Stray

Oliver felt strange now.

The terrible thirst that rubbed his throat and mouth like a file and hunger had turned into complete paralysis. They were mixed with the fatigue caused by his bondage and blood loss. The moment he opened his eyes, Oliver even thought he was dead.

But he wasn’t.

What followed was instinctive fear and bitterness. The wound left by the sword was faintly painful, like a dozen hot metal needles left in the flesh. He couldn’t laugh it off. Fatigue finally eroded his body and began to spread to his heart, but in contrast, a strange warmth was rushing from his heart to his limbs.

His will was struggling on the verge of death, but his body was slowly awakening. It was like a dilapidated dam had broken open and power gushed out uncontrollably, impacting all his nerves. Funny to say, Oliver had never felt so clearly that he was still “alive”. Although it wasn’t clear why, this wasn’t a bad thing.

The Gatekeepers who strengthened his shackles had already left but their words didn’t fail to reach Oliver’s ears. Oliver couldn’t tell how he felt about it. Shaken? Sad? Perhaps. He didn’t want to think or talk anymore.

He just sat quietly in the dark corner, maintaining a blank state of his brain and supported the operation of his body through instinct. If he was still alive, then someone would take the opportunity to attack.

Yes, he was still alive.

Oliver originally thought he would feel angry, desperate, or some more intense negative emotions, but now he was as calm as burnt-out ashes. Perhaps when people were weak, their thoughts would become simpler and purer.