Jump to content


Photo

Themes of Eternity


  • Please log in to reply
41 replies to this topic

#1 Shouja

Shouja

    Skunk

  • Members
  • 109 posts

Posted 30 November 2005 - 09:09 AM

This is the first of a bunch of short stories, each focused on a particular theme. I'll try to post them once every day.

~Shouja~

Disgrace

“Harlon Perrilt, you are hereby found guilty of the following crimes: that of desertion during time of war; that of breaking and entering into the house of one Simon Steadwick; and that of the murder of Grace Steadwick, daughter of the above, upon your discovery.”

The judge’s voice rumbled like the crack of doom, and murmurs from the audience members arose all around the courtroom. I wanted to hide my face in shame. It was true. However much I wished it to be not so, it was true. I was a coward, who deserted my regiment when they most needed help, and panicked so badly that I was able to kill an innocent farmgirl, who had done nothing but call out where I was hiding.

“You are hereby condemned to be hanged by the neck until death, at noon tomorrow.”

Again, the crowd voiced its satisfaction. In my heart, I agreed with them. I didn’t deserve to live. Even now, as I looked down at my hands, I could see it again… these horrible hands of mine encircling that white neck, grasping and choking and strangling

I shuddered. Her face would always be before me now – that pale, simple face, slowly growing mottled red, and then blue…

No! No more! I couldn’t take it anymore. I bit my lips, trying to hold in the screams of horror and loathing and self-disgust. I writhed in agony until one of the guards took pity on me and knocked me unconscious.

Darkness was bliss.

When I woke up again, I was back in my holding cell, and dawn was breaking. As usual, the guard outside was patrolling the corridor. I lay on the ground, trying not to think. Today was the day of my execution. The last few days had been horrible, but now that the trial was over, I almost felt relieved. After today, it would all disappear.

Heavy footsteps clanked down the corridor. A guard opened my cell door.

“Perrilt!” he called out roughly, making way for a servant to carry a tray of food in. “Eat up. This is your last meal, so thank the Gods that a coward like you is able to die on a full stomach.” His voice twisted with scorn, even as he mouthed the words. No man bearing arms liked a coward – much less a deserter. A knife twisted in my heart, but I kept silent. Only for a little while longer. Only until noon. Then I would be able to forget my shame and pass away into blissful death.

Time flew by quickly, as I concentrated on finishing the meal and not thinking about anything. All too soon, the sun was at the apex of the sky. It was time. They marched me out in front of the hissing crowd towards the gallows. Bits of rotten fruit and old garbage pelted me as I stumbled down the makeshift alleyway. A blueberry hit my right eyebrow, and the juice started to dribble into my eye. It coloured everything blue – just like that girl’s face. That face would probably be the last thing that I see on this world.

I hoped that the hanging wouldn’t take long. I heard that you could either break your neck when the rope jerked, or slowly strangle to death. I hoped it would be the former for me. I couldn’t stand a long and painful death. Especially not by strangulation. That would be… just like her…

The sound of drumbeats shook me away from those thoughts. The crowd, frightened, began to quiet down.

“Silence,” ordered the judge. The noise stopped. “Now, we are gathered here today to witness the hanging of one Harlon Perrilt, guilty of desertion in the face of the enemy, breaking and entering private property, and the murder of Grace Steadwick. Let all those present stand watch as due sentence and punishment is carried out upon the criminal.”

A muffled cheer could be heard from somewhere in the midst of the crowd. The hangman looped the noose over my neck. My hands and feet were bound by ropes. My knees were shaking. The whole reality of the situation was starting to hit me. I don’t want to die! Not like this! My bowels loosened, and I couldn’t control my bladder. What a disgraceful way to end my life – soaked in my own urine and fecal matter.

I looked desperately for a way out – any way out. Inside, there was a part of me that despised myself for being a coward all the way to the end, but my panicked fear drowned it out.

“Please…” I begged. “Please… anything…”

The judge looked at me coldly, with pitiless eyes.

“Hang the sod.”

