I own nothing.
Prompt: Decay. Character focus: Dante.
Rot, wither, die.
This is the cycle of the world.
Things come into existence, and then they begin to rot, they wither, and they die.
They are followed by newness, by youth, by birth- but that too will start to rot. That too will wither. That, too, will die.
All things will decay. All things will die.
And now, I am dying.
This is not how it is supposed to work!
No. I do not die. I cannot die. I will not- I'm rotting.
No!
Rot, wither, die. That is the cycle, that is how things go for everyone but me.
I am forever.
So why- why can't I stop it? This rot...
I am immortal. I do not die.
I can feel myself decaying. But it cannot be so. I am not, I cannot be decaying. I cannot rot.
I can smell dead flesh.
No. I do not die!
I am lying to myself but I can't admit it, I won't admit it. If I admit it then it will become real, and it is not real. No. It cannot be real.
I collapse in front of the mirror as I see a little more rot, a little more decay. I can smell the stench of death and I'm dying- no, I'm already dead. I want to scream.
No! It's not there. I am not rotting. I am immortal, immortal!
If I lie to even myself, then maybe the rot will go away.
Tears fall down my cheeks.
It seems even the dead can weep.