Chapter eight:
He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, and hoped that sleep would come to him again. But, the quiet dripping of blood distracted him, and he found that rest eluded him, and, with it, the peaceful dreams that had brought solace to his broken mind.
Yet, though he could not fall asleep again, he refused to open his eyes, not yet wishing to once more gaze upon the corpses of his friends – nor did he wish to face the accusing gazes from their ghosts, as they came and went. There was almost always one of them, floating around the room and over the bodies, though, thankfully, neither had attempted to touch him. They had, in the beginning, reached for him with their icy hands, whispering the punishment the gods would extract upon him for having slain those who thought themselves their friend, and he had shied away, beyond the reach of those unmerciful hands that promised naught but more despair and torment.
To his relief, they had not attempted to grab him since, to bring to his soul the icy coldness that he had brought theirs. Never before had he feared death, always expecting his end to be found on the battlefield. Yet, now, facing his worst nightmare, he found death to be the last he wished for – it was hard enough for him to face the ghastly, pained images of his friends as they were, and he knew he could not yet manage to face them in the afterlife as well.
He could hear their muffled voices, speaking
from the realm of the death, time and again letting him know what he had
brought upon them, of how he had betrayed them…
A/N: Reviews! Me wantsa reviews!