I was falling… falling… and a great big jolt to my neck stopped me. It hurt like all the fiery blazes of the Underworld. But I was still conscious. So my neck hadn’t broken after all. Already, I could feel the blood starting to congeal in my head. My heart sounded like a pounding hammer.

My tongue thickened. I couldn’t speak anymore.

My wits were starting to fade…

…close my eyes…

…girl’s face…

… “Why doesn’t… die?”…

… “victory!”…

When I came to, I was gasping for breath. The rope marks around my neck were harness straps of fire, bridling me like one of the horses of the underworld. I lay collapsed on the ground, heaving. The reek of urine flooded my nose, but I was too weak to do anything about it. I had only one goal in life: breathe.

Slowly, as I came to, I heard a voice addressing me.

“…looks like you are cursed with the gods’ own luck, Perrilt,” the judge was saying. “While we were busy hanging a deserter like you, the war was fought and won by the troops you deserted. Now, Aluwen has placed a spell of immortality upon us all. Do you understand what that means, Perrilt?”

I lay still, gasping, trying to sort out my incoherent thoughts. The guard grabbed me and roughly dragged me up, bringing his face close to mine.

“Do you, you louse?!” he scowled at me. “That means we can’t ever punish one of you cowards the way you deserve. You’re like bloody cockroaches – you’ll never die any more. Only Aluwen knows why scum like you deserve to live.”

I was being shaken so hard by the guard that my wits were becoming even more addled.

“Put him down, Holbert,” the judge said. Abruptly, the guard released me, and I sank to the ground again. The judge walked over to me and stared down.

“Don’t think that this absolves you of your crime, Perrilt,” he said coldly. “You are still guilty and stand condemned. This new spell just means that we’ll need to find another way to punish you.” He thought briefly for a while, then seemed to come to a decision.

“Holbert, take him and put him into the public stocks. We’ll let him be an example to all the populace. It’s not necessary to feed him, just let him lie there. He’s already a dead man, anyway. When this spell of the Goddess ceases to be, he can expire along with it.”

The horrors of the past were starting to reappear before me again. I could remember the sensation of choking to death very clearly now. It was a terrible experience. Was this how it had felt for that girl? Was I the one to do such cruelty to her? How could I?

As the guard dragged me unceremoniously to my feet again, the judge looked at me. “I would advise you to use this time to dwell on your past mistakes,” he said soberly. “And don’t worry… you’ll have all of eternity to do it in.”

This time, I couldn’t hold back my screams.

Edited by Shouja, 30 November 2005 - 10:30 AM.


#2 Dark_Nightmare

Dark_Nightmare

    Imp

  • Members
  • 377 posts
  • Location:An igloo in Alaska, home of the blubber nugget :P
  • Interests:Reading, listening to music, escaping reality into books and computer and movies and TV.

Posted 30 November 2005 - 02:04 PM

:mellow: :) Erm...gosh. That was certainly like Edgar Allen Poe. Weird and freaky! :fire:

#3 Roja

Roja

    Unicorn

  • Admin
  • 8802 posts
  • Gender:Not Telling

Posted 30 November 2005 - 04:40 PM

It's excellent! Your writing ability is superb! PLEASE write more!!!! ;)

#4 Shouja

Shouja

    Skunk

  • Members
  • 109 posts

Posted 30 November 2005 - 05:58 PM

I'm posting this a bit early, but meh... here's the second of the flashfics. EDIT: Note that each story is separate and unrelated to the others. The narrator is a completely different person in each themefic.

~Shouja~

Love


I watched her change the bandages on the festering flesh, and my heart gave a twinge of sorrow. She was beautiful in the gathering twilight. The last rays of the sun kissed her tanned skin and raven hair, seemingly to bid farewell in the promise of meeting her tomorrow. Her eyes, glistening like the starry, starry night that would soon be upon us, rose briefly to meet mine, and then fell away.

My heart cried out in pain again.

The man on the bed was her husband, and she was his wife. They had only been married for a brief time – a scarce one or two years. When she had first come to our manor, I could not believe that my master and teacher had been graced with such a beauty. She was a full score of years younger than he was – just a little younger than myself. But my master had been so happy, so happy. He had loved her, you see. And she loved him too. They were a couple blessed by the Gods themselves.

