My World
by River-Spirit-Of-Anora
Chapter Four: Grim
Yeah, it's been a while, sorry. I'm trying to get back on schedule.
The wind churns slowly, rising mightily around me, as though it attempts to seize me and carry me someplace, far away. Or perhaps it means to tear this body to pieces.
Foolish thing, I shan't be moved, not shall I be torn. My body is falling apart; my mind has the deepest of scars, and memories that are forever out of my grasp. My soul, for it is indeed mine, it what lives on, strong and protected, though by another.
My hair is snapped out viciously around m head, to whirl around and snap me in the face. Abyssal hole, dug deep all around me. I wish for nothing more than to go sleep in the darkness. It has been many moons since I slept and I grow weary to the bone. Yet, I cannot die. Something within me balks at the idea, though I have no fear of death, yet it will not claim me.
I refuse to present myself before it. Damndable spirit, why will you not go?
Sweet sunshine, it burns me. Cool water, it drowns me. Tall trees, they rip this skin of mine.
I am alone, traipsing through the snow. It defies me, refuses to allow me to pass, yet when I lay still, hoping that through this horrid cold some lethal disease will come forth and claim me.
Alas, the wind tugs to my feet and orders me on. I try to stop each time to be urged on by some force that I know naught about.
Anger, I am angry at this world for daring to seem so cheerful when my blood is seeping out of my hearts, I can feel it running down my back. Oh, dear, I have likely stained my robe. I'll have to wash it.
The pool of blood grows ever larger, it surrounds me. Surely I have lost enough life to finally die. Alas, I keep walking leaving bloody footprints in my wake.
They stand their, giggling and holding my hand. For a moment I am tempted to snatch my handout of her grasp, but she and her fellows are young. This horrid world is yet to take its toll on them, they should be happy now, never knowing, never seeing as the joys of childhood slip through their fingers. They squeeze their hands later, they'll hold it to their heart, but the fight is futile.
For one day, when you aren't looking, it will slip away from you, leaving you stunned as you gaze at empty hands.
The darkness takes me, and I fall, but I still have things to go, places to go, lies to tell, and hearts to shatter. This accursed shell that walks with me within it still won't break.
Still, there is fury within me that refuses to leave. Why won't you go? Peace is a long-forgotten dream, but it is enthralling, reeking of the wonder of something that one knows little of. Peace would be lovely, but perhaps we could have it? This hell I wander in, I want to leave now.
I need to get out, to escape, to run. These brittle legs might break, but this heart that is broken keeps beating.
Salt streaks down my face, it scars my skin, routed channels that are all over my face. I reach up and run my fingers down the scar, it is deep and curved, I pressed into it a little harder, and don't even flinch as the pain explodes through me.
My eyes snap open, and there is an arrow stuck in my shoulder. So they heave figured it out, I leap down from my perch and begin walking.
As an afterthought, I look down to my hands. They are wet, with blood and tears.