by
MorfinwenFire.
I remember that there was fire.
I remember the smell of burnt flesh
(whose is it?)
curling around the confined chamber, licking at the high marbles, swirling around the still and silent figures.
(sickly and pale, pathetic)
Father stood above me, arms raised towards the sky, eyes closed in a reverie of his own. What does he see?
(death; ash and smoke blown away on the wind!)
Mother, and Boromir. I see them, Mother sewing,
(she wastes away, there is nothing we can do
No, you must try, please!)
laughing at a hazy figure, fingers busy with her delicate needlework. Golden light hung in the air.
Faded.
(dead)
Boromir, his raven mane wet, shaggy, a cry of
(agony)
laughter upon his lips, face bright with
(it is agony.
Three arrows ...He cannot survive)
joy, splashing at a childhood friend
(me?)
a childhood friend Beregond, perhaps, or maybe Damrod?
A sheet of water rises, and it froths with bubbles, but the rest is frozen
(in the Anduin, a grey boat floats... The water is still)
like glass.
Then it comes all crashing down.
(all gone)
A great cry of agony...then no more.
End