Cole
Has she told you of my enforced death? Yet recounting the pain of it all is another matter not to be spoken casually of. When retelling of what we went through, caution must be our first priority for when we let our guard down our emotions will surge forward and tears will fall deep into a bottomless void. The excruciating torture of the past is a completely incomparable tale.
Part One: The hollow
How did you not see? The answer lay as clear as the glowing reflections of a babbling brook. Didn't you see I was struggling and battling an endless war inside of me? But you sat there; you did nothing even when I reached out with my last breath.
I had lost control over my own diminishing body; the source was roaming inside my mind, a forthcoming King only too eager to claim his long awaited kingdom. And he ruled that Kingdom, his pride and power ruling over my every vein. Every muscle, he controlled and tore the thin and fraying last thread intertwining my mind with my body. He broke that thread with one effortless sweep of his icy hands and I lost control.
He played the game all too well, his tactics cunning. His sly mind played tricks on you and like a magician he transformed meaningless words into an infatuating sanctuary for you to seek solace within. Covered your innocent eyes with a heavy drape of lies after lies. They burdened you and as small glimpses of hope began to shine through as your suspicions rose and boiled anticipating me to justify your quest for the truth buried deep inside of me. but no mistake slipped through the source's hands, never enough mistakes for you to detect the slightest suspicions of a dying husband wailing a last frail cry of what hope was left.
And so he won, like a miner struck gold, he rejoiced and it empowered him, he finally won the battle. I gazed with despairing stares through the narrow corroded cage of my body as the source toyed with my emotions. He closed his fist tight around every last fraction of my feelings and suffocated each of them and he strangled me. His hard bony fingers dug into my throat as he easily smothered me.
When I heard the question escape through the slim doorways of my soul, you asked me. you asked me on the bed if there was anything I wasn't telling you. How I wanted to yell out and scream out the unmistakable answer. I gathered my only remaining, disappearing scrap of strength and I tried, I tried to let the sound rip out of a body I no longer had struggling possession of.
I tried to urge and seduce the sound to trickle out of my dry cracking soul. The scars so deep they carved intricate patterns, and I tried to tempt the words to flow through these cracks of the dry valley. But the words never came. and like a perfect sculptor, the source shaped and crafted a single word, which detonated my fading essence into a million pieces as that word mocked me with an enticing whisper.
" ...... no...."
You never meant to wrench the gift of life away from me, I know. I know now, in the last slither of my soul, that you never meant to tug so violently on the precious, vital gift like a spoilt child. You would never intentionally take my last hopes, my fading dreams for us away from me. They drift away in the nameless sea, empty dreams and blank fantasies fill the void we both had been dreading in the tiny crevasse of our souls for so long.
Like a mother's warm embrace deserting a child, our hopes hung in the air, fragile and delicate. But at last the narrow, twisted road of our fate lead us to our inevitable ending. I keep repeating the words in the crumbly, weakening remains of my soul; they swim around my last puddle of thoughts. But they'll slow down. soon.
I reach out with my thrashing arms, flailing them wildly as my inner desperation reaches its climax. I long to breath, to feel the refreshing cool soothe of the sparkling air within my lungs. Am I sinking into such a dark, sinister pool of denial? Or did you really intend to stab those words so deeply into my already wounded soul. as expertly as an experienced torturer, you grinded my wounds deeper until fresh blood gushed freely. Only then did the torture seem to end.
My final recall in the brittle imprisonment of my mind was that when at last, at long last, the source released me and like a pathetic prisoner, shut out from the radiant sunlight for too long, I waited in sweet anticipation. Too blind from the sickening, glutinous web of our lost love, my hope soar forward on angel's wings when at last I saw you through my own eyes.
But the intoxicating perfume of smoke pervaded my nostrils and I knew. I knew why the source has discarded my body like a meaningless crinkled piece of rubbish into the soiled gutter. I knew you had slaughtered me and like a lion prowling its prey, you had hunted me down and at long last you had reached your long-overdue target and won your prize of my life.
Yet, has the knowledge, that I had no scrap of memory, not even a glimpse left in my mind, come to you? Or has that knowledge drifted past you, unnoticed and invisible through the glazy layer of tears?
I possess no understanding of what vile and tormenting games the source had forced you to play, but the real question, I long to hear the bitter answer to is why?
To what extent did the Source prolong his heartless games to drive you to be the slayer of my death?
