Vincent - Reminiscing
X
He's slumbering, but his repose is not peaceful. It is the sleep of the tortured, of the damned--fragmented memories and images made jagged by emotions unpleasant. Ebony lashes flutter against pale cheeks, eyes hiding beneath darting to and fro in dream state apprehension. Words crawl their way up a throat unused to fall whispered from lips cold and white-–prayers, pleas, confessions.
He is unaware that even now, beyond this satin inlaid coffin that has become his place of exile, people have gathered and are wondering, bemused, what lies within. He does not know that haunting these people is a part of the past he has fled from, has hidden from, for many long years. All he knows are the nightmares, the bitter recollections that dog him always; they are his penance, he knows, for all he has done.
And when the lid is removed from his prison, when his body is awash in light, his crimson eyes open slowly, reluctantly, to a world he wishes he could forget. He observes the small crowd and feels nothing, and in a voice hoarse from lack of use he tells them emotionlessly to leave him be. They comply, and pulling the heavy lid shut back over him he takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. He needs-–he wants--to find the torment that sleep promises him, to seek out again the bitterness and the piercing sorrow he will experience when in the grasp of remembrance …
It is the only place he can see her again.
X