Compendium Impetus
At the stage of infinitum, -when no time travels, where no space dwells- there was a man. Conceivably shroud, with a frame of tallness, fake gawkiness, and a darn hooking hair. Enfolding his body within a hooded wedge of cloak which shriveled off cyphers of immeasurable deaths and misfortune. He was given the knowledge of nothing, not thoroughly altered from being a nonentity at all.
Jarvis, his appellation was.
"What am I?"Thought he. Gazing, with muddled eyes full of incarnated tears and jiggling diminutive eyelashes, at his hands that were filled with impenetrable desiccated blood. The more he gazed, the more he forgot about his thoughtful question. And consequently, dwarfing his upper body down to his drowsy knees and settled. Formally anxious, he was. Duplicating the movement of his fingers and pacing them once and for all to allow his caressing bones greater easement. He looked very disquieting and disturbed, as if he had done something, rather wrong.
"Where am I?" thought he, once again, gazing with his blurred eyes at wherever around him, and nothingness there was; not much of darkness or obscurity neither that of lightness, nor what's in between.
A stray wind puffed in vacuums, pulling off his hoodie cloak and showing a blameless parts of his bonce and warm arms.
For reasonable resolutions, as it should be; the man gave a second gaze around, only this time with an abysmal breath and a cringing belief that he would distinctly discern his what and his where.
On the opposed direction, something rather odd showed up, a phantom, a nimble within lights. Something that only those who eventually perished shall see.
Shriveling in an accord response to that phantom, the man quickly pulled his cadaver up and stood in balance above what seemed to be, until now, nothingness.
A voice of proposal came hanging upon those vicious winds, and shoved.
"I've conceivably declared unsympathetic warfare upon your already demised corpse, for you shall perish and be no more. Your variety looms instinctively rather subliminally the well-being of others like I. You fetched this on yourself for being such a deserter buttoning up his high anticipations and faiths on someone who's unavailable for thee emotional dearth." –Uttered a voluptuous woman.
She was totally lightened, with a clairvoyant perspective in her eyes. With buttery horns made of a seraph's broken halo. She reached her hand to the man as he was grasping the connotation of what she half-heartedly alleged, perplexedly mixed with trying to fathom his existence. She pursued her hand's reaching by a garb of disillusion and disbelief, regarding the lone man with fright sentiments and sometimes curiosity contemplation.
Jarvis didn't reach his hand in return, -for many reasons, one of them is that he was tremendously tired of reaching his hand to people, when all he got was disappointments-. He merely looked at the woman, vaguely, and burst a lengthy gape of constellation at her whitish hand.
"What are you?" Asked he, with a trembling voice of inquisitiveness and incompleteness. In a blink of an eye, she vanquished him with a word.
"I am what you made." Puffed she, enthusiastically and with a pucker in her brows, bringing demise into whatever looks at her. "And I am here to finish your existence, creator."
Jarvis's tallness was not even to be matched with hers. Shoulders were partaking immensities and equilibrium upon his corpse. His eyes were darker than black and purer that the ocean, for as they reside under his humble hair, and specular mane.
"I don't remember anything." Said he, with a more confident tone.
"Of course you do not, and you shall never do. I flanged you here, to Limbo." She quickly responded.
"Limbo?"
"You are factually, substantially, psychosomatically lifeless."
He paused for a countless moment, beat his thoughts to remembrance and witnessed flashback of prude postponements and desolation, regardless of his integrity with life goons and potential jealousy. He bowed on his knees and prayed.
"Spare me, salvage me." Whispered he.
"Only I, Shall do."