I could never break up that happiness. The three of us all knew, of course. When my eyes had first met hers, I was struck to the heart. And, over time, she was not averse as well. Being the dutiful and loving wife that she was, she also made my master aware of the situation. He was so kind, so kind. He knew of my love for her, yet he did not cast me out nor forbade me this love. He had been my teacher in the sword arts, and he knew more than anyone else my sense of honour. I had learned it from him, after all.

He knew we would not betray him.

And we would not have.

And we still did not.

I only wonder what she must be feeling like now. When the festering sickness first began in the countryside, he had personally ridden out to care for the sick and injured. That was a knight’s duty, he often said. And I followed him, as my mentor and my hero. We forbade her to come, the both of us. The disease was dangerous. Anyone who fell prey to it was forever plagued by the opening of sores all over the body and a high fever, rendering them in both physical and mental anguish. And no cure had been discovered yet. Neither of us wished for her to fall to that sickness.

Why, o Gods? Why do you curse us so? Great Goddess Aluwen, was this in your vision, when you cast that spell? Or did Mortos corrupt thy good intentions once again?

My master contracted the disease. When we discovered the symptoms, he immediately put me in charge of the manor, and forbade his wife from entering his presence. That was to protect her. But she, spirited and wilful wife that she was, evaded my protective measures and snuck into his room at night to tend to him. A woman’s love knew no bounds. He was in the grips of the fever at that time, and her ministrations soothed him.

It pained my heart to watch the man, who had been like a second father to me, now lose his strength. There was nothing I could do about it, but pray and hope that a cure would be found soon. He was in constant agony from his sores, which produced pus and gangrene. His bandages had to be changed daily, and she took the role of doing so. It was her labour of love for her lord husband. As his apprentice, and one who loved her too much, I could not deny her place by his side.

He was starting to babble already. The fever had taken a toll on his mental reserves as well, driving him to the brink of lunacy. But occasionally there would be lucid moments, where he appeared to have recovered his senses for a while. In one of these moments, he had talked to us both.

“If only I could die,” he had said, smiling weakly. “Then I would ease your burdens. Then you could be wed. You would be happy together.” He had placed my hand upon hers. “Take good care of her, my student – my son in all but name. I only wish for her happiness, and yours. My blessings on your love for each other. If only I could die…”

O great gods, how you torture us!

To drive me to the brink of wishing for my master’s death, so that I could marry his wife! And she! What would she be thinking? Her heart beat as rapidly as mine, I knew. I had felt it, in the warmth of her hand, in the meeting of our eyes. We loved each other as well. But we would never be together, for her husband still lay between us. We could not betray him. We would not, not as long as he is alive.

Every day, she tends to him, changing the pus-soaked bandages on the festering sores, listening to the fevered babblings of the one she loves. She, loving him, cannot leave him. I, loving her, cannot leave her. And he, despite his love for us, cannot leave us either.

We are bound for eternity in this cruel, cruel fate of endless love.

Edited by Shouja, 30 November 2005 - 06:24 PM.


#5 Brom

Brom

    Leopard

  • Members
  • 1586 posts
  • Gender:Male
  • Location:Colorado, USA
  • Interests:Reading, Writing, Dancing, Wooing, etc.

Posted 30 November 2005 - 07:40 PM

Incredible

#6 Roja

Roja

    Unicorn

  • Admin
  • 8802 posts
  • Gender:Not Telling

Posted 30 November 2005 - 08:07 PM

That one's really really great too ;)
Both very good portrayls of the curse of Mortos!

Keep writing!!! I will put these in books in the game and on the website.

#7 Shouja

Shouja

    Skunk

  • Members
  • 109 posts

Posted 01 December 2005 - 12:00 PM

Glad you're liking them so far. :P I've still got quite a lot left to post. All of them are focused around how the curse of Mortos is changing the lifestyle of the people.

