still chafed against her skin, the way the light bled into her closed eyes to make her eyelids red.

Reality would anchor her, and then reality would obey her. She would taste the sweat on her lips and listen to the creaking of floorboards outside the door, and let the burning heat spread through her limbs. The sound of her breath gushing in and out of her lungs roared like a wind, and the faint smell of vanilla candles filled her nose.

Every part of her was full of fire, and she saw herself on the mattress, her face contorted in ecstasy—or was it pain? Her mouth opened in a gasp, her brow furrowed, her body thrashed against the leather straps, and she decided pain made more sense. Julie leaned over herself and put her hand on her cheek, tracing the tears.

She wondered how mortals dealt with such pain. How could something so solid be so fragile and easily broken?

Her hand drifted to her mouth, the mouth. It was pitiful to see herself like this, just the same as always. Julie had never realized how weak she had been.

The body tried to breathe, chest moving in vain, but her hand was too strong. Its hands scrabbled at the sheets, frantic spiders. The body shuddered, then fell still.

Julie moved away and stopped. She looked back at the shell, a collection of matter in an untidy heap. She turned, and stepped into everywhere.

***

So apparently this is what comes out of my brain when it is late at night and I should be sleeping. Pretty rough, but interesting~