The Phoenix- Conclusion

The Phoenix

By Brian Salkowski

The Ending

Brenda was on the park bench, staring at this thing. It was salivating.

White.

She had awoken from a nightmare. She was in her apartment.

The sterile white walls of Brenda's apartment mocked her. Every corner held a memory, a phantom echo of the violation that had shattered her world six weeks ago. The air hung heavy with the cloying scent of disinfectant, a constant reminder of the countless hospital visits that had yielded no answers, only a gnawing emptiness.

Sleep was a stranger. When it did manage to visit, it was a battlefield of fragmented nightmares – swirling violet hues and a suffocating sense of powerlessness. The once vibrant tapestry of her life had been ripped apart, leaving behind muted threads of fear and isolation.

Her days were a blur of forced normalcy. Brenda, the fierce, confident defense attorney, had become a ghost, navigating the motions of her life with a hollow ache in her chest. The courtroom, once a stage for her sharp wit and unwavering resolve, felt alien. The accusatory stares of juries, the hostile glares of opposing counsel – they all seemed to echo the violation, stripping her bare.

One evening, while aimlessly scrolling through news articles, an image jolted her from her stupor. It was a grainy, black and white photograph unearthed during the demolition of an abandoned hospital on the city's forgotten edge. The caption identified it as the surgery wing, shut down decades ago due to a series of unexplained patient deaths. A peculiar symbol, etched into the cracked linoleum floor, sent a shiver down Brenda's spine. It was the same symbol, impossibly detailed and intricate, that hung heavy on the silver pendant her grandmother had gifted her years ago.

An inexplicable pull, a desperate need for answers, propelled Brenda towards the abandoned hospital. The air hung thick with the weight of neglect as she navigated the decaying halls. Moonlight streamed through gaping holes in the roof, illuminating peeling paint and overturned gurneys. In the center of a vast, ruined room, a vortex of inky blackness pulsed with an eerie violet luminescence.

Terror threatened to consume her, but a steely resolve, forged in the fires of her trauma, held her firm. This, this entity that mirrored the violation, held the key to her fractured reality. As she approached, the whispers started – a cacophony of alien voices that wormed their way into her mind, a chilling symphony of laughter and unspoken desires. The pendant around her neck grew warm, a beacon against the encroaching darkness.

With a surge of defiance, Brenda declared, "I won't let you win!" The pendant erupted in a blinding white light, banishing the entity with a deafening shriek. Silence returned, heavy and oppressive, but Brenda felt a strange sense of peace settle over her. The violation, the source of her torment, was gone.

Exhausted but strangely exhilarated, Brenda stumbled out of the ruined hospital. The city lights shimmered in the distance, a promise of a new dawn. As she walked, the weight of the experience settled on her, not as a burden, but as a newfound strength. She was a survivor, a warrior.

Back in her sterile apartment, Brenda finally allowed herself to confront the memories. This time, however, they were different. The swirling violet light was replaced by a blinding white flash, a searing pain, and then… nothing. No attacker, no violation. Just the sterile white walls of a hospital room and the frantic concern of her grandmother.

A horrifying realization dawned on Brenda. The rape, the entity, the trauma – it was all a fabrication, a terrifying delusion her mind had conjured to cope with a different kind of violation. The surgery, the one her grandmother had vaguely mentioned, a risky experimental procedure to remove a brain tumor. A tumor that, according to the news article, had exhibited unusual properties, properties that perhaps manifested as the entity in her mind.

Tears streamed down Brenda's face, a mixture of relief and horrifying revelation. The violation itself hadn't happened, but the trauma, the fear, the isolation – they were all real. The journey towards healing, however, had a new starting point. She wasn't just a survivor of a rape, she was a survivor of her own mind.

The sterile white walls of her apartment no longer mocked her. They were a canvas, a blank slate. Brenda, with a newfound clarity, picked up a paintbrush, ready to paint a new future, one where the whispers were silenced and the light of truth shone brightly.