~Shouja~

Gloom


Another one was carried in and laid to rest on one of the beds. I sighed, looking along the rows of figures lying sleeping in the semi-darkness. The two apprentices who had carried the body in looked apprehensively at me, and then quickly sidled out of the room while I checked on the newcomer.

He was an old man – of human descent, as they almost invariably are. The writing on the parchment scroll attached to his tunic was too dark to read, so I cast a simple fire spell to light up the room. Shadows and flickers fill the ward, hinting at creatures unknown, hiding in the aether. I barely paid any attention to them. After a year and a half of working under these conditions, you learn to set aside all the old wives’ tales. You had to. You’d go insane if you didn’t.

The old man – Arthur Prenderton – had fallen ill some time ago. He was nearly fourscore and eighteen years old, a ripe old age for a human. His only family was a poor woodcutter who lived on the outskirts of Morcraven Marsh. He could not afford to take care of his father any longer, and had sent him to White Stone for interning.

Interning. That’s what they called it. Interring might have been a better word. They were all but dead, these old people. No family who could take care of them, in frail health, hanging by a thread to a life they could not leave. When Lord Luxin had announced that he would open the coffers of White Stone to help aid those that had dependents, we did not expect such numbers to come pouring in.

The old. The sick. The crippled. All those who could not work, or support themselves in some way. Who were doomed to a life that was not worth living in an age of immortals. Those that would die, and then reappear again in the same condition that they were in before. There was no cure for old age – not even reincarnation. They died as old, they wandered the underworld as old, and they came back to the lands of the living as old as they left it.

So they were sent here, to Tarsengaard. We erected a magic aura over the wards, laced with healing and regenerative energies. It was not strong enough to nullify the effects of the curse, but it could keep the people here on this side of the border between life and death. Just enough. Just enough to stay alive.

At least we could save them the harrows of walking through the worlds beyond death.

This ward. The ward next to it. And the wards beyond that, above and below. The apprentices were already forced to share only one room between them, squeezed in like fish in a barrel. The Masters exerted themselves to maintain the spells and search for a remedy.

And we journeymen? We were forced to take care of those that could not take care of themselves. Over by the window, Arlene Loksbane waved a feeble hand, and I went over to her side. The Orchan lady was hungry again. I went over to the pot and got the gruel. Carefully, I spooned gruel from a bowl into her mouth. It was all we could afford to give her. This year’s harvest had not been good. The warehouses were empty, and there was only so much the Masters could do to make food.

Once Arlene was satisfied, I patted her bed down and emptied the remains back into the pot. Waste not, want not. Every scoop of gruel counted. The flickering shadows continued to follow me as I made the rounds, checking on each patient. Some were stirring fitfully, some were quietly weeping to themselves at the ingratitude of their offspring. Most of them just wanted to rest – forever, if they could.

I finished the rounds and sat back at my desk near the entrance. It was growing late. Dusk was drawing near. They would want to go to sleep soon. I extinguished the fire spell, and the room was enveloped in darkness. They liked it better that way. Light and life were growing too wearisome for them to handle.

I sat in the darkness alone, watching over the souls of those who could not die.

Edited by Shouja, 02 December 2005 - 09:28 AM.


#8 Dark_Nightmare

Dark_Nightmare

    Imp

  • Members
  • 377 posts
  • Location:An igloo in Alaska, home of the blubber nugget :P
  • Interests:Reading, listening to music, escaping reality into books and computer and movies and TV.

Posted 02 December 2005 - 05:41 AM

As emotionless as I am (which I am concerned for my needs only), this is scary ;) But here are some name suggestions, choose one if you like:

Mortos' Curse: Times of Toture

Mortos' Curse and the Victims

Victims of Mortos' Curse

Mortos' Victims

The Life of Cursed Ones

Edited by Dark_Nightmare, 02 December 2005 - 05:57 AM.


#9 Shouja

Shouja

    Skunk

  • Members
  • 109 posts

Posted 02 December 2005 - 09:35 AM

Thanks for the suggestions, but I like my title already: "Themes of Eternity". The reason is that there are actually one or two "nice" themes in this collection of tales. But those will come later. And if you thought the earlier one was scary, wait until you read this. I believe it's the scariest one of all.

