This is the prologue to a series I've been working on. I'm still not sure exactly where it's going yet, but let me know what you think. Special thanks to those who helped me develop this idea and edit it into what you are about to read: DragonHawk and Sigil This story is set in the Marvel universe. I am making no money, and I am using this universe an its characters without permission. Please don't hurt me or my wallet. Crawling Between Heaven and Earth - Prologue Breanna MacLeod ========================================================================= He sat in the empty room. It was stark, a pale bluish white, and seemed incredibly cold. Nothing distinguished the room, no furniture or windows. There weren't even any discernable lighting fixtures, though the room was awash with light. It was empty and filled with nothing. He couldn't remember how long he'd been sitting there. A sound broke his reverie and caused his eyes to focus. It was hard to stare at nothing, but it was getting easier. One of the walls seemed to contort and a seam was suddenly visible. The opening widened and a figure stepped silently inside. It walked softly to him and held out a tray. It was a plastic tray, and he vaguely recalled seeing something like it before somewhere. He couldn't take it, though, his arms were too heavy and his gaze had already returned to its perch on the wall. The tray was set down next to him, and the soft slapping sound it made against the floor echoed throughout the room. The wall silently reformed as the figure left. A strong smell wafted up to catch his attention. He looked down at the tray, and strained his memory in trying to remember what it was he saw on it. Food, the kind that he could barely recall ever tasting. He had only been in the room for a little while, compared to the time he had been in the other place. Thinking of the other place made his head hurt. It had been forever since he had been outside. Outside? In the other place the lights had been brighter, and it had been hard to breathe. He had been naked, floating in the light, and now his clothes made him feel heavy. His legs were heaviest, heavy though they never touched the floor. He didn't or couldn't walk. He was unable to remember which, he had always remained in the chair since he had come to the room. In the other place he had been light and there had been no floor. But now he was here. Why was he here? His mind felt as though it were sinking into a muddy pit. Every once and a while a bubble would pop in his memory and startle him. Pop. Sounds, images and emotions exploded into his mind. Mostly he just kept sinking. Later the wall contorted again, and the figure entered with an identical tray. The same actions were repeated and finally it left, taking the old tray with it. He wondered why he had been given another. Pop. An explosion, the mud splattered across his mind. Darkness burst out of the light, "...someday. I promise." A pair of young blue eyes stared up at him, anxious. His fault, the hurting, the pain, all because of him, because he...he...felt the mud slide away, into the bright light. A part of him going with it, slipping down into the encompassing depths. It was so silent here, except for sometimes. Before there had been an odd hum coming from the collar around his neck. It had hurt his ears, but it had gone away and he couldn't hear it anymore. Sometimes there was noise, not very much, but it was there. Soft noise. Voices? He wondered what his own voice sounded like, but he made no effort to speak. The figure never spoke to him when it came. The only noise it made was in the shuffling of its feet, and the rustling of its clothes. The tray made that odd slapping sound against the floor. The sound that echoed, echoed, echoed... Pop. A quiet noise filled his mind. Slapping, tapping against pavement. "You're good at head games...." CRACK. Light and noise flew screaming through his thoughts. "Let us in. Let us-" No. NO. He pushed the noise away and let the mud suck him down, craving its silent soothing womb. The figure came again, with another tray. This time he didn't even take his eyes off the wall, it was too hard to pull himself out of the mud to watch what was happening. It felt so much better just to relax and sink, let it enclose him, hold him, caress him. He didn't feel the bubbles anymore. He didn't want to remember. This time the figure made a noise, and then left. When the figure came again there was more noise. The figure's feet were louder. Its clothes made brisk sounds as its legs brushed together. It came closer than usual, its eyes looking into his, but he was wrapped in the mud and avoided their gaze. Suddenly a loud noise resounded in the room, and his eyes fell out of the emptiness. He looked and he saw the tray, the one the figure had brought again. It was on the floor in front of him. It must have dropped it. The noise got louder. The figure was speaking to him. He could feel their hot breath on his face. It touched him. It never touched him. Not since he had been brought here, to the room. He turned his head, pulling away from the mud, and looked at the figure. Looked at their eyes. The figure abruptly stood back, and paused, silent. His gaze returned to the wall, relaxing and letting the nothing seep back in. He wanted to forget what he had seen, the cold hard eyes full of sharp darkness. He wanted to forget everything. Everything. The figure made a final noise and left. He didn't hear. It was gone. It seemed such a long time for the noise to be gone, but he could never tell. The wall contorted again, and the seam appeared. This time it stretched and burst instead of sliding apart. He didn't look, but he could tell. The lights in the room were brighter, casting a dark shadow before him, and he could feel a cool breeze against his skin. Then there was noise, different than all the noise before. Voices, loud ones, and something else. He tried to shut them out. Someone touched him. This was not the figure. Still, his eyes were lost in the mud, and his mind slid down further into the darkness. Suddenly another noise hit him, hit inside of him, inside of his head, pulling him from the nothing. He saw. He was pulled out of the mud, everything louder and brighter than before. He could smell burning, was he burning? He closed his eyes wanting to go back, to sink back down and forget. But they wouldn't let him. He was free, and it made him feel sick and dizzy. His head hurt. When he opened his eyes again, someone was looking down at him. So close. No one ever got that close. The place was bright and dark, the walls smooth and sharp. People, more than he could remember, were here. The one staring at him was blue, bluer than the room had been. The blue one spoke to him gently, though he could not understand what was said. This place had more noise too, though the noise had lessened now that he had opened his eyes. Something hit him inside again. He knew it wasn't a noise now, but it hurt and he tried to make it stop touching him. He shut his eyes and tried to go back, down deep into the mud. All he felt was wet. Wet. When he was in the room he had never been wet. But he was here now. Opening his wet eyes he looked up. He searched for the nothing, for the emptiness of the room. All he found were the people, and he wanted to escape. A hand reached down, and with a gentle touch it wiped the wet away. He was startled, but didn't try to escape this gentle touch, and he stopped trying to crawl back into the mud. The hand was comforting against his cheek, and it smoothed away the confusion in his mind. He didn't feel so heavy anymore, except for his legs. His legs were heavy, but not with mud. He looked up again, and met the eyes above him. Not cold and hard like the figure's, but warm and soft. The green eyes looking down at him were warm and soft, and he could see himself in their shimmering, watery depths. He didn't want to forget them, and before he knew what was happening his light arm, free from the mud, began to float up. Reaching up, his fingers brushed the warm wet face with the green eyes. And he remembered.