I remember. . .
Softness. Someone singing to me. I was . . . I was happy.
Happy? I do not know this word anymore. It sounds strange. Unnatural. Impossible to have been-happy. My life is not soft. Never soft. All black chains. Blacker rock. And flame. The red flame of torment fills my life. I long ago gave up counting the time. Hours, days, weeks, months, years are all the same.
I remember. . .
Sunlight. Gentle warmth on my face. The wind in my hair.
Sunlight? Wind? They are but dreams. The only warmth I know is the heat of pain. The burning of agony. I no longer know what these things are. Rather, what these things were. Do they exist still? Or have they gone? Have they gone the way of "happy"? I think they must have. Nothing can exist outside of this terrible hole in the rocks.
I remember. . .
Beauty. The songs of birds. A field of wildflowers. The stars.
Flowers? Birds? Stars? I know nothing of these things. I cannot see them. All I see through the ash and soot is more darkness. It never lifts. Even the flames of the torches seem to shed darkness rather than light. I do not know beauty.
I remember. . .
Love. Holding hands under the stars. Her sweet kiss. She was beautiful. Hair like the velvet of the midnight sky. Eyes the color of the ocean. Skin with the perfect smoothness of a peach. And her name was like music. What was it? Her name was--it was--
No! I don't want to remember. My life cannot have ever held these things. These mockeries. Beauty? What use have I for beauty? None! Destroy it. Destroy all of it! Softness? What can I do with softness? I am hard. Harder than these chains, this rock. Love! Worth nothing. Does it feed me? Clothe me? No! I need not this . . . love. I serve one master. And all he bids me, I will do.
I remember. . .
I killed her. At my master's bidding.
I killed her.
Softness. Someone singing to me. I was . . . I was happy.
Happy? I do not know this word anymore. It sounds strange. Unnatural. Impossible to have been-happy. My life is not soft. Never soft. All black chains. Blacker rock. And flame. The red flame of torment fills my life. I long ago gave up counting the time. Hours, days, weeks, months, years are all the same.
I remember. . .
Sunlight. Gentle warmth on my face. The wind in my hair.
Sunlight? Wind? They are but dreams. The only warmth I know is the heat of pain. The burning of agony. I no longer know what these things are. Rather, what these things were. Do they exist still? Or have they gone? Have they gone the way of "happy"? I think they must have. Nothing can exist outside of this terrible hole in the rocks.
I remember. . .
Beauty. The songs of birds. A field of wildflowers. The stars.
Flowers? Birds? Stars? I know nothing of these things. I cannot see them. All I see through the ash and soot is more darkness. It never lifts. Even the flames of the torches seem to shed darkness rather than light. I do not know beauty.
I remember. . .
Love. Holding hands under the stars. Her sweet kiss. She was beautiful. Hair like the velvet of the midnight sky. Eyes the color of the ocean. Skin with the perfect smoothness of a peach. And her name was like music. What was it? Her name was--it was--
No! I don't want to remember. My life cannot have ever held these things. These mockeries. Beauty? What use have I for beauty? None! Destroy it. Destroy all of it! Softness? What can I do with softness? I am hard. Harder than these chains, this rock. Love! Worth nothing. Does it feed me? Clothe me? No! I need not this . . . love. I serve one master. And all he bids me, I will do.
I remember. . .
I killed her. At my master's bidding.
I killed her.