Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize.

Warnings: Violence. Language.

Ultranumb

III. Delusional

Someone was shaking me awake.

I groaned, turning away, lazily batting the hand away. "Go 'way," I mumbled. "Five more minutes, mom."

Someone laughed, a musical sound that reminded me of a wind chime—which surprised me. My mom wouldn't laugh at my antics; she'd slap me awake if that was what it'd take to wake me up. I smiled dazedly, imagining mom with her fuzzy red hair, but it slipped when I was reminded that I was shot in the head and that I wouldn't see her again—

Her image was fading.

"Mom!" I gasped, jerking out a hand to stop her from leaving. "Wait!"

"Wing?" The voice sounded distant: far, far away, as if I was submerged under water and the speaker was above the surface. "Wing, wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

My eyes snapped open: but I could only see half a face with brown hair and green eyes. I had to shift my head to see the person clearly. The memories of the day came rushing at me. "Oh," I said, reaching out to wipe the drool (just in case) but ended up having to scrub my cheeks of tears. Talk about embarrassing, to have been caught crying. "It's just you. What do you want?"

Aerith didn't seem to mind the rudeness of my tone. She frowned sympathetically. "You have nowhere to go, do you?"

I shook my head. "I thought you're letting me sleep here?" Though I'm surprised I actually felt tired and needed sleep. Man, was this limbo real or not.

"I can't possibly let you sleep in such a condition," Aerith said, alarmed. "Come home with me. My house is in Sector 7."

"You shouldn't be too trusting," I said, even though I was very grateful for the offer. My back was already stiff and aching from sleeping on the bench. "Someday, you'll get in trouble. How do you know I'm not a bad guy?"

Aerith smiled. "You cried for your mother."

"So?"

"She must've been a wonderful woman," Aerith remarked thoughtfully. "you miss her very much, do you not?" She hesitated. "What happened to her?"

"Nothing," I said. "It's me. I can't go home."

"Why not?"

Good question. Who's to say that I can't go back? I frowned, swinging my legs off the bench, placing them on the firm ground. It was solid, like everything else in this world; it didn't seem to be fading soon. "I... don't know," I admitted, not sorry that I was only making it more confusing for her. I doubt she'd understand: she was just a figment of my deprave imagination after all.

Pft. As if there was anyone as generous or as kind as she was in the real world. And I'm being realistic, not pessimistic or cynical. Really, no one real is as nice as she—which was the big give-away this world was fake.

"What do you mean?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

"I'm sure I'm dead," I said. "I mean, being shot in the head does that to you, right?"

Aerith nodded uncertainly. "Yes, I'm sure," she said, worrying her lip. "but you seem pretty solid to me." As if to reassure herself, she reached out to grasp my hand. "See? I can touch you. You're as real as I am."

"You're not real," I said seriously, but she didn't seem insulted.

She smiled. "You define what you see. If you think I'm real, then I am real. If you think otherwise, then... what are you speaking to now?"

"A figment of my imagination," I responded bluntly, reaching up to pat my hair into place. I wondered if the thing in my left eye socket was a ticket to another world. What would happen if I rip it out? I shuddered, having to swallow the bile down my throat, when I thought of it. I'm a strictly non-violent and non-gore person.

"So, you think you're dead, do you?"

"I know I'm dead," I said. "The gun was here, at my temple." I mimed a gun with my forefinger and thumb, jabbing my own temple with it to demonstrate my point. "Those guys will have trouble aiming, no?" I waved Aerith away when she opened her mouth to speak. "Forget it, 'kay? Is your offer standing? I really want to experience as little discomfort as possible. Being dead sucks."

Aerith smiled, not disturbed that I sounded like a crazy person. Heck, back then, if I'd been on the receiving end of such a strange conversation, I would've ran away long ago. Either she was very patient, open-minded or she was just as crazy as I was to indulge me.

xXx

Elmyra Gainsborough as a nice woman—but I could tell she was weirded out by the fact that her daughter had made friends with a girl who claimed she was dead—and she was of the opinion that I was extremely unstable. I'm sure she didn't think I notice that she'd slip a dagger up her apron.

I better watch my mouth around her. This was one hag who could kick my ass. I know a fair bit of Aikido and Karate so I can defend myself pretty well, but its not useful to me since I turn to mush and lose all common sense when I panic (which resulted in my death) or when I was faced with a real opponent. And if my opponent got sharp objects, such as swords, scissors or knives, I'd turn to jelly.

It was a stupid phobia that rendered me useless. After what happened, I was sure I now have a phobia of guns too, I just had no idea what it was called. I recalled a particular time when I was kid and I'd invent stupid names for my fears, starting the word with the name of the object in question and ending the word with 'phobia' – like, 'gunophobia' – the 'o' was complimentary.

I glanced down at the food she'd served me. I was very much surprised to find my stomach twisting in hunger.

Elmyra was the first to register my surprise. "Is something wrong with the food?"

"I'm just... in awe of how realistic this place is," I answered, grabbing the spoon and poking the potatoes. I had this strange quirk to eat with one hand, I can't see why people would use two hands. Were they trying to show off how they could use both their arms so well? Sucks to be me then. I was uncoordinated; my left hand lacks strength and when I try to write, it'd look like chicken scrawls.

"In awe?" Elmyra shot her daughter a look that clearly said, why are you always bringing in the freaks? and explain.

Aerith swallowed a mouthful before answering. "Wing's dead."

"I'm Wing," I said when I saw Elmyra's confused look. "and yeah, I'm dead. Don't give me that disbelieving look, I know it's true."

"...Okay," said Elmyra finally. "if you say so," she added dubiously, glancing uncomfortably between me and Aerith. Obviously, she did not approve of our friendship. "So... Wing, where are you from?"

"Brooklyn."

"Never head of it," Elmyra said, frowning even harder. "Is that a city?"

"A borough."

"Which city?"

"New York."

"Well... where is this place?"

"The United States."

"Where?" Elmyra practically demanded. "I've never heard such names!"

"Is that from where you came from before you died?" Aerith asked, genuinely curious. Elmyra made a disbelieving sound at the back of her throat, glaring slightly at me. I could tell she was regretting allowing me to stay.

"Yeah. It's nice, but I guess you wouldn't know."

"If you can come here," Elmyra cut in. "who's to say we can't go there?" She ended her sentence with a derisive snort.

"She thinks we're not real," Aerith told her mother helpfully. "That's okay. But if I ever find a way there, you'll show me around, won't you?"

"Just as you're going to show me around the Sectors?"

"Yeah!" Aerith said enthusiastically.

I smirked when Elmyra excused herself, unable to take anymore of this rubbish talk, taking her unfinished dinner with her to the kitchen sink. Did I mention how much I like watching people suffer? Well, annoying the hell out of them was fun too. Besides, even if I leave a bad impression in this world, there won't be serious repercussions. Not that she was real.

In reality, around new people, I'd be very polite and pleasant; though, most of the time, I ended up being straightforward to the point of rudeness anyway.

Aerith smiled sadly at her mother's back before turning back to me. "She's never been very open-minded but she still took me in so that's saying something. She thinks you're delusional."

I grinned. "I think you're delusional, too."

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