~Shouja~


Madness

Ha HA ha HEE HEE hoo! Die, die, I cannot die!

No matter what they do to me, I cannot die!

They cut and shock and slash and drown, I cannot die!

They beat and choke and strike and flame, I cannot die!


Girls, girls, lovely girls! They cannot die!

I hunt and catch and bruise and rape, they cannot die!

They fear and run and fall and scream, they cannot die!

I prowl and lick and tear and rip, they cannot die!


Men, men, awful men! They will not die!

They shout and chase and guard the chaste, they will not die!

They judge and lock and jail and starve, they will not die!

But no matter what they do to me, I cannot die!


Ha HA HEE hee HOO! Die, die, I cannot die!

No matter what they do to me, I cannot die!

I cannot die, I CANNOT DIE!

Edited by Shouja, 03 December 2005 - 12:15 AM.


#10 Brom

Brom

    Leopard

  • Members
  • 1586 posts
  • Gender:Male
  • Location:Colorado, USA
  • Interests:Reading, Writing, Dancing, Wooing, etc.

Posted 02 December 2005 - 04:27 PM

Humm, not sure Im a fan of that last one. It is a little blunt. Humm, this is a family game and If I had the choice that would not be included.

Edited by Brom, 02 December 2005 - 04:28 PM.


#11 Roja

Roja

    Unicorn

  • Admin
  • 8802 posts
  • Gender:Not Telling

Posted 02 December 2005 - 04:39 PM

Well it's good but maybe only one paragraph on rape would be better :) Try to find another subject to replace it in the 1 paragraph.
I don't mind it as long as things aren't X rated or perverted and obscene.

Besides it's not like you are required to read these stories. I dont even know where i'll put them yet...but they will go on the website too.

#12 Derin

Derin

    Troll

  • Members
  • 4279 posts
  • Gender:Male

Posted 02 December 2005 - 07:25 PM

Great stories. I really like the style. The day-to-day life on Draia is strange indeed and you paint it with bright colors.

Keep it up!

#13 Shouja

Shouja

    Skunk

  • Members
  • 109 posts

Posted 03 December 2005 - 12:12 AM

Okay, I cut out the second paragraph on rape. It wasn't really necessary anyway, but I just wanted to put it in to maximise the offensiveness factor. The whole point of that last themefic was to show that the curse made it impossible to get rid of the worst elements in society, no matter how much they deserved it. I'll go back to more "moderate" pieces now.

~Shouja~

Futility

"Here they come again!" Cortix cried. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was ruffled. His armor was beginning to rust, and he smelt like a pigsty. He hadn't had any decent sleep for five days.

Neither had we.

It was the fifth day of the new goblin offensive, and I hoped it would be over soon. Looking around, I could see the weary members of my unit picking themselves up and hastily getting into battle formation. It had been raining for three days, and the ground below the fort was covered in low-lying fog. Perfect time for a sneak attack. Except for the fact that we had a diviner on our side who could tell when they were coming and give us enough warning to prepare.

You would think that after eighteen sorties the gobs would give up.

But when you knew you couldn't die, I guess even goblins would get brave enough to attack a stockade guarded by heavily-armed soldiers. Or so the theory went, anyway. Some people believed that they were just too stupid to know when to quit.

A faint rustle sounded through the mist, and immediately my battle instincts took over. Two arrows went flying through the air, and were met with a shriek of pain. One down...

Realising their cover had been blown, the goblins gave a roar and charged forward. We mowed them down as fast as we could, shooting arrow after arrow at the vague figures darting around in the mist. All too soon, they were raising ladders to breach the ramparts and climbing fast.

A ladder landed near me. I hastened to push it off, but was met by a hail of stones and arrows, preventing me from getting close. On the other side of the ladder, Kilsay was hit in the neck and fell off the wall. I wondered if that scar on his left arm would disappear this time, when he came back tomorrow. Robert and I had a bet on it. You never returned exactly the same. Sometimes a scar would disappear, sometimes a lock of hair would be gone, sometimes old wounds would reappear. Every time you died and resurrected again, your body would be just a little different, though your mind would be the same. Robert and I had bets on how everyone would look the next time they came back. Kilsay's scar was big money.

