The Final Farewell

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Written in a style I can only describe as biblical, this story follows the goodbye between lovers. One destined for Heaven, the other The Firey Below

Submitted: July 17, 2017

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Submitted: July 17, 2017

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He gazed at her ethereal form with eyes unbreakable. Not wanting to miss, or worse yet, forget but a single millisecond of their goodbye. He wished to preserve every subtlety to perfection and commit them to mind in a never faltering display of diamond. Here, held forever, free from diminishing under the grating sands of time and shielded from distorting perversions of corruption unleashed through torture in it's undoubtedly gravest and most non-relinquishing manifestations.
She, in turn, met his eyes with soft serenity, in a way that only the untarnished could, unbeknownst of her true love's looming incarceration into the damnation. For despite the man's gradual shambling towards unfolding, he stood unmoved. Absent of trepidation. Though his appeared tranquillity was far from so, in this moment not even the bellowing inferno of the Morning Star was sure this man was truly destined for the ever-engulfing bottomless.


Watching on, blistering with confused rage The Father of All Lies questioned himself. Were the tears drowning this man's sinking sights brought forth from the demonically teethed hooks that tore open his flesh? From the hurling of off-cut scraps to the sizzling stones below, to be scavenged upon by the tormented, desperate and ravenous?... Or, were they tears of a happy sorrow? Yes, never again will he see, hear or touch her celestial  form, but solace could be sought as he was sure she will find her salvation in the comforting embrace of paradise.

 

The questioning continued.

Was the flickering twitch at the corner of his smile strain? Strain from holding a mountain aloft with nought but his jowls, as Hags most sour and vile whispered melancholy and despair into his exposed ears. Or was it strain from the opposite? Strain from restraint? Twitching lips struggling to keep withdrawn words of adoration, as this man knew such words would only serve to shatter her already fleeting heart.


Even this man's hair oiled back to his scalp had the, well-informed, Deity of Darkness tugging at his own mane quizzically. He knew through bearing witness of their lives back on Eden, that this was the way she fancied him, much to the man's frequent annoyance. Was this done for the Lady? So she could see him exactly how she had always wished? or was it simply been heaved back by The Serpent King's own fiends in an attempt to drag his head into waters toxic with bile and gore to suffocate him in lost insanity.


The Embodiment of Evil's final questioning came when the man's nose twitched like that of a charming, cutesy rodent. A roguish jaunt for her to know all will be well and not ache for affirmation of his safety, perhaps? The Forked Tongued knew the Lady was ignorant to what was laid out before her. To her, this was a simple "Until I see you next.". But was it as she perceived? or was the twitch a sign of discomfort as skeletal hands of unforgiving coldness eased their way around his uncovered spine? Discomfort as a illness inducing scent burst it's tendrils through-out the towers of his nostrils. This the harrowing stench concocted by veins of fire and brimstone lashing at, scorching and spilling his outing entrails.

As the everlasting short moment gradually ushered in its final blinks. As the man's visage grew thin and the remaining flesh floated away as ash from scorched scripture, he held fast and remained a statue of composure until she was contempt and naturally twirled to skipped off into the light.

The very moment following her departure, saw an unparalleled scream erupt from the Once Man. His physical being no more, his ghastly and gaunt shadow travels through every ice and fiery cavern, haunting all manner of malevolence with his, now it's, blood curdling shrieks and howls. Once regarded as a triumphant monument by The Beast of the Below, that he prevailed in the ruin of such a stubborn spirit of integrity, now mocks him. For the realisation that the Scream of a Thousand Eons, dragged forth by the most unspoken primordial mutilation and mind-harrowing torture all the Hells could collaborate and conspire was, for nothing more than a short goodbye, halted and resisted. This ideal haunts The Devil as a curse. For the undying scream of the Once Man will forever serve as a testament until the end of times, that even the greatest evils and sufferings beyond comprehension can be held back by but a man, if that man knows love. 


© Copyright 2017 James R Meah. All rights reserved.

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