I was. . .
Dead?
How could that ever be?
I thought I'd never die.
Never believe the inevitable, I had always told myself.
Look where it had gotten me.
* * *
I remember those few moments before my death.
I had been looking in a mirror. Staring, finally recognizing myself. I had finally seen who I was in that old full-length mirror. Was. . .or had been?
Long, waist-length gray-white hair hung loosely about me. When I had moved, it flowed silently behind. Once I stood still, it would sway momentarily and then stop dead in its place. 'My eyes have dulled,' I thought to myself. 'No longer are they the seductive, mysterious brown they once were. Now, they are somber and dark.'
From my eyes I then gazed about to my skin, holding my hands, palm down, before me. I glanced once to the mirror image, and then once at them with my own eyes.
Pale. There was no olive-brown anymore. Even I could barely teel I was of Greecian lineage, myself.
I departed from the mirror. For some reason it only disheartened me. Now that I am free, I have thought it saddened me only because it made me realize the hour of death was upon me.
I returned to my beloved wooden rocking-chair. It had given me comfort for those past two years. I had hidden out in my lonely cottage in the middle of the woodlands. Alone and with memories.
Ah yes. Memories. Many a time had I been locked away, either in some jail or other or in the long-lost castle of Alahar. I had escaped from the prisons. And now Alahar was nothing but a ruin.
I trembled, picking up a 9"x10" portrait from the wicker table beside the rocker. Using my free hand I covered my mouth as I coughed. I had not been well the past 6-months. It was an ongoing war between me and my illness. I do not yet know what it was that plagued me so; I can only guess it was influenza. The virus cells overtook my body and wore down the white blood cells and anti-bodies. Influenza, the wore away my immune system until it was nothing but a dilapidated wreck.
Ah, how those words remind me so much of Alahar. . .
May it's remaining rubble burn in the fires of hell.
I glanced quickly to the window. The sun was almost gone as the moon rose gallantly into the sky. As the sun's final rays disappeared, I wheezed. A poetic thought came into my head then: 'And as the sun's final threads of light disappear beyond the horizon, I now realize my time had finally set. . .'
At least, it had seemed poetic at the time.
With one last wheeze I glanced back to the photo and took with that glance the chance to remember three women who had made life an exciting, but perpetual nightmare for many people.
'Carmen. . . Marisa. . .'
The picture fell from my grasp as my eyes closed and I fell forward from the chair unto the floor.
Dead?
How could that ever be?
I thought I'd never die.
Never believe the inevitable, I had always told myself.
Look where it had gotten me.
* * *
I remember those few moments before my death.
I had been looking in a mirror. Staring, finally recognizing myself. I had finally seen who I was in that old full-length mirror. Was. . .or had been?
Long, waist-length gray-white hair hung loosely about me. When I had moved, it flowed silently behind. Once I stood still, it would sway momentarily and then stop dead in its place. 'My eyes have dulled,' I thought to myself. 'No longer are they the seductive, mysterious brown they once were. Now, they are somber and dark.'
From my eyes I then gazed about to my skin, holding my hands, palm down, before me. I glanced once to the mirror image, and then once at them with my own eyes.
Pale. There was no olive-brown anymore. Even I could barely teel I was of Greecian lineage, myself.
I departed from the mirror. For some reason it only disheartened me. Now that I am free, I have thought it saddened me only because it made me realize the hour of death was upon me.
I returned to my beloved wooden rocking-chair. It had given me comfort for those past two years. I had hidden out in my lonely cottage in the middle of the woodlands. Alone and with memories.
Ah yes. Memories. Many a time had I been locked away, either in some jail or other or in the long-lost castle of Alahar. I had escaped from the prisons. And now Alahar was nothing but a ruin.
I trembled, picking up a 9"x10" portrait from the wicker table beside the rocker. Using my free hand I covered my mouth as I coughed. I had not been well the past 6-months. It was an ongoing war between me and my illness. I do not yet know what it was that plagued me so; I can only guess it was influenza. The virus cells overtook my body and wore down the white blood cells and anti-bodies. Influenza, the wore away my immune system until it was nothing but a dilapidated wreck.
Ah, how those words remind me so much of Alahar. . .
May it's remaining rubble burn in the fires of hell.
I glanced quickly to the window. The sun was almost gone as the moon rose gallantly into the sky. As the sun's final rays disappeared, I wheezed. A poetic thought came into my head then: 'And as the sun's final threads of light disappear beyond the horizon, I now realize my time had finally set. . .'
At least, it had seemed poetic at the time.
With one last wheeze I glanced back to the photo and took with that glance the chance to remember three women who had made life an exciting, but perpetual nightmare for many people.
'Carmen. . . Marisa. . .'
The picture fell from my grasp as my eyes closed and I fell forward from the chair unto the floor.