Damn. I had let myself get distracted in the middle of the fight. The lack of sleep was beginning to tell on me. Already, the first goblin had ascended the ladder and was charging at me with his scimitar. I quickly drew my sword and blocked a strike that would have swept my head off. The goblin growled at me and bared his teeth. His breath stank of alcohol.

It was the wine, of course. The whole tribe was insanely addicted to wine. Whenever their supplies began to run low, they would mount punitive raids on the winery to get a few casks. Every raid, they managed to steal just a little bit more, enough to continue their drunken revelries.

Vesine and Latis had been safely evacuated a long time ago, when we first got word that the goblins were on the prowl again. Caladak only contained the garrison now. And we had been fighting for five days straight, through day and night raids. Glydoc knows when it would stop. Probably only when the chiefs decided that they had enough to last them until the next month or so.

I drew my dirk with my free hand and tore a hole in my goblin's guts. That snarl of ferocity quickly changed into astonishment, then disbelief, and then slumped into defeat. I kicked the corpse off the rampart. It would disappear by the end of today, anyway. Bloody, useless drunks, fighting a meaningless war to get more liquor. I spat at the falling body.

That cost me. Before I could recover, I saw another scimitar flashing down at my face from the goblin that had come up after the first. It was too late to dodge, so I braced myself to take it. A line of fire drew itself deep across my face into my skull.

Ouch. That's going to hurt tomorrow, I thought as I died. There was no regret, no sense of loss, merely resignation. Death no longer had any meaning for me. It was nothing but one of a hundred experiences that made up a soldier's life, a facet of that kaleidoscope of futile battles in an endless war. I die today, but tomorrow I shall live once again.

Tomorrow, the meaningless cycle will begin anew.

Edited by Shouja, 06 December 2005 - 01:03 AM.


#14 Roja

Roja

    Unicorn

  • Admin
  • 8802 posts
  • Gender:Not Telling

Posted 03 December 2005 - 01:39 PM

Ouch. That's going to hurt tomorrow, I thought as I died. There was no regret, no sense of loss, merely resignation. Death no longer had any meaning for me. It was nothing but one of a hundred experiences that made up a soldier's life, a facet of that kaleidoscope of futile battles in an endless war. I die today, but tomorrow I shall live once again.

Tomorrow, the meaningless cycle will begin anew.


This one's great too! But I was wondering if you can capitalize more on the fact that, even though they died and it didn't mean anything to die, you still felt a lot of pain! So, that guy getting the sword in the face is in serious agony..and it can be some time before he does die even, so the pain can take a while..maybe he even wants a comrade to "finish the job" for him, just to get rid of the pain.
One reason why people woudln't want to die is because the pain they go through anyway. Have you ever had to do something, that you know you'd be ok afterward, but you'd have to go through either phhysical or mental pain to get to the end? No matter how many times you do it, that pain you feel can be bad enough to hurt you mentally, because you anticipate it, you know it's coming..and it's terrible. you HATE it. You don't want it to happen. And because you go through it many times, makes the mental torment of it even worse.
So think of how that pain(physical and mental), would affect the soldiers. Some might go insane after too much of it. Some might get used to it.

Maybe you can show how different soldiers go through it different ways? Even if you explain it in a broader sense, like that guy who you write about says something like, "Many of the soldiers eventually go mad from the pain....but not me, i've learned to live with it" And explain it more than that of course, but youg et the idea.

#15 Shouja

Shouja

    Skunk

  • Members
  • 109 posts

Posted 03 December 2005 - 04:34 PM

Yeah, that was what I had planned to do. This story is told from a soldier's point of view, so he's pretty used to death and sort of numb to it already. I've got another themefic later on that explores the other half of the equation.

