Dreaming of Death
It was simply not meant to be.
In the mists of a city there was a lone figure. His presence was fiendish and towered above all else. A wave of hatred flowed from his heart. It tainted the streets and buildings. Even the citizens were unable to escape his piercing hatred. That night, the city experienced terror at the hands of its own people who were driven to insanity by the stranger's presence.
Though they tried to discover the source of the insanity their efforts were in vain. The man was unseen by the populace. Only those who could pierce death's hallowed veil would have glimpsed him. He cared not. He cared not for the people or for their suffering. His own insanity was driving his actions.
It was not meant to be. Of that, he was convinced. He despised what had happened with all of his mighty heart. There was no possibility of respite. His rage burned on as the city was drowned in terror and acts of unspeakable violence. He only wanted time to flow in reverse.
She, the angel of the north, had finally awoken. She had learned to spread her wings. She soared to freedom.
She abandoned him. She broke her word. She didn't know of any remorse. He despised her for that.
If only.
He roared to the darkening skies. The clouds rumbled furiously in response. Thunder roared at him. It was of no use. He was unreachable. He was neither alive nor dead. No thunder or storm could harm him.
No action could lead him to her side in the afterlife.
Author's Note: There is goodness in this story. There remains the love which cannot be bound by time. The peace of her afterlife. The sorrow resides in his inability to join her. Though there is a great sorrow in this work I do hope that you have enjoyed reading it. I apologise if you weren't satisfied but I am grateful that you read this story.
Part of the Revival Collection.