The Drazen World: Purgatory (Kindle Worlds Novella)

music or even hear it for that matter. I don't understand it, I always had too much in my head and now it's just...gone. It's like it never existed, yet my fingers have their own motor memory. I can move across a mental keyboard but the sounds they would create never come. Why is that? Why can't I hear anything?" I could feel my heartbeat speed up. How was that possible? Did I even have a heart anymore?
"I feel as though my points of reference have been completely obliterated. I don't know who I am anymore." The tightness in my chest was familiar. The overwhelming constrictions that were preambles to my panic attacks. My depression engulfing me in a cloud of despair.
Fuck.
Breathe.
"Breathe, Gabby." Ernest's voice echoed my own thoughts, calming me somehow. For once in my miserable life, I didn't feel alone. Surrounded by people and yet completely solitary.
"Breathe..." We both said in unison and to my utter surprise, it worked. My respiration slowed to a more natural rhythm, my heartbeat even and steady. My mind pushing the dark clouds to the furthest edges of my consciousness.
"Good," he said like a father rewarding his child for a job well done. It was foreign to me, a concept I had difficulty grasping no matter how many times I had wished to gain it. I liked it. That recognition. That pride for a job well done.
I had never been good enough, not in my eyes at least. Maybe not in anyone's. Who knew?
"Let me answer you in progressive steps. First, you must create new points of reference. You must adapt, Gabby. That is the single most important lesson you must learn. Observe, learn, adapt. It is the only way of stepping up through the proverbial gates."
"I met Hunter," I blurted out for no other reason than his soulful eyes flashed through my thoughts.
"I know. I also know you made progress," he said with a knowing smile.
Clearly, Ernest was delusional. What progress? I was still a nonsensical mess, my emotions bouncing off the walls of my mind.
"Really? And where did you get that ridiculous impression?" My tone was childish at best, petulant and sarcastic a more realistic description. With a small flick of his gaze, my eyes were immediately drawn to an item that had most definitely not been there the last time I had sat in this same exact chair.
A book. A small one but a book nonetheless. In the vast and numerous rows of empty shelves, this book was certainly the odd man out. "What is that?" I asked, my stare never veering from the lone collection of pages just begging for me to thumb through them. To read. To learn.
"Go on, Gabby. Go see what it says." No sooner had the words sounded in the room, I was on my feet heading directly toward the bookshelf. My hands trembled as I inched closer, almost touching what seemed to be a leather cover. It looked old, worn, as though it had been decades since anyone had flipped through the pages. The scent of aging paper enveloped my senses, acting as an immediate balm to my racing thoughts.
The cover had no title, no author name, no accolades. Simply a battered layer of leather summoning me to dive into its story. I succumbed to the urge and exposed the first page. The shock of the words almost had me dropping the book, my gasp echoing around the empty room.
"What...is this?" I asked, my voice a mere whisper.
"Keep reading, Gabby," was all Ernest said.
Taking a deep breath of fortitude, I found the courage to turn the page.
Gabrielle Mona Reece.
‘A Brother's Sacrifice’
Oh, Darren. My brother. My twin.
Staring at my name and the title of this tiny book, I tried to imagine what the rest of the pages would tell me. When had Darren sacrificed anything for me? In the haze of my depression, I remembered his constant looks toward Monica. The condescending communication between the two of them, silent questions about my impending breakdowns. Even when I was doing my best to be on top of my oppressive emotions, their worried expressions only made things worse. Made me worse. Of course, they thought I was too immersed in my own darkness to notice them, but I did. Unfortunately, I always caught those fucking silent conversations.
"You can take it with you, Gabby. Read it and learn from it. Every word written is a perfect rendition of how things happened." Ernest interrupted my simmering anger, replacing it with confusion.
"How...?"
With an arched brow and a smirk upon his lips, he waited for me to come to my own conclusions.
"Do you have monks sitting around somewhere writing people's lives out by hand? Sounds a bit like forced labor to me." I was trying for humor, something Ernest apparently lacked when it came to the inexplicable possibilities of the afterlife.
"We have scribes. For each soul living on earth, we have a writer transcribing his or her life. A accurate account of actions, feelings etc..."
"Oh," was all I could say, suddenly feeling as though I should be ashamed for some, maybe all of the things I had done in the past.
"Now," he began, shifting in his seat and taking a more shrink-like demeanor with his long legs gracefully crossed at the knees. Great, just what I needed. "Tell me about Hunter." I took that as my cue to return to my seat facing the bland desk between us, the small book clutched to my chest.
"I don't know, I just ran into him..." I began as I sat my ass down.
"Don't do that, Gabby. Do not play emotional mortal games with me. We know all, we see all and we most definitely feel all. I'll give you a pass on the lying, just this once. Consider that your warning, child."
Inhaling