~Shouja~

#16 Shouja

Shouja

    Skunk

  • Members
  • 109 posts

Posted 04 December 2005 - 11:39 AM

Admittedly, this particular idea is inspired by a science-fiction short story I read a long time ago. I can't remember who the original author was, but I think it was Asimov. In any case, I loved the way he wrote it so much that I decided to adapt it to fit a similar situation in EL.

~Shouja~

Age

I held the hand of the withered old man lying on the bed in front of me. His breathing was laboured, and his eyes were slowly becoming vacant. Rheumatism and arthritis had locked his joints a few years ago. It was painful to watch.

So painful.

Marilyn was seated beside me, her golden-red locks tumbling over my chest as she rested her head against my shoulder. We had maintained a vigil all throughout the night, and she was exhausted. The bride of my youth, still as young and beautiful as they day I had married her. But her eyes shone with unshed tears – tears that she could not show in front of the old man lying on the bed in front of us, gazing up at us with wondering eyes.

I put my arm around her and drew her close. My strong, well-muscled arm, full of life and youthful vigor. It was such a large contrast to the frail, weak limbs of the man lying on the bed that I momentarily choked. But I could not cry. I had to be strong, for Marilyn, for him. I did not want his last lucid memory of us to be one of sadness, but of comfort and strength.

He was looking at me now, gazing at my features with fond, loving eyes. I remembered those eyes. People said that we didn’t look anything like each other, until they saw our eyes. It was the one feature that marked us as father and son. But those warm, brown eyes were now clouded and vague. The light was slowly becoming dim in them, but we knew that it would never truly fade.

Why? Why, o Gods, did this happen?

He was dying, but yet not dead. A life that could never be fully complete, hanging on, and making the living suffer by his existence. All my joy at meeting him again had turned into the bitterest ashes. Other families had congratulated us on being able to meet up again, even after death. It was our great fortune that the barriers to the underworld had been broken and we had been restored to unity.

Was it really that great? A wellspring of bitterness arose in my heart. Marilyn and I had been returned to our youthful selves, as young as the day when we first met. But…

But… time had passed. The world had continued to revolve after our deaths. And people had grown old. If I had known then what I knew now, I would never have wished to be resurrected. Death was peace, life is torment.

The light in his eyes faded away to dimness. His mind would never be able to recognise us again, even though his body might still live on. Marilyn buried her face in my chest and released the sobs she had been holding back.

Parents should never have to watch their son grow old and die before them.

Edited by Shouja, 04 December 2005 - 03:01 PM.


#17 Roja

Roja

    Unicorn

  • Admin
  • 8802 posts
  • Gender:Not Telling

Posted 04 December 2005 - 02:56 PM

Wow that one was just excellent!

#18 70347

70347

    Leprechaun

  • Members
  • 461 posts
  • Location:Over There --->

Posted 04 December 2005 - 03:55 PM

I like the way thay you wrote it so that the reader didn't know which one was the father and which was the son until the very end. It was a very good story.

#19 Derin

Derin

    Troll

  • Members
  • 4279 posts
  • Gender:Male

Posted 04 December 2005 - 11:57 PM

Woohoo! Great work!

Your stories sure brings out the pain of the curse.

#20 Brom

Brom

    Leopard

  • Members
  • 1586 posts
  • Gender:Male
  • Location:Colorado, USA
  • Interests:Reading, Writing, Dancing, Wooing, etc.

Posted 05 December 2005 - 07:55 PM

:D Im happy that I think I found my first error :P You are a remarkable writer. In Futility correct me if I am wrong, but. "Whenever their supplies began to run low, they would mount punitive raids on the winery to get a few caskets." I think the word is "casks" not "caskets" which are the boxes dead people are carried in.

Wonderful, These are amazing. I have a question along with this last one through. Do the returners grow old and die? Then come back young? Or Do they come back the same way they were when the curse was placed on them. Ive wondered this question with these passages. Could someone clarify? Because in one of the passages above you talked of the old an sick being barely held alive by a spell, occasionally dying and comming back to life in the same sick and old form. I could use some clarity on how you come back and in what form.




0 user(s) are reading this topic

0 members, 0 guests, 0 anonymous users