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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

when one is made of gold, it is not unaccustomed to feel nothing. but turning, that is a different story. turning to gold, that is true torture.

The vein from my forearm goes numb, and slowly travels down to my wrist.

All will be well, all will be well in this horrid horrid place.

The numbness swirls around my bicep, and up to my shoulder, taunting me and playing with my nerves.

Haha, you thought it would be possible to escape your destiny, did you?

Across my palm it dances, brushing the edges of my finger tips.

Honesty this is much better then pain, much, much better then what could have become of you.

Against my collar bone it presses, perhaps with a loving touch, but only to wrap its icy hands around my throat the next second.

See? Its not so bad. Numb isn't pain. Numb isn't an excuse.

Around my jawline, into my brain. Down my chest, infecting my heart.

Ah, yes, you go quite easily, don't you! I love the ones who do not fight, it makes the job quite easy.

My jaw goes slack, my legs are weak. The eyes, oh the eyes. They are long gone, rolled to the back of my head.

Yes, don't look. this place is so so ugly.

My body goes slack. I cannot move. I cannot think. I cannot feel.

Its almost as if, its almost as if....... I've turned to gold.

Gold you say, bah! You are far too inperfect to be gold.

But I am, yes, I see that now. My body will grow cold, and my limbs will become stiff. And I will lay here in all my beauty, perhaps forever.



Gold, you see, makes any death appear beautiful.

Yes, but that doesn't make it true.

And just like that,

I was gone.


Submitted: January 11, 2019

© Copyright 2023 Rosesmoke. All rights reserved.

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