Grounding

[Morgan LaLuna]

The rocking of the ship was pleasant, and yet at the same time, caused his stomach to churn. It was a confusion between parts of him as he lay in his bed staring without seeing. Amber eyes were glazed, and a fine sheen of sweat lay in a thin layer on his forehead… Yet he was cold. A shiver ran down his spine, and he let his eyes nearly close as he shifted so his head hung over the edge of the bed. There was a bucket there. Had he asked for it? Had it simply been placed there? Who had been in his room? Why was his room moving? This wasn’t his room. But it was.

Morgan Retched, but nothing came up. His entire body clenched as he dry heaved, a pathetic noise coming from the wretched form that writhed on the mattress beneath a heavy blanket. Someone had insisted he use it. Or had he just been that cold? Had he asked for the blanket? He thought he remembered begging for more blankets. When his stomach finally stilled and he could once more relax, he looked around the room. Everything felt underwater. He tried to ground himself by settling his gaze on recognizable things. An altar. He knew that one. A painting of himself that pulled no reaction from his mind other than the recognition of self. There was a colorful picture of a dancer. Acrobat? It was very pretty in its handmade frame, hung on the dark wooden wall. The person there looked happy. Free. It was too far to make out any detail, but it brought a pleasant feeling. He would accept it.

Eyes slid to the rug, and his brows knit together. There was something special about the rug. It was a very special rug, maybe. Fingers curled into sheets as he lifted himself weakly onto his arms, sweat-soaked hair falling limply into half of his face. It didn’t seem like a very unique rug at all. And yet…

He pushed the blankets from his body, and managed to sit up, swaying with the motion of the… Ship. He was on a ship. Right. He tried to stand, but found his legs would not cooperate, and instead he dropped to his hands and knees next to the bed. It was fine. He could crawl. And so he did, slowly inching his way to a spot that had to mean something. Another wave of nausea rolled over him as he got mere inches from the edge of the rug, and he closed his eyes. Perhaps this was a bad idea…

For darkness took him then, and his body crumpled limp to the floor.