He came for me.
I don't know how long I've been here, staring out of stone bars as the years passed. The snow and the sun are the most vivid things that I remember. The sun as it shone down, sometimes warm and perfect, sometimes burning hot. So much so that I could feel it in my prison. And then there was the snow. It brought cold and silence. I think it's the silence that bothers me the most. When the sun shines, you can hear birds call and insects move restlessly in the dirt. But when it snows, all there is the faint howl of the winds, and even that seems dulled to the point that it doesn't exist.
I remember the bird. It was as bright as the sun. It sang, and it was alive. It was as if a tiny bit of the sun had come down to visit me, to bring the warmth that was living into my damp cave prison.
Then he came.
His hair was the same gold as the bird. For a moment, that was what had caught my eye. The sun was behind him, and it seemed to tangle in his hair, making the gold shimmer like fine cloth. I don't remember fine cloth, but for some reason, that's what his hair reminded me of.
Slowly, though, I saw the wings. Wings that arched up over his head, then trailed down to almost touch the ground. They looked soft, covered in the deepest colored feathers I had ever seen. Even the crows seemed washed out next to those dark feathers. So dark they had a violet overtone. As he stepped closer, I saw that his eyes were the same shade of violet. Pretty eyes.
The bird sat on my hand, and I could feel its heart racing. I was torn between fear, confusion, and happiness. I should have been afraid of this person, I knew that. That's why the bird shook on my hand, it was afraid. But, for some reason, I couldn't seem to be afraid. He meant something, something that I desperately wanted, but I didn't know what.
A pale hand slid out from the black robes that kept changing shape. I ignored the moving cloth, instead focused on that pale hand. How many years had it been since I had seen anyone? Before my bird had come, how many years had past since I had touched something living? I couldn't remember. All I could remember were the snow and the sun.
Suddenly, the bird took off. It had stopped shivering, I realized as I saw the sunlight flash off of it. Just like the stranger's hair. Then it fell. I lunged forward, forgetting about the chains until they caught and I was on the ground. I can move them, but it takes more leverage than I had at the second. All I knew was that the only thing I was friends with had just fallen.
My second attempt to reach it worked better, but I still couldn't do anything. I leaned against the bars, ignoring the sun-colored man, my arm stretched to the limit as I tried to reach my friend. It didn't seem right to let something eat it. If I could get it, at least I could do a little burial. Make it safe for a while.
Tears were running down my face, I could feel them, hot and wet. I wasn't really crying; it had been so long since I had really cried that I wasn't sure how to do it anymore. All that came from me were coughs and small gasps. Was that crying?
Then a robe moved to cover the bird, and I found myself once again looking at the strange man with wings. Why was he so familiar? His eyes seemed sad, but also angry.
"Hey, you the one who's been calling me?"
Calling him? "I..." I paused and coughed. My voice was rough, and it almost hurt to talk. When was the last time I had spoken? Why can't I remember things like that? Why can I only remember sun and snow? Clearing my throat, I try again.
"Huh? I haven't been calling anyone." I stare at him. Why is he so familiar? "Who are you?"
Those strange eyes narrowed, and a frown appeared on the stranger's face. He looked kinda irritated. There was a faint rustle as those giant wings shifted. "You're lying. I've heard you all this time. Now," the expression grew even more irritated, "cut the act. It's annoying." He paused, now something else crossed his face. A look of acceptance. "After all, you're going to be staying with me for a while."
He shifted, and I saw that he had one of his hands cupped in front of him. In it was a tiny form. Black eyes looked at me, and I froze.
The small golden bird chirped. And I realized who and what was standing before me.
Death. Freedom. Possibly even life.
His wings spread. "It's not as if I have any choice."
A hand, the one not holding the bird, reached out to me. "I offer you freedom."
I stared at the hand. It was like the rest of him, almost glowing with its own light. Maybe it hadn't been the sun that made his hair that bright. And I noticed that I was mentally rambling.
He was Death.
But he offered freedom.
How long had I been here? How much longer would I stay here, if I turned this down? Snow and sun all swirled about in my head. Of suffocating silence and tantalizing warmth.
With trembling fingers, I reached out. The chains melted from my wrists, and he took my hand in his. His skin was cool against mine, which made no sense. He was bright, like the sun, he should be warm as well.
As darkness crept across my vision, it came to me. I had not been saved by the sun. I had been saved by both. Bright and cold, sun and snow.
And then the darkness was complete.
