Loss is a strange thing. In the way that you misplace objects only to find them on a random day, I continue to expect Leslie and Hank to appear. How can the world continue to spin and society function as usual with the loss of them? At some point everything stops having meaning. If life continues as usual then what are we living with so much intensity for? At the end of the day, we are all forgotten and up until that point there is little change in day to day life. The moment we pass we become nothing but fragments of memories and imagination.
I grieved but kept it all inside, going about my day as usual, because time would wait for no one. We all experience loss and some are greater than others, it would make no sense to bring everything to a stop. In a way, I felt that hurting was what kept them alive. When people are forgotten and erased from history, all that remains is what we remember and feel. Strangely, I had come to believe that dwelling in sadness reminded me -and everyone else- that their existence mattered. It served as a reminder that their loss is felt deeply and that nothing would remain the same.
It is difficult to ascertain whether I was doing this for them or for myself. It could very well be that I hoped that those from my previous life had continued to remember me in this way. I hoped that my existence was large enough to impact the lives of a few if not more. Similarly, I hope that when I eventually come to pass, people in this world will feel it with such harshness that their bones ache and cling to the ground while they weep endlessly. It is selfish and I know this, but it is human.
While part of me was clinging to the idea of grieving and drowning in it, another part of me felt that I was doing a disservice to myself and to them. To have such thoughts over their death and overemphasise it all for my own personal gain felt disgusting to say the least. It was immoral in its own way. The ground had yet to accept their bodies as one of its own and here I was using their passing as an excuse to feel better about myself.
I stayed in the 'infirmary' for a few days while the doctors ensured that I was healthy enough to leave. They should have let me leave much earlier but given they were unaware of what caused me to suddenly collapse for so long, it was safer to keep an eye on me lest I join my team mates. If anything, staying there was making me worse. There was nothing in the room that would have provided me with a sense of healing aside from the light shining through the small window. More than that, knowing that I was stuck in the same building with the corpses of those I might have considered to be friends made me nauseous.
When the sun would hide away and the moon would surface, my nightmares came as its plus-one. Each night I would see their distorted faces, begging me to help them. They would weep on the ground with their hands outstretched until they began to cling to my ankles. In sheer desperation they would cry out my name, unaware of what it was they wanted me to do. Some nights were worse than others, tormenting me in a way far more painful than my inability to revive them or prevent their death.
On those nights, I would see Leslie and Hank standing by my bedside with a face of disdain. Their mouths twisted in disgust as they asked me why I had done this to them. They would ask me over and over what they had done to deserve this, but I had no answer. They shouted that they would have never attempted to interact with me had they known I was such a hideous person inside. All of the accusations and questions aimed at me would firmly plant in my head that regardless of how they had died, I was the murderer.
When the day would come and their presences disappeared from my bedside, I comforted myself and attempted to be rational. But that did no good when the seed was planted. Had I not been so unaware of myself and incapable of controlling my own abilities, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have been laying here trying to pathetically console myself. There were many times I imagined how things would have turned out if even the slightest of things had changed. What if I had not joined the expedition or even left earlier than the rest? What if I had been aware of my surroundings? What if I had trained myself better and knew how to avoid sucking the life out of those around me? There was no answer however. The danger of what ifs is that there is never an answer, only chastisement.
The leader of the expedition, Ursula, had come to visit me before we all took off.
"How is your body now? Do you feel ready to head back or do you need some more time to recuperate?"
Although I was thankful for her looking out for me, it was clear that she was not looking at me. She was looking through me at the remnants of her fallen comrades. Like me, she too, wished to console herself. While I did so by focusing on my pain, she wanted to support us to make up for the fact that she could not help them. We became their replacements of sorts.
"I am feeling much better now, thank you for asking. I have no issue with setting off as soon as everyone else agrees."
I only hoped to be free of this place. Once I was out of this building that felt like a cage, I might finally be able to sleep without being chased by the nightmares. She nodded slightly and continued to look through me before turning away and leaving the room. There was not much to say since we hardly ever spoke to one another, even now that we had been forced to join hands for a task. All we had left to tie us together was our pain, but even that was not the same.