Has she told you of my enforced death? Yet recounting the pain of it all is another matter not to be spoken casually of. When retelling of what we went through, caution must be our first priority for when we let our guard down our emotions will surge forward and tears will fall deep into a bottomless void. The excruciating torture of the past is a completely incomparable tale.
Part One: The hollow
How did you not see? The answer lay as clear as the glowing reflections of a babbling brook. Didn't you see I was struggling and battling an endless war inside of me? But you sat there; you did nothing even when I reached out with my last breath.
I had lost control over my own diminishing body; the source was roaming inside my mind, a forthcoming King only too eager to claim his long awaited kingdom. And he ruled that Kingdom, his pride and power ruling over my every vein. Every muscle, he controlled and tore the thin and fraying last thread intertwining my mind with my body. He broke that thread with one effortless sweep of his icy hands and I lost control.
He played the game all too well, his tactics cunning. His sly mind played tricks on you and like a magician he transformed meaningless words into an infatuating sanctuary for you to seek solace within. Covered your innocent eyes with a heavy drape of lies after lies. They burdened you and as small glimpses of hope began to shine through as your suspicions rose and boiled anticipating me to justify your quest for the truth buried deep inside of me. but no mistake slipped through the source's hands, never enough mistakes for you to detect the slightest suspicions of a dying husband wailing a last frail cry of what hope was left.
And so he won, like a miner struck gold, he rejoiced and it empowered him, he finally won the battle. I gazed with despairing stares through the narrow corroded cage of my body as the source toyed with my emotions. He closed his fist tight around every last fraction of my feelings and suffocated each of them and he strangled me. His hard bony fingers dug into my throat as he easily smothered me.
When I heard the question escape through the slim doorways of my soul, you asked me. you asked me on the bed if there was anything I wasn't telling you. How I wanted to yell out and scream out the unmistakable answer. I gathered my only remaining, disappearing scrap of strength and I tried, I tried to let the sound rip out of a body I no longer had struggling possession of.
I tried to urge and seduce the sound to trickle out of my dry cracking soul. The scars so deep they carved intricate patterns, and I tried to tempt the words to flow through these cracks of the dry valley. But the words never came. and like a perfect sculptor, the source shaped and crafted a single word, which detonated my fading essence into a million pieces as that word mocked me with an enticing whisper.
" ...... no...."
You never meant to wrench the gift of life away from me, I know. I know now, in the last slither of my soul, that you never meant to tug so violently on the precious, vital gift like a spoilt child. You would never intentionally take my last hopes, my fading dreams for us away from me. They drift away in the nameless sea, empty dreams and blank fantasies fill the void we both had been dreading in the tiny crevasse of our souls for so long.
Like a mother's warm embrace deserting a child, our hopes hung in the air, fragile and delicate. But at last the narrow, twisted road of our fate lead us to our inevitable ending. I keep repeating the words in the crumbly, weakening remains of my soul; they swim around my last puddle of thoughts. But they'll slow down. soon.
I reach out with my thrashing arms, flailing them wildly as my inner desperation reaches its climax. I long to breath, to feel the refreshing cool soothe of the sparkling air within my lungs. Am I sinking into such a dark, sinister pool of denial? Or did you really intend to stab those words so deeply into my already wounded soul. as expertly as an experienced torturer, you grinded my wounds deeper until fresh blood gushed freely. Only then did the torture seem to end.
My final recall in the brittle imprisonment of my mind was that when at last, at long last, the source released me and like a pathetic prisoner, shut out from the radiant sunlight for too long, I waited in sweet anticipation. Too blind from the sickening, glutinous web of our lost love, my hope soar forward on angel's wings when at last I saw you through my own eyes.
But the intoxicating perfume of smoke pervaded my nostrils and I knew. I knew why the source has discarded my body like a meaningless crinkled piece of rubbish into the soiled gutter. I knew you had slaughtered me and like a lion prowling its prey, you had hunted me down and at long last you had reached your long-overdue target and won your prize of my life.
Yet, has the knowledge, that I had no scrap of memory, not even a glimpse left in my mind, come to you? Or has that knowledge drifted past you, unnoticed and invisible through the glazy layer of tears?
I possess no understanding of what vile and tormenting games the source had forced you to play, but the real question, I long to hear the bitter answer to is why?
To what extent did the Source prolong his heartless games to drive you to be the slayer of my death?
