Pain.
That was the first thing he felt.
Then came confusion.
His thoughts were mud, thick and slipping through his fingers. He couldn't remember where he was, who he was, or why his body ached as if it had been torn apart and stitched back together wrong. Even trying to think hurt.
He raised his arms and clutched his head. Every pulse was agony. The stench of rot filled his nose and mouth, sour, thick, alive. Rain dripped through the cracks above, mixing with the heat of the garbage and making the air heavy, suffocating.
His head throbbed, his nose burned, and he swore he could taste the filth. When the pounding in his skull began to dull, a new pain replaced it, soreness that crawled through every inch of his body.
Maybe it had been adrenaline that let him move before. Maybe it had already worn off after he smashed his head against the metal wall. It didn't matter. All that mattered now was the pain that wouldn't stop.
He went limp, hoping stillness might dull it, but it didn't. The ache stayed.
His body eventually fell forward face first into the unholy mess of rotting food, old plastic containers, and something mushy. He didn't even try to stop himself. Maybe it was better this way, to just lie there for a while.
When he landed, the mushy mass beneath him cushioned the impact. He almost felt grateful for it. It still hurt like hell, but it could've been worse.
He lay there for a while, face buried in filth, letting the rain hit his back. His thoughts blurred. The warmth in his head built into pressure. His chest tightened.
Then he froze.
He couldn't breathe.
The muck that had softened his fall was now swallowing him whole. He tried lifting his arms, but they wouldn't move, weak, useless. He tried turning his head, but it only sank deeper, his face pressed into the thick, clinging waste.
The air thinned. His lungs screamed. Every heartbeat came slower. The world around him began to narrow to one truth, he was suffocating.
His vision sparked white, then black, then nothing. His fingers clawed weakly at the sludge, slipping through it like water. His lungs burned, his heartbeat thundered in his skull, and every nerve screamed at him to move, to fight, but there was nothing left to give.
In blind panic, he opened his mouth and bit down. The taste was foul beyond reason, warm, sticky, rancid. It clung to his tongue and glued itself to the roof of his mouth.
He didn't know what would kill him first, the filth choking him or the poison he was trying to swallow to survive.
He forced himself to swallow. It burned all the way down, getting stuck halfway before sliding into his gut. It was disgusting, but that tiny rush of warmth in his stomach felt... good.
It meant he was still alive.
He chewed again, desperate, tearing at whatever pinned him. His breath grew thinner with every second until finally, after what felt like forever, he broke through.
A gasp tore out of him, massive and ragged. He greedily sucked in more air as if the air itself was divine. Pain finally assaulted him again. His throat and lungs were on fire. He didn't care about the taste or the stench. Yet he kept gasping, desperate for more. The air was vile, but it was air.
He exhaled, only to feel his breath hit him back immediately, meaning something was still in front of him. He was still stuck in trash, but he could finally breathe. Albeit barely.
That was enough.
He stayed still, trembling, drenched in rain and filth, his chest heaving shallowly.
For a moment, his body went still. Somewhere, beneath the haze of pain and exhaustion, a thought flickered. A voice he couldn't remember, whispering something he couldn't hear. Then it was gone, washed away with the rain.
Tonight, he would rest.
Tomorrow, he'd try to understand where he was.
And so the boy, barely even sixteen, let the sweet embrace of rain, smell, warmth, and tiredness let him drift away.