gold their crowns, gold their shrouds // plastics vs bats

If I could scream, I would. I try to, in fact, in spite of how much it hurts to remain conscious in this moment, but all that comes out is a strangled wet gurgle, a sputter, and a sharp inhale of imeasurable pain. Go into shock, go into shock, go into shock- My cousin's a nurse and she told me people go into shock when they take serious injuries so they can't feel the pain- I keep feeling mine.

It's only made worse by the fact that it was already burning like hot coals from within- now its as if they've reignited and finally caught the rest of me on fire. I feel as though I might just burn up for a time- fall to my knees in a hopeless sob. I think I should be dying right now. I think this otherness, this sickness, whatever it is... I think it is the reason I'm not dead.

I hear the flapping of more wings coming from within, and I know what to do. I press one hand to the wound on my throat and hold the other into the air for a strike. The first comes whipping out of the darkness and I snatch it by its head with my claws, pinch its stupid fucking head off and toss its body into the pit of hell it came from. And then I scream. Not as a victim. Not in fear. But as loudly, and as hard as I can. A roar.

I'm the alpha here, bitch.

The chittering sounds fade and the noise of the flapping wings recedes into nothing. They're gone.

"Vibrations..." I say simply, coughing and then wincing, and then fainting.