by Raziya Khepri » Tue Apr 27, 2010 4:21 am
Death.. decay... internment.. what happens in death.. what happens during death.. what happens after death. The thousands if not millions of organisms whether they be from a deity or from nature.. whether it's magical or natural... who is it to say? Who's decision is it who dies, or who doesn't? Who's choice?
Shadows fell across the forest. Shadows.. blackness.. where birds had been sounding, crickets, nature now silent. Only death lay. Dead.. death.. decay.. What is it but natural? For it to be out here so obvious, or oblivious, or natural? Clicking from the back of teeth was the only thing that touched the sound of death.
In front of him lay the body of a woman. Naked, in her utmost natural state. As natural as it came into the world, it has now left. A strike so precise, so intricate, so delectable delicious. He knelt his robes of black swirling around him. Old, bonelike hands came out to touch the body. His middle finger touched the long arch of her ear. Her elfin ear. He traced it with such methodical temperance like he had seen it before. Like he knew what was already there.
Down the body the bones of his hands went, touching skin that had been so full of life not too long ago. Looking at the incestuous curves of her body. The soft suppleness of her breasts. Between them the wound... the oh so mortal wound. Mortality... mortal is life, mortal is death. In her death could there be life?
His arms came over, black robes covering the body, as he stood the body was gone.. and in a moment he was gone. The forest returned to its state. And owl called as he was joined in the melodious sound of the cricket symphony.
Only candles lit the darkness. Darkness that held beauty all in the horror of simplicity. On the table in front of the black robed man was the body. The dead body of the woman he had found. He couldn't help be stare at her. To take in the beauty or her death. The beauty of her long delicate fingers, the beauty of her piercing blue eyes, the beauty of the voluptuous curve of her hip as it fed into her long lithe legs. He could not help but let his bony hands trace over her once more. It was not the feelings of a man that ran through him. Worldly pleasures held nothing to him anymore. It was the vision of death. The vision of life. Seeing things that were there,, things that were not. Everything his black eyes saw interpreted before himself.
His face, as dark as it was, actually seemed to lighten. His face, his lips was that a smile? it was hard to tell on such a gaunt face. His hands ran their way up her breasts and to the wound between them. His hand covered it, the corner of his lip raised.
He hurried around the room, to things only his eyes could see. He lit more candles, everyone of them black around the room, around her body. He took one from a drawer in a desk. One simple candle, one white candle. Still unlit he put it above the body's head on the table. He went around to the foot of the table. Taking one last moment to touch the delicate toe before him.
Mouth lips moved, his vocal cords vibrated but words were not auditable. Looking at his lips what he spoke could not be turned into any words known. his voice was then heard as the lit black candles around them flickered for a moment. A wind around the room, a gust where no openness could be found.
his voice became louder, though the words were harsh there were of a language unknown. They rolled off his tongue like water running down a smooth rock. Once again a gust passed through the room and the candles flickered. His robes swirled around a skeletal figure that they held underneath. His body rose. His feet not touching the ground anymore.
The wind was now blowing, steady around them, the candles of black still flicking strong. His words were loud, piercing the air like a cannon sounding continuously over your head. He rose his hands forward and down, towards the body below him. His black eyes fixed upon her.
The candles around them now seemed to struggle to stay lit. Flickering, trying, hanging on to their existence, her existence... The wind that swirled through the room was dark, black. Like the shadows themselves had rioted up and stirred at the man's words. They seemed angry, dark, vicious against him, one came to him and left a mark across the high portion of his cheek, leaving a gash.
The candles now went out, here and there. The blackness of the shadows gathering, swirling around the dead girl's body. They began shooting towards her. Shooting into her. Her body stirred, the small of her back coming up from off of the table. Her feet, her toes went strait, pointed down.
The candles kept failing, one by one by one. The black candles retreating from the shadows, from the light of themselves into total darkness. The room around the bodies was darkening. Darkening into blackness.
Slowly, as the shadows disappeared into the woman's body stitching began. Starting from the inside, her heart, her ever delicate heart. repairing, replacing. Mending, destroying. It started from the inside and worked its way out. Out until before the very last black candle failed one could see what looked like skin, over the hole in her chest... then
blackness
The man fell to the floor from his position. He struggled, struggled to grab the table with such hands, such hands that had no skin covering them anymore. In reality his hands were simply that, bones. They still gripped, gripped the edge of the table as he pulled himself up. Black eye adjusting, trying to see it. He searched, cursing himself in his mind had to failed? Had the trials and tribulations failed in their greatest work? In his greatest work? His mind trembled at the thought. But before he could finish his thoughts.
The single white candle above her head, lit itself.
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