Awake. Burningly awake. I always am, now.
I was born human, but many would not call me that now. Not since I started searching.
Here I stand. My back to the walls, and iron in the fire before me. The hot metal was the key, the key to my next step. I had experienced everything my eyes could give me. I had seen the blazing glory of the aurora, the desolation of the deserts, and the soft soft down on a ripe peach. I had experienced everything my eyes could give me. All things they could give. All but one.
I delve my hand, if you could call it a hand, into the dancing fire, and grasp the blood coloured length of metal. The tangy scent of iron, and the sickening stink of my own burning body now hangs in the air about me. I stand, grasping the poker in both hands before me, I hold it up, like a sword, like a knight - a knight would hold a sword, and thrust like so.
The pain. Alas that I no longer feel the need to scream, alas that I had experienced the ultimate pain that I could inflict on myself. For this would have been glory before I had.
The sound is what I will remember about this experience. Like a smith throwing his glowing work into cold water.
But that was but one blow, and I have two eyes. So the iron must be raised again.
"stop."
The voice didn't shout. It wasn't desperate or hurried. It wasn't a request so much as a certain prediction of what was going to happen.
The bloody wreck of a man turned, the sizzling poker clutched in it's hand, a smile or snarl twisted upon it's face. Whether it betrayed an emotion or was trapped forever in that expression would never be determined.
The speaker breathed in, and spoke again.
"There is another way".
The reply snapped back, barely coherant over the background noise of wheezes and growls that accompanied the breathing.
"There is not. Not. No other way. Only one way."
"You are mad. But then again, aren't we all."
"I am the sane one. The only sane one. I stayed awake for a long time. Long long time. Awake. Burningly. I came out the other side of the madness. Madness it caused." it sobbed.
"There are people who can give you what it is you desire. But I fear your remaining eye may be required if you are to find them, they too, are sane."
"Please!"
The only sane one shambled across the floor, his legs, if legs they were, didn't seem to move as a human leg should. He grasped the other figure by the shoulders, and stared insanely down at the speaker, his head turned to give the eye that was left the best view.
"Please, I must find them."
The stranger looked cooly at the desperate figure, though the fabric covering the stranger's shoulders was turning red.
"A box. You must find a puzzle box. You can find them with that."
"Where"
"I don't know."
"I have killed many."
"I do not fear you..... What was it like?"
"You should. Should you... Guilt is an interesting. A terrible sensation. But that extreme experience, too, is nothing anymore. Anymore. Tell me any more."
"I know no more. I wish to leave now."
"no."
But the figure ducked out of his grip, and slipped away, followed only by an agonised howl. The cry that can only be made when the most precious thing in the world is snatched out of reach.
But something fluttered after the figures retreating heels. Something white and soft. It followed them as far as it could, then exhausted fell to the floor again. A remnant of a hand spidered towards it, turning the white to red. Scrawled upon the white and red lay something as black as nothing. Symbols. A number. It was eleven digits long.
I was born human, but many would not call me that now. Not since I started searching.
Here I stand. My back to the walls, and iron in the fire before me. The hot metal was the key, the key to my next step. I had experienced everything my eyes could give me. I had seen the blazing glory of the aurora, the desolation of the deserts, and the soft soft down on a ripe peach. I had experienced everything my eyes could give me. All things they could give. All but one.
I delve my hand, if you could call it a hand, into the dancing fire, and grasp the blood coloured length of metal. The tangy scent of iron, and the sickening stink of my own burning body now hangs in the air about me. I stand, grasping the poker in both hands before me, I hold it up, like a sword, like a knight - a knight would hold a sword, and thrust like so.
The pain. Alas that I no longer feel the need to scream, alas that I had experienced the ultimate pain that I could inflict on myself. For this would have been glory before I had.
The sound is what I will remember about this experience. Like a smith throwing his glowing work into cold water.
But that was but one blow, and I have two eyes. So the iron must be raised again.
"stop."
The voice didn't shout. It wasn't desperate or hurried. It wasn't a request so much as a certain prediction of what was going to happen.
The bloody wreck of a man turned, the sizzling poker clutched in it's hand, a smile or snarl twisted upon it's face. Whether it betrayed an emotion or was trapped forever in that expression would never be determined.
The speaker breathed in, and spoke again.
"There is another way".
The reply snapped back, barely coherant over the background noise of wheezes and growls that accompanied the breathing.
"There is not. Not. No other way. Only one way."
"You are mad. But then again, aren't we all."
"I am the sane one. The only sane one. I stayed awake for a long time. Long long time. Awake. Burningly. I came out the other side of the madness. Madness it caused." it sobbed.
"There are people who can give you what it is you desire. But I fear your remaining eye may be required if you are to find them, they too, are sane."
"Please!"
The only sane one shambled across the floor, his legs, if legs they were, didn't seem to move as a human leg should. He grasped the other figure by the shoulders, and stared insanely down at the speaker, his head turned to give the eye that was left the best view.
"Please, I must find them."
The stranger looked cooly at the desperate figure, though the fabric covering the stranger's shoulders was turning red.
"A box. You must find a puzzle box. You can find them with that."
"Where"
"I don't know."
"I have killed many."
"I do not fear you..... What was it like?"
"You should. Should you... Guilt is an interesting. A terrible sensation. But that extreme experience, too, is nothing anymore. Anymore. Tell me any more."
"I know no more. I wish to leave now."
"no."
But the figure ducked out of his grip, and slipped away, followed only by an agonised howl. The cry that can only be made when the most precious thing in the world is snatched out of reach.
But something fluttered after the figures retreating heels. Something white and soft. It followed them as far as it could, then exhausted fell to the floor again. A remnant of a hand spidered towards it, turning the white to red. Scrawled upon the white and red lay something as black as nothing. Symbols. A number. It was eleven digits long.
