A Different Perspective of the Fall
Here again he paused abruptly of his reading about Ethelred. The continuous pausing of his speech constricts the reminder. The reminder of the flash, the reminder of the crash, of the thumps, and the bumps. The reminder that constantly, sickening constricts around my mind. How this benighted, candid fool of a friend has let the beating beneath the floor boards evade him. The clear depths that watches my frazzled actions haunt me with pity. Pity that I neither need nor want, but wished to be transformed into that of belief.
As if I was Aladdin releasing the deity from his confines, my wish of three have generously been granted. Oh how glorious the tide of fear has washed over angst stricken body. He finally heard the dragon's scream, and the ring left from Ethelred's mighty sword as it hit the radiant scales made as if from steel. I myself believe to be blessed for my dear friend may not see Nevermore tonight. But my hope become lost like a distant memory. He continues with that dreadful book. He heard, but did not listen. What I thought to be a wish granted, was null, but instead the reality setting into doubt.
My body, although unbroken; resembles nothing more than a carcass of skin and bones. Through my years of being an Usher, I have seen the timely bond between the house, and the decedents of the Usher House. My withering body resembles that of the decaying land. I know the House of Usher shall fall with me tonight, but I wish the frigidness of those skeletal hands that tap on the windows tonight will not snake around my friend's zoetic soul. He shall not ride with Charon across the rivers of Styx and Acheron tonight. His pattern of speech follows Charon's boat though, the constant rocking, the constant breaking between passages drift into a void within my mind. I no longer wish for him to stop; I no longer care to hear the tired voice that drips with doubt, and on the occasion fear. This back and forth motion of his emotions and actions he so blindly follows leaves me sick every time he brushes off the warnings as if it was a measly fly. Looking out the cracked window upon the (once cared for, vibrant dreamscape) now cold, desolate nightmare of a land, I feel more with the house as time drizzles by with each drop of rain. I feel the beating of the rain against the shudders as if it was my own head instead. I feel the breakage of the shriveled trees as if they were my own bones breaking within my withering hands. Each hill and mountain being pelted by rain is felt upon the ridges and alleys of my wrinkled skin. Each added blemish, and subtracted beauty or color is reflected upon my own shivering, sickeningly form. There is no denying that Nevermore has found me and this house. Its majestic shadow already surrounds us, but not my dear friend. My friend's breathing soul protects his form in a glowing light, that shields the darkness away from his ignorant form, but as he continues with that blasted book, the shield shrinks, and darkness creeps forward.
The question that runs through my mind is why?! Why will he not listen to the repetition of signs?! Why can he not see what is around him? I know he did his own investigation, when we were but a child, surrounding the mystery of the Usher House. I know that he saw the patterns between the few decedents of Usher; although contributed, remained mysterious in every way. I know that when he stepped onto the land that resembles the people he could see that the house has become the House. The house grew with the House, the house lived as the House lived, and the house dies once the last breath of the House dies too. Why does he not listen to me?!
Lady Madeline walks with the living, I can see it, the house feels each brush of a bloody limp foot, but my friend denies the simple retched belief! So I laugh. I begin to chuckle, leading to a cackle, and finally a full bloated laugh as the universe gives more signs that continue to be ignored. How ironic the situation has turns. The man who came to assist is needed assistance instead. The shadows that inched towards him, receded briefly with the clashing of the windows blown open, and the sword crashing against steel which light up the sky. I laugh as he rushes to close the dreadful windows because the grotesque skeletal arm made of darkness and death is almost upon him. I laugh because what he took as muttering of the insane, is instead words of truth being proven true to his ears. She, the House, and I are tied to the house. The doors are blown pen as the room welcomes the mask of red, the raven, and the pending pendulum that swings to strikes us down. I laugh because my wish from the monkey claw has been granted. He sees what I see. He listens to what his instincts have been telling him since returning here. He knows the truth of which I have been telling, and warning him. He finally believes!
Nevermore already flies over me, the mask of red covering me, the pendulum swinging against me, because there are no rats to save me. My friend has the salted meat, and he is the one that will escape from the fall of the House of Usher.