Immortal

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: The Imaginarium


Be careful what you wish for.

Submitted: October 07, 2017

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Submitted: October 07, 2017

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Immortal

It had seemed such a good idea at the time, the chance to live forever. Who could turn it down? To never age, that was the promise. Too late, I realized that there was no mention of decay.

"Please, kill me. Or just let me die.”

How many times have I asked this same question? How many times have I begged, beseeched? He’s not deaf; he hears every single word but relishes my suffering.

This time I stand in front of him swaddled from head to toe in bandages. Twenty-two years old but going on two hundred and fifty. I look like a mummy, one from an Egyptian tomb, but I cannot remove them. I know what is underneath.

The oozing sores, the patches of rot; I know how bad the stench is. This is no life! I have to hide away, exist in absolute solitude. The only company I ever have is when I am forced by starvation to go out and hunt my prey. It disgusts me, the act of killing. But what choice do I have.

I have flung myself from rooftops, jumped from cliffs in to the sea. I have even taken a gun and held it to my head, pulled the trigger.....but nothing works. I’m doomed to live forever!

Or at least until He chooses to release me.

This time he responds to my call, at least as far as appearing before me. He hasn’t aged, not since that first meeting, and somehow he hasn’t deteriorated either. He looks like an emotionally cold but physically attractive man in his late thirties. He told me that he was two hundred years old then, which would make him four hundred and fifty now. That is what I thought I was signing up to; why is he not rotting too?

"You asked for it, remember? ‘Make me immortal, too’; isn’t that what you said?”

"Yes, I asked to live forever.....But this,” I beg, hating to hear how pathetic I sound, “This is not life!”

He grabs me, so quickly I do not have time to react. He is strong, and my rotting skin is weak. He squeezes his fingers on my arm. It feels like they are touching my bone and I scream out in pain. The bandages there become a putrid mess of yellow and red as his grip relaxes.

"You still bleed. You still feel pain. You are very much alive.” His voice is cold and calm.

"Yes, I’m alive!” I can’t deny that, but he is missing my point. “I’m alive, but this is no LIFE! Please, release me as only you can do.”

He looks at me and slowly shakes his head. “You asked to live forever. Perhaps you should have thought more carefully before making such a request.”

There’s no compassion, not a hint of humanity in his voice. But then, I don’t know quite who or what he is, but I do now know that He is not human.

And then He is gone, leaving me alone. Leaving me to wonder why I ever could have thought that I’d want to live forever.


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