I liked writing this one a lot. It's more my kind of style, writing more abstract, emotion-based things. I used a lot more exclamation marks in this one, I have no idea why, it just felt right. Anyway, I hope you like this, and thanks for reading.
Gone
He can feel himself slipping away.
...
It's strangely comforting though, this ethereal tugging, he feels a curious sense of calm wash over him. It's like there's a gentle murmur confiding secrets to him in his ear, tugging him along, soothingly, persistently, like some kind of whisper-rope. Like there's a rope of voices around his waist, and its leading him to the unknown.
He closes his eyes, his spirit relaxes, as he floats in the aether.
...
And then, it hits him. He's dying. He's dying! He, a 4000 year old fairy Everafter, is dying!
Suddenly, he bursts awake in this strange nether realm, and the cord around his waist morph into chains, thick heavy chains that snake up to his stomach, choking him, strangling him. The voice is his ear grows in volume, agonising, a harsh scarring noise, the secrets it screeches are ones of pain, of slaughter, of the endless torment it will inflict on him.
He screams, writhes, pulls desperately at steel links, til his fingernails break, til his hands bleed. His eyes roll, his mind snap, his eyelids crash shut as he falls into a mindless stupor.
...
When he wakes, the fear has left him.
The only thing around his hips is the waistband of his jeans now, and the only thing he hears now is... is... nothing. He hears nothing.
He looks around... he sees nothing.
He places his hands on his face... he feels nothing.
What? What? Nothing?
Something rises in him, some kind of emotion, but he can't feel it, he doesn't know what it is. He knows he should be panicking, he knows he should be afraid, terrified, but inside him there is only an empty detachment.
There is only an eerie feeling of nothingness, so alien and foreign and strange, and yet he can't muster up the feeling to be scared.
He feels like a void, a black hole, a vortex that exists and yet there is nothing there. He does not feel his eyes shut, he does not feel his body fall limp.
He does not feel the fingers of sleep, as they drag him away.
...
He stirs. He wakes. He thrashes! Because now, what is this? What is he feeling? Everything! He feels everything!
His arms flex, his muscles tense, he groans as his body convulses with pain, with pleasure, with everything in between. Love, hate, joy, misery, his fingers clench and unclench, white-knuckled fists, sharp slicing palms.
He groans as he orgasms, cries out as a knife is plunged in his belly, tears of joy as his mother is discharged from hospital, tears of misery as his father dies under the surgeon's knife.
His senses overload, he almost wants them to disappear, his sixth, seventh, thousandth sense roar to life, his skin is peeling off in the house fire, he's so cold why is the sea so cold?, his head snaps back, his neck muscles jerk, and he collapses.
...
Finally, its over. Finally, he dies, the soul leaves the body, the ghostly wings unfurl.
He sighs in relief, and welcomes the end with open arms.
So what'd you think? I tend to write about a lot of death, and I typically write from the mourner's perspective, so I thought it'd be interesting to write from the person-who's-dying's perspective this time. This was originally meant to be a part of a collection of drabbles I'm writing, but I ran out of words and I had too much I wanted to include in it so I just elaborated on it, made it a new chapter, and put it in here. Anyway, you're probably not interested, thanks for reading and please review.