I don't know how long I've been here, staring out of stone bars as the years passed. The snow and the sun are the most vivid things that I remember. The sun as it shone down, sometimes warm and perfect, sometimes burning hot. So much so that I could feel it in my prison. And then there was the snow. It brought cold and silence. I think it's the silence that bothers me the most. When the sun shines, you can hear birds call and insects move restlessly in the dirt. But when it snows, all there is the faint howl of the winds, and even that seems dulled to the point that it doesn't exist.
I remember the bird. It was as bright as the sun. It sang, and it was alive. It was as if a tiny bit of the sun had come down to visit me, to bring the warmth that was living into my damp cave prison.
Then he came.
His hair was the same gold as the bird. For a moment, that was what had caught my eye. The sun was behind him, and it seemed to tangle in his hair, making the gold shimmer like fine cloth. I don't remember fine cloth, but for some reason, that's what his hair reminded me of.
Slowly, though, I saw the wings. Wings that arched up over his head, then trailed down to almost touch the ground. They looked soft, covered in the deepest colored feathers I had ever seen. Even the crows seemed washed out next to those dark feathers. So dark they had a violet overtone. As he stepped closer, I saw that his eyes were the same shade of violet. Pretty eyes.
The bird sat on my hand, and I could feel its heart racing. I was torn between fear, confusion, and happiness. I should have been afraid of this person, I knew that. That's why the bird shook on my hand, it was afraid. But, for some reason, I couldn't seem to be afraid. He meant something, something that I desperately wanted, but I didn't know what.
A pale hand slid out from the black robes that kept changing shape. I ignored the moving cloth, instead focused on that pale hand. How many years had it been since I had seen anyone? Before my bird had come, how many years had past since I had touched something living? I couldn't remember. All I could remember were the snow and the sun.
Suddenly, the bird took off. It had stopped shivering, I realized as I saw the sunlight flash off of it. Just like the stranger's hair. Then it fell. I lunged forward, forgetting about the chains until they caught and I was on the ground. I can move them, but it takes more leverage than I had at the second. All I knew was that the only thing I was friends with had just fallen.
My second attempt to reach it worked better, but I still couldn't do anything. I leaned against the bars, ignoring the sun-colored man, my arm stretched to the limit as I tried to reach my friend. It didn't seem right to let something eat it. If I could get it, at least I could do a little burial. Make it safe for a while.
Tears were running down my face, I could feel them, hot and wet. I wasn't really crying; it had been so long since I had really cried that I wasn't sure how to do it anymore. All that came from me were coughs and small gasps. Was that crying?
Then a robe moved to cover the bird, and I found myself once again looking at the strange man with wings. Why was he so familiar? His eyes seemed sad, but also angry.
"Hey, you the one who's been calling me?"
Calling him? "I..." I paused and coughed. My voice was rough, and it almost hurt to talk. When was the last time I had spoken? Why can't I remember things like that? Why can I only remember sun and snow? Clearing my throat, I try again.
"Huh? I haven't been calling anyone." I stare at him. Why is he so familiar? "Who are you?"
Those strange eyes narrowed, and a frown appeared on the stranger's face. He looked kinda irritated. There was a faint rustle as those giant wings shifted. "You're lying. I've heard you all this time. Now," the expression grew even more irritated, "cut the act. It's annoying." He paused, now something else crossed his face. A look of acceptance. "After all, you're going to be staying with me for a while."
He shifted, and I saw that he had one of his hands cupped in front of him. In it was a tiny form. Black eyes looked at me, and I froze.
The small golden bird chirped. And I realized who and what was standing before me.
Death. Freedom. Possibly even life.
His wings spread. "It's not as if I have any choice."
A hand, the one not holding the bird, reached out to me. "I offer you freedom."
I stared at the hand. It was like the rest of him, almost glowing with its own light. Maybe it hadn't been the sun that made his hair that bright. And I noticed that I was mentally rambling.
He was Death.
But he offered freedom.
How long had I been here? How much longer would I stay here, if I turned this down? Snow and sun all swirled about in my head. Of suffocating silence and tantalizing warmth.
With trembling fingers, I reached out. The chains melted from my wrists, and he took my hand in his. His skin was cool against mine, which made no sense. He was bright, like the sun, he should be warm as well.
As darkness crept across my vision, it came to me. I had not been saved by the sun. I had been saved by both. Bright and cold, sun and snow.
And then the darkness was complete.