herbalremedied · 3 years ago
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DRABBLE.  ( untitled. )
THE   glaring fragility of his pitiful form was, ofttimes, mercilessly cruel.
He awoke in a state of cold sweat, limbs and body heavy and slack, clothing and jade hair stuck uncomfortably to sickly skin. His meager reserves of strength loomed over him, ready to betray him should he attempt to sit up too soon, thus he stayed as he was, weighed down into stillness. As eyes eventually opened, the room spun while he lay immobile, attacking him with a siege of nausea and a shrill, piercing ring of his ears. None of it was unfamiliar. In fact, he had anticipated a lapse in his own health for quite some time now, though welcomed it he did not. Time felt like it warped and bent out of its own jurisdiction; he could not tell how much of it had passed until he at last began to pull himself upright, though the pale blue hue that blanketed the room told him it was somewhere in the young hours of morning. Exhausted by their own efforts, his lungs coughed and fought for air. Shaking hands reached for the bedside table, digging blindly through the drawers as he squinted harshly at his own lap. From them, he pulled a glass vial; he brought it into his line of sight, scoured its appearance… Then popped the seal from it, bringing it to his lips and downing it in haste. The taste was astringent and bitter, as was the case with medicine crafted by his own hand. Although, he was accustomed to it, and did not so much as grimace or gag on its way down his throat. In lieu of such repulsion, all the doctor did was sigh as the first signs of relief washed over him. Already some of the immediate strain on his body had dissipated, yet it was nothing against the fear that had him firmly in its grip. No matter where he was now, nor what opportunities this world presented him with… He would never be able to make full use of its advantages, so long as his body remained bound by mortal limitations. But his search still bore no success. Modern medicine was not the solution, as there was only so much it could make possible. And in the place of Archons and Gods, whose divinity decided what mankind would ultimately achieve, here there were the Stars – the overseers of this world, with the power to revoke what they deemed fit. He wondered if he was wasting precious time abiding by their rules. If he had grown too comfortable in his surroundings, complacent to exist as he was, to make due with what was allowed to him. How unjust it was, that the ability to control his own fate continued to rest in someone else's hands.
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Tentatively, he tested his weight on his legs slung over the side of his bed. They may as well have had no bone inside them, as they surely stood no chance of supporting him. Today, it seemed, the pharmacy would stay closed. So back into bed he situated, hollow with fatigue and bitterness. Resting his head on his pillow, Baizhu stared up at the blurred shapes of the ceiling above as the blueness of early morning grew brighter. To defy the odds…                 To wrestle fate back into his own hands… What would it take to achieve? Baizhu found he had no answer. Not yet. And for now, he decided he was much too tired to fight for one. Exhaling, he allowed his eyes to slip back shut. Between the heavy thoughts in his mind and the pain that seeped into every muscle of his, he would most likely not sleep. It didn't matter, he supposed, not in the grand scheme of things. Because his pursuits would persist, as they would always, until every stone was overturned, and when at last…                                           He had possessed his answer.  
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