lucidus

my writing diary (or something)
2018-08-09 18:39:54 (UTC)

365.220 - marshland grave

Two people stand in the heart of a starless night. The taller one holds a lantern, holds it high but with loose fingers. The light doesn’t reach the depth of their eyes. Their breathing is shallow, and shallower it gets as a hand grips their arm tighter… The other person, the unfortunate one, does not understand how far the darkness stretches. It is all around them, it’s infinite space, and it’s closing in on the two of them.

Like clockwork, the one with the lantern starts walking as the cruelest hour of the night draws near. The mind behind the piercing eyes knows exactly how much time they have left. They could count the minutes, but that would be thievery. There is something more important to do. Something, someone important that deserves much more than to die unceremoniously when the last of the lights fade out and ink spills… There isn’t much a soulless being can donate. But they must try. Emptiness is the easiest thing to give away, even if the last drop of life is always the most painful to watch falling into the abyss… To save another’s soul, yes, they must try.

The smaller one, they are the gold, the shimmering light, the priceless life that becomes ugly with each breath it draws - they were a concept, an idea that does not work when it’s finally brought over to our reality. An intersection of universes, brilliant, with wolf teeth and fire that wants to kill and destroy. Innocent, they hold onto the cold damp sleeve of the one guiding them, just as blind and deaf, hands held up to meet more black fog, not feeling the layers that they fall through… With firm steps, they stumble deeper into the night.

Minutes overlap and fade away in multitudes.
Eyes start to flutter shut, others stare into unseen horizons, where shining end goals are waiting for those who keep walking despite the bitter cold, despite the rain falling down heavy as lead, and the black, black fog that curls around travellers’ feet like tripwires… The burning napalm that falls from the sky in the dead of night, silent as cotton, acidic.

'No water in sight, we really will die out here', the flame-bearer thought. The puddles got deeper, feet sloshing in the mud and amidst the overgrown ferns, already dead before the winter. Further into the wetlands, the decaying moss and peat became heavier, it stuck to the wanderers’ clothes, and to their hands each time they fell forward, and their souls got muddier with each tiring step. The taller one took the other’s hand and tugged them along. “I’ll find you a place to rest”, they promised, and for a moment their eyes reflected the flickering light of the lantern.

All these promises, but metal never became any lighter. Bones made of grainy stone craved to return to the earth that they had come from. Feet sank deeper, aching backs fought against gravity and slowly lost each battle.

A limit was met: like a long string tied to an ankle had suddenly tightened, the edge of the world was there. Painfully tangible. The flame in the lantern flickered and dimmed as the tall one dropped to their knees, their grip finally loosening.
The precious one sat down next to them, calm in the middle of the storm that would end their existence. Cold water started seeping through their clothes, then through their scabby, rotting flesh, their bones drank it in. Ice crystals around their heart, the heart that still burned for destruction.

Metallic crackling and screeching filled the air like cursed static, its source unknown, unimaginable. The noise kept growing.

There was just one thought on the mind of the lightbearer. The only thought that mattered,
'I’m sorry I couldn’t find a better place for you to die in. You deserved a more dignified grave than this dark mire.'
Fingertips gentle on the ashy arm of the fallen one, the human started to hum. More static. Low, rough, occasionally stuttering, then flowing again.

Then, it seized. Even the marshland went silent.
“- You should have let go of me when the darkness fell. There was no need to walk so far.”

The sky was blacker than before, fog circled the empty zenith. Mist was falling, gentle and slow like death itself.

The golden soul picked up the lantern, watched the small cobalt blue flame flickering for a few moments, and then stifled it with trembling hands-

The final darkness fell. Stars lit up in the vast sky above.




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