The young man slowly regained consciousness. He was lying facedown in dirt and leaves. For a moment he just lay there as he listened for danger and
checked his body for damage. Aside from a slight ringing in his ears, he was fine. He rolled over and opened his eyes, staring up at
the naked tree limbs above him
. Unbidden, thoughts swirled into the tranquil
moment. Why am I here? Where is Here?
The thoughts left as quickly as they came, returning the young man to the eternal present.
He sat up, wincing as the ringing in his ears blossomed into pain. The pain divorced him from the moment, until the man consciously distanced himself
from the pain, recognizing that he was separate. He sat for a moment, trying to sift his thoughts. Something hazy lingered at the edges of his
conscious, something important... He let go of the thought, resolute in the knowledge that it would return to him, or it wouldn't. He looks around
him, trees in every direction, except right in front of him there was a building. He sat there looking at it, and a word popped into his head.
The word felt heavy, as if it had some significance to it. He got to his feet carefully, to mitigate the rush of pain seeking to
distance him from the moment.
He began to walk towards this church, it seemed like the only thing to do. As he walked, the wind began to softly blow through the trees, seeming to
bring with it ephemeral whispers that threatened to entrance him in their call, as if, if he listened hard enough, he could make out their secrets...
One time, perhaps, but presently this young man had no regard for secrets. The church was farther away than the man had originally thought, and also
much larger. Finally, he stood outside the two heavy wooden doors that seemed closed against eternity. He reached a hand out to lay his palm against
the door, and as he did so the door swung in smoothly under his touch. Without pause, he strode in.
He was greeted by quite the sight, a staircase rose on either side of a statue
his mind whispered. As if in response to the thought, the statue moved. A part of the young man screamed at this, statues don't move!
Yet another part seemed to accept this without pause. The hand came down off the demons head and extended out to the young man, the statues face one
of kindness and repose. Speak your wish, that it might be granted by my power.
The young man said nothing, wished for nothing, wanted for
nothing. The demons form twisted, the edges appearing to warp as, from within the depths of its white color inky black and fiery red swirled to the
surface. No longer did the statue seem a statue, but appeared to be flesh and blood, though an inkling told the young man that he would find no blood
in this things veins, only thickly swirling darkness. Lastly, the face changed from one of kindness to one of pure undying hatred. The man remained
unsurprised. From his throne of thorns and skulls, the demon raged and threatened him with eternal pain and suffering, eternal condemnation. A smirk
came to the young mans lips first, then a laugh bubbled through, clear and alive he laughed in the face of his enemy. The demon seemed to shrink back
before the young mans laughter, the life receding until all that remained was the original statue.
The young man ascended the staircase, choosing for this purpose to climb the left set of stairs. as he took the stairs one step at a time, a feeling
of solemnity washed over him, from whence he knew not. When he came around the statue, he saw that the staircase ended at the wall ahead of him,
leading nowhere. Resting there against the wall was an old, circular mirror with
spiderwebs about it
. As he drew closer, however, he realized that the spiderwebs were actually etched into the surface of the mirror. Odd, but
the mirror seemed to be failing at the one task it was created for, it reflected nothing in its surface, only a blank greyness.
As he stepped in front of the mirror, however, it reflected his image and he got a good look at himself. He stood about 6', had long, lanky brown hair
that seemed wet and greasy. A large nose was set under dark and brooding heavyset eyes. Thick lips obscured yellow teeth. He wore black clothes
stained with something dark, and his hands were red? He looked down at himself, the blood was not his. Whose was it? and how did it get there? The
blood looked and felt wet, but he could not wipe it off. He looked back into the mirror, now inky black, now revealing procession of images. Him,
bashing in a mans skull in a dark alley, taking the mans jewelry and wallet, spitting on the corpse and walking away. Him, strangling on old woman in
her large home, the smell of her hair coming anew to his nostrils, threatening to wipe him away into oblivion. But the mirror was not done
illuminating the darkness, oh no.
One after another, he watched himself kill. People animals, ideas and happiness, he watched himself leave a trail of darkness and despair. He wept,
but he could not wrench his eyes away nor close them, even if he had wanted to. As he watched, some part of him would not let him turn away. Finally
the images ended, and left him staring at inky darkness. By this point, he was on his knees staring abjectly at the mirror. He must have stared into
that dark portal for hours, thinking thoughts without thinking. He wrestled with himself, with the darkness inside. He could not understand this,
could not fathom being the person that did those horrible things, and yet it undeniably was him, he could remember it all... Still staring into the
darkness, he probed his inner mind, probed the fraying edged of his consciousness. As he explored, he wandered over the edge of a brink, and suddenly
could not differentiate between himself and the darkness he was staring at.
His mind was once again at peace. He had done these things, horrible things, but he was that person no longer. This person that he was now could not
be further from that man that he had been, and that was enough. Before him, its purpose fulfilled, the mirror slowly disintegrated into nothingness.
He stood to his feet, and as he did so the church around him faded away, leaving in its place a blood red sky with clouds of darkness. All about,
there were pictures of pain and horror and despair, but the one that drew him was one of
a bunch of porcelain baby heads
. As he watched, they came to life, crying tears of
blood and wailing in unearthly tones of misery. As he watched, and turned about, suddenly that's what this whole landscape was. Not anger, not fear,
but pure Misery.
He cast about, for some way to bring happiness to this place, to bring forth a shining beacon of hope. He could find nothing here, and so he turned
his gaze inward. Piercing his own soul, he found the light that shone within, and the pure laughter once again bubbled from the depths of eternity and
escaped his mouth. Though he laughed softly, the land rang with the sound, and was transformed back into nothingness. Nothingness, and yet he
remained. As he felt himself, he saw a point of light bloom in the darkness, and so he ventured forth, to investigate...
edit on 9-4-2016 by
5leepingWarrior because: pictures, and slight grammatical changes