Pain is a nuisance. Something I believe most would agree to be true. It is the sensation we feel as a direct message from our body that something is wrong. Wether it be from starvation or an injury.
     Where does my pain come from? Well, it's not as simple as that. Or rather, I am unaware of why it is I'm feeling pain. What caused it, and why? What I do know, is what it's doing to me at the moment.
     My eyelids refuse to heed my orders and open. They remain shut, leaving me in a void of darkness, with only the sensations that my other senses provide. They are all I have to paint the picture. However, this piece will be a challenging one. Any artist would struggle with out the help of their trusted brush. Is this what it feels like to be limited? To be held back? I now feel a sympathy for those who are blind. They live their day to day lives, with out the use of the tool most of us take for granted.
     My body has grown limp, much like a rag doll. A toy that is so old and full of patches, it barely resembles its original visage. That comparison maybe more true than I had intended for it to be. My body may have gone limp, but that does nothing to help the searing pain.
It stings like the fresh wounds that they are. Scratches and cuts envelope my body. My eyes may be useless at this current moment in time but that doesn't prevent me from painting a clear picture of the state my body currently is in.
The cuts are the least of my worries. My lack of sight has given me an increased awareness of my other senses. I can feel my bones; they are fractured and splintered into my flesh. Others have been completely snapped, and are now impaling my skin; tasting fresh air for the first time.
     The wounds are painful. Searing hotter than a thousand stars. Only to be calmed by the warm blood that escapes from every orifice that its container now provides. I can feel it slowly trickle down my skin like rain against a window. It tickles my still body, which still refuses to respond the sensations. I feel it drip from my fingers, like a tap that has recently been turned off.
     I lay there, on the ground. I may not be able to open my eyes, but even with that restriction I should be able to see light coming through my eyelids. I can feel gravity clinging to me, pressing me onto the ground. Because I don't see light, it either means I'm inside a building or structure or it's night.
     The ground beneath me is uneven and jagged. It pierces my back like a hundred small dull daggers. I can feel the fresh breeze caress my skin, and ignite the flames of pain my body experience. It's pretty clear I'm outside, and it's night.
     But that raises the question, what happened? The answer to that, I cannot remember. I don't know how anything that may have happened did so. I don't know why I'm outside, or why the ground feels rough, or why my body is broken. I try to remember, but it is as impossible as climbing a smooth wall with your bare hands.
     The pain doesn't help, and as a matter of fact, is starting to feel quite calming. My world is in a dark void, it is one of the few things that proves to me that I still exist. That I'm not dead, but I will be. It gives me a sense of calmness, and as a result my eyes begin to tire. If it weren't for the fact that they are already closed, I would be struggling to keep them open.
     I can feel my consciousness fade, as I head off to sleep.

However, you can't always get what you want. My void suddenly grew cold with emptiness. The sensations that my vision lacking world are now fading away, leaving only the void. But I can still feel myself, my body now for some reason of which I am unsure, responds to the commands I give it. I open my eyes for the first time since I came to this version of reality. All I see is the void I suspected to be incased in. Thankfully for some reason, my wounds have all disappeared. They leave no trace of ever existing in the first place. But that doesn't help me all that much. The pain is one of the few things I had left.
I am alone in a pure void. No matter, no light, no warmth or cold. Devoid of any sensation other than myself. I am the only thing that exists in this world.
But, I quickly learn that is not the case. Something grabs my attention. Something that doesn't belong, how did that Sesame Street song go again? I turn to face it. How I am able to manoeuvre without something to push against? I don't know. I am foreign to this world, rules that I have come to know and understand don't apply here. I take it with a grain of salt. I see something in the distance, it can't be more than twenty metres away.
     I move like a spectre through the void. It could be anything. Even your own death. I brush my thoughts aside, this isn't the time for pessimism. Sometimes, I really hate myself for these kinds of reasons.
The closer I get, the more I see, like a picture coming into focus. It's a person, lying down flat on their back. Their arms by their sides, head titled completely straight. They were asleep, that part was obvious. But they way they slept, the position was nothing if not strange. It was unnatural, and seemed robotic in a way.
However, the closer I get, the stranger the situation becomes. I can now clearly see that this person is male. He is young, very young, I'd say late teens to young adult. His features soft, yet mature. The clothing he wears is about as casual as you can get. A black T-shirt that has a record label on it, clearly merchandise. As the distance between us closes, I can see it better. The label is one I recognise to be a favourite of mine, Panic! At the Disco. The geometric shapes, the symbols, it's something any fan could recognise. At least I have a good conversation starter. He wears blue denim jeans with ripped knees, and a pair of white Lonsdale trainers.
As we became closer, my emotions went from excitement to confusion to worry. This man had features about him that seemed all too familiar. Short brown hair, small pointed nose and a fairly small mouth with little lips. He looked so much like my father, but that's where the problem lies. My father is in his mid forties, this man is way to young, he's closer to my age.
But, then I realised I was all too correct with that last thought. I was now only 3 metres away, but that was all I needed to see this man for who he really was. That's why he looked so familiar, that's why I likened him to my father. What I was looking at, was myself.

