It is cold. I cannot feel my breath move from between my cracked lips. I am thirsty. My mouth is a desert, barren of moisture. My tongue clings to the roof of my mouth like a dry week old piece of bread, gone mouldy and sour with age... yet... somehow... I swallow. All I can do... is swallow and wait to die. I cannot move. My brittle flesh is made solid by the ignorance of the masses that pass me by. I am frozen...yet still... somehow I shiver beneath the only thing I call my own, a long dark trench coat. A trench coat tattered and long forgotten by the world... It is a cloth that neither protects nor shields me, yet somehow this dark dirty and dank soaked trench coat comforts me in the fact that it is there.
The sting of frost and ice chill me and I become one with the old brick wall I lean against. My fingers curl against the cold, trying to keep whatever warmth there is in movement. My hair cracks with sickening snaps in my ears as I lean my head against the unforgiving brick. I stare out into my world. My vision blurred and scarred with my bitterness. A bitterness that carves at the soul of man and asks, like a glacier of a flat plane, how can I be ignored when it is glaring obvious that I am here and carve valley's upon you?
My breath coils as a fog, laced with regret, in front of my lost eyes as I watch the snowfall and blurs of people who do not care, walk by. My world is a world of pain, of neglect and sorrow; it is not one of sloth, or incapability.... Do you think that if I could, if I believed, if someone believed in me I wouldn't release myself from this anguish? I close my eyes. The unforgiving light of the street lamp illuminates the back of my lids as I cry. I am still human enough to cry, though my tears freeze almost instantly upon my lips. My eyes are sealed with memories of icy horrors of a life forgotten and the being I... once... was.
The soldier I once was. The knight with the shield of freedom and the sword of freewill... Yet...despite my metals... I once... I once too was a blur that would have passed me by.
I feel the reaper's shadow tug upon my cracked trench coat shield and the sword of my bitterness, my hatred of this world dull underneath that dark shadow. I rise softly from the caked snow, the unforgiving brick and the chill of the uncompassionate world. I float as if through a dream of sleeping, unable to move on my own, yet ... propelled forward. I feel warmth, blissful and serene...cherished and comforting like a mother's arms surrounding me. I am stabbed with a flash of light so bright and brilliant that if my eyes were open, I would be blinded. I am blind, for all I can see is this light, not even my nose shadows the vibrantency of it. I fall. I fall downwards slowly, like a feather in a soft breeze on an autumn day. My body touches down lightly upon a warm down mattress of eternity.
Pain. Pain! I feel the heat of flames lick at my cheeks, at my hands. The pits of Hell make playthings of my limbs. My form seething with the torments of crimson fires as they play me like an instrument, inciting gritted teeth and grunts of pain. I moan as every cell in my body rockets with life, hell given life. My lungs gasp at the air, gaining no sustenance or quarter from it. I scream as the fires engulf me and now tease and boil at my eyes. The fires of life singe my eyelashes until I am bare of hair.
My eyes flash open.
I see an angel of mercy, a blur that turned and saw me.
Me. The one you threw a paper cup at, and said, "Get a job, you lazy bum."
© Copyright 2016 Aranea. All rights reserved.
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