Abyss

A man's tale from the depths, Based on a writing prompt I found online.

I must flee this place at once, for I can feel the cold breath of Hades seeping through the walls to lull me into my final rest. An unfamiliar voice has crept into my dreams, digging its tenebrous claws into my mind. Before the dawning of the morrow, the hand of God will reach down from on high and sunder me from life. He would see me cast lower, even unto the pits of Hell! This I cannot abide, for I have not yet seen justice for the grievances I laid bare before Him. Who decreed that I must be the one to suffer?! For what purpose do the voices of the damned torment my every waking moment?! If I must fight for the rest of my existence, or even if I must unfurl myself beyond this mortal coil to tether God to this plane, I will have my answers.

 

In truth, the root of these desires seems over the horizon of where I exist now. The twisting halls of this dungeon have long been the only shelter I have known, death rattles and anguished cries the only melodies to defile my ears, with the rattling of bones creating an uncanny rhythm to support this morbid chorus. There is no sun to indicate the limping gait of each day, the only signs of the passage of time are new corpses found in the recesses of this pitiless sanctuary, which grants us only undeath in the guise of salvation. But, I digress. My endless trek through these halls has made me lose that which defined me. The monotony of each day, surveying every crevice in search of a morsel of light or a meager draft, has left me jaded and hopeless. Pushing beyond mortal limits to abide this bone piercing chill, only to collapse from exhaustion and wake neck deep in cadavers. As time passed, I began stripping the skins and pelts of the unlucky denizens who passed before me to keep from freezing to death, and in the process stripped away pieces of my humanity bit by bit. The stench of rot permeates every corner of