It was surreal. Like looking in a mirror. Only this time, my reflection didn't follow my movements. But that's what's so surreal about it. You're used to seeing yourself only as an image. Something you can observe, but never truly explore.
I observe at a distance. I never get closer. While it may be me, I still can't help but feel uneasy about this whole situation. What happened? What is this place? Why am I here? Why am I able to see my own body? Am I dead?
     My body remains still. My chest remains steady, not taking a moment to rise for a breath. Actually, is there anything you can breath here? I just assumed that because I'm still alive maybe and breathing are you? That there was breathable air here. But my lacking senses in this environment say otherwise. I cannot feel the air brush against my face, or any part of my body. Have I gone numb or is there no air here to begin with, or you're not tangible enough to feel it.
     My heart beats faster, like a galloping horse. One two three four, one two three four, one two three four. A drum that resonates throughout by entire being, shaking me to the core with every beat.
Bullets drip from my forehead. My palms, drenched. I breath faster and heavier, even though there is nothing to breath, why am I alive then? My anxiety would soon be justified.

My body, still lying on the ground begins to twitch. The first sign of life it has shown since I arrived here. Its arms move, placing its palms on the 'ground' in an effort to lift itself up.
Run, run, goddammit run! I don't obey, something that I regret even to this day. Maybe things would have been different.
It stands upright, head hung by its shoulders, casting a shadow over its face. Alarms ringing, every instinct in my body is telling me to scream and run. But I can't. I'm frozen in fear, as I look to what used to be me.
Its body is no longer tangible, but much like static on a television. Blinking in and out of reality at such a rapid rate. But that's not what scares me. Every few blinks, it's body contorts in ways not humanly possible. Arms bending backwards, waist turning one hundred and eighty degrees. All the while the shadow still concealing it's face.
It was silent all throughout, not a peep, not a tap, not so much as a scream one would expect being contorted like that.
     Year long seconds go by as we stand facing each other. It does nothing, says nothing, yet I'm still terrified of it. Like I'm standing in front of a lion that hasn't eaten in weeks. Something that seemed as innocent as my own 'reflection' has turned into a nightmare. And the fun part hasn't even begun.
     Suddenly, it moves with impossible speeds as it blinks in and out. Closing the oh so few metres that there were between us in a matter of milliseconds. It stands with its face mere inches from my own. But it's no longer my face.
     It's eyes are inhumanly wide open, if I can even all them that. The eyes that should be there are not, replaced by darkness. Darker than the night sky. Its pupils, replaced by two balls of crimson fire.
     His mouth contorted into the wild grin of a madman. Cartoonishly wide, and filled with rows of thousands of needle like teeth.
On instinct I go to yelp, but a hand makes its way to my throat, clasping it tight. It lifts me up like I were a feather. I'm on the verge of choking and am barely able to notice the claws, something I was too careless to notice before, lightly piercing the flesh of my neck. The warmth of my precious scarlet liquid flows neatly down my neck staining my clothes.
I try to scream, but I can't. The grip around my throat barely allows me to breath. All I can muster are rough groans. In response, it places a clawed finger to my lips, shushing me.
It grins at me with a childlike malice. Playful yet sadistic. It's gaze not of hate nor distain towards me, but rather like a predator eying its prey.
It's strong, but I can't let that stop me. As a last ditch effort, I kick it in the chest. Surprisingly that works, it let's go of me and even stumbles back a few steps. Its gaze never leaving me, its grin never fading. Like last time, it moves towards me at lightning speed, blinking in and out of reality. However, it doesn't grab me this time. It leans in, mouth close to my ear, uttering one line.

'Let... me... go...'

It's voice, dark and gravely. It leans away, standing half a metre away. It does nothing. That contorted grin never leaving its face. It's eyes never leaving mine.
It places a finger on my forehead. Suddenly, a wave of drowsiness hits me like a truck. My vision blurry, my conscious fading into a dream world. Before my conscious is completely gone, it utters one more line.

'Sweet dreams... my Fallen'

And then nothing.