On the precipice of life and death
The streets were dark and ominous, the long shadows reflected in the streetlights above. But there was a feeling of festivity in the crisp evening air, and the slight breeze whisking through the night carried with it the merry laughter of bustling people on the streets excitement was palpable and was displayed in the bright colorful costumes, captivating masks and enticing smells of food on every street corner. The bright sounds and streetlamps lit up the square and blurred together until one couldn't be sure where the one person ended and another began; their shadows flitting across and melding with one another like ripples in a pond.
No one noticed the man slipping through the crowds of Italy; for he was a shadow himself. He was tall, formidable, cloaked in midnight, which contrasted his stark white hair and trimmed white mustache, slicked back in an orderly, professional fashion. He had a commanding presence, of which one got the feeling he should tread very lightly in this man's presence. Altogether, his outward appearance should certainly have drawn some attention. But he moved like a panther, and those on the square did not take any notice of him, far too concerned with their celebrations.
But there was one who did see. The man was old now, and dying of nothing but the epidemic called old age of which there is no cure. He was alone; there was no one else now. He had done many things in his long life, some of which had faded into the catacombs of his own mind, and some of which still seemed to lurk in the ones of his own home. Still, there was one memory he could never quite forget.
Though he could not take part in the festivities below, the old man sat by his window and watched the swirling colors through the bay window in the upstairs room he was now confined to. He could not walk, but his eyes were as sharp as his tongue, and from the window he was the only one who noticed the man slithering like a snake through the throngs of people, his stature not unlike a predator ready to attack its prey. The old man wondered why no one else took notice of this foreigner, for it was obvious that he was not from here, nor was he here for this year's Carnival. He had the outward appearance of a man quite bored with his life, but hidden beneath the façade was the calculated amusement of a madman searching for his next victim. The old man knew this, of course, because men of the shadows always recognize their own kin.
The colors of the celebration below faded to canvas the stark figure making his way towards the old mansion on the street corner. He purposefully strode up the walkway, sharply reaching up to knock on the old man's front door, but then pausing. The man smiled to himself ruefully, maliciously…for, of course, there was no need for that particular pleasantry. Instead, he opened the door with a resonating creak and shut it softly behind him. The sound of his boots on the wooden staircase became sharper and louder as they neared the bedroom. Oddly, the old man felt no need to be afraid. Why should he be afraid of dying when he already was? Then the footsteps stopped. The old man turned expectantly in his chair by the window. All at once the door was forcefully pulled open and in the mysterious man walked. He leisurely meandered in, as if what he was about to do was not at all a great significance (which it probably wasn't) and as if he had other, better places he wanted to be (which he probably did). The two stopped and stared for a moment, each their gleaming eyes appraising each other. Then the old man spoke.
"It is you" the old man said.
"Yes. It is I," the other replied. "Hello old friend."
"What brings you here, during this hour? You know it's hard to be inconspicuous during Carnival."
"That, my old friend, depends on the person. Rest assured, I did not have a hard time blending in. As for why I am here, you must know the answer."
"I am dying." The old man deadpanned his sharp eyes staring unwaveringly ahead. "This I have known for a while, I think. But you did not answer my question. You seldom take time to visit old friends, when you are off gallivanting across the globe. So tell me, what is it you want from a dying man?"
The bemused look in the hunter's eyes abruptly vanished, taking the old man aback.
"Tell me Montresor…what do you think happens when we die?"
Montresor blinked in shock. No, he had not been expecting this question.
"Well, I suppose there are only two options: an afterlife, or nothing at all. The real question lies in your beliefs." he replied sagely.
The other man pondered that statement for a moment. Just when the old man believed he was not going to answer, the hunter spoke.
"I think there must be more to life than aimlessly living a hundred years—if we may be that lucky— on this miserable planet. Only…I do not think there is only a heaven or a hell. The gray areas in our lives are far too dissimilar, and what one person might think is right, may be somewhere in the wrong for another." He stopped suddenly, for he had a certain knack for talking far too much.
"Well there you are my friend. You have answered your own question. Now what in the world did you need me for?" asked the old man.
Suddenly, almost involuntarily the hunter blurted out, "To which place do you think we shall go? For you and I, though for our own justifications, have done the same deeds. We have both murdered innocents. On second thought, you may end up somewhere else after all."
"Yes, you killed your friend," the hunter quickly interjected, interrupting the old man's attempt at protest, "but I have killed so many more for no good cause but my own frivolous pleasure. Without any guilt, I may add, as you have felt a speck of remorse over these long years, though you try and conceal it. But I know, you old fool. I know."
They eyed eachother for a minute before the old man spoke up.
"I think it is probable that we shall end up in limbo together. We are not good people, no dispute there. But I feel that in the end we are not quite deserving of eternal fire, nor eternal love. We shall end up stuck in a never-ending state of in-between, until the day comes when we are made pure. If the day comes. First, we must repent, and that is something I am not quite sure people like you and I could do in clear conscience. Then, we may be given up on, and cast out."
The old man noticed the grim look the hunter was sending him, and asked, "Why so grim, my friend? I am not afraid of death. I have not feared death for fifty years. How can you fear death when you have condemned others to it?"
The hunter himself knew the time had come to reveal the true reason for his visit.
"You are the more sensible of the both of us then. For in my own last moments I could not come to terms with the looming darkness so suddenly set before me. My mind was consumed with my fear and my guilt…and then I felt nothing at all and time seemed to stretch out in front of me like an endless ocean. That is what dying felt like to me, but yet I did not know I was dying. And then it seemed like I had woken up from a horrible dream, where I had died in my own foolish hunt, and had been condemned to eternal wandering. Only…it was not a dream. And so here we are."
The old man could not speak. If he could have, he would not have had the words to say.
"You don't mean to tell me that…" he trailed off, afraid to voice his treacherous thoughts lest they be true.
"Yes, yes I'm dead, let us get on with our incredulity," Zaroff spoke callously, waving it off as if it were a mere trifle. Then he abruptly sobered, warily eyeing Montresor before beginning again. "I am no longer a part of this world, but you will soon be a part of mine. For we do share the same fate, you and I. Unless…unless you repent. This is what I have come here to ask you, though you know not how. Do not make the mistake of countless others. Do not fall into the same trap sprung from your pride, as others have done." With a sudden burst of uncharacteristic passion the hunter begged his friend, sharp eyes filled with dread and anger like a smoldering fire. "Do not condemn yourself to an afterlife of shadow. Promise me this."
Overcome, the old man vehemently nodded, and finally choked out his decision, "I will not. I will not."
It suddenly seemed as if a shadow was lifted from the hunter's face, and a great weight lifted off his shoulders. An almost mischievous smile crept onto his face as he said, "Well then, now that the matter is settled, I shall bid you goodbye. I can say with good conscience that I hope to never see you again."
And then he was gone.
A.N.
Hello...it's me.
I've come back from the virtual dead to publish this completely random short story that isn't really even fandom related. After receiving a review on one of my works, I went back to just like check it out, since I haven't in a while. When I did, the perfectionist in me immediately found all of the awkwardness (and a few pesky errors that slipped by me) and required that I go through and edit them to achieve peace of mind. I'm about halfway through that right now...taking a pause during AP testing, in an effort to not use this as a means of procrastination when I ought to be studying. But the point of this long explanation is that in doing my editing, I found this piece of writing I did sophomore year, and decided what the heck, let's see how this would do. I couldn't really find the category for it so...its just categorized as a misc. work.
Regardless of whether anyone wants to read it, I bestow it upon you, my humble readers.
If you actually like it, feel free to drop me a review...as always, feedback is most welcome.
If you're thinking "why is this even on here?" then well, you're not alone, but maybe drop a review anyhow.
And if you maybe want to comment on the kind of pretentious and unplanned theological discussion that just decided to happen at the very end, and then had to be cut down due to assignment parameters (those English teachers, always telling you you can't go over page limits)...well, review or PM me with your thoughts. ;-)
Thank you for reading,
-Courtney
a.k.a SarcasmFont