Wanderings End

by Livefox96

One-Shot A farewell to one of my favorite authors. Roger Zelazny. I find it to be a shame that so many people only remember the Amber series when he had so many short stories worthy of more praise

Across the silent plains, I wander.

The final Judgement has shattered the earth bringing ruin to man and beast alike, only a few plants thrive. The rest of the living were called long ago in a fury of sound, the graves are giving up their dead; a few feet away a skeletal arm thrusts its way up, the waiting souls reanimating their former bodies for a time, until they too are called to judgement before the throne of light.

I will be last one upon this earth, my Judgement will be the last, and the centuries of sin and grace alike ringing upon my soul remain un-weighed until the end. My Judgment will be the curtain call of this earth; for I am bound to it. The Wandering Jew; Bound by my folly and pride.

I watched as Rome burned. Was there when it was sacked by the Visigoth's. Byzantium founded. Watched as the tide of history broke around me; first cursing life, then embracing it. Wandering always from place to place; I travelled along the Silk Road beside Marco Polo, Sailed to America with Columbus. I have taken up and abandoned careers every fifty years, now a warrior; the heat of battle raging around me blood on my sword, next a wandering minstrel; telling my own tale to disbelieving ears.

I am always attracted to the end of things, at first it was simply a perverse sense of irony at the juxtaposition of standing in the center of the destruction knowing that when all the works of man are gone I alone will remain and remember. It is more than that now; I visit the dying, cities and empires as well as people: I collect their stories so I can pass them on because I am the only one who will do so.

I have watched many ends; I was there in Germany when the many turned against the few and blamed them for all their failings; I was there at the end of the railroads and as a wanderer felt sorrow for their passing. Now, at the end of all things I finally walk the earth alone, the cracked earth crunching under my feet as the death bells toll midnight and the deep graves release the last of their dead.

By this time they would be from before the city of Babylon; the dust of the earth reforms into bones; ethereal visions of the long dead, awaiting judgement. One by one, the long dead crumble into dust until I am alone with the dying stars and the sound of bells, and then there is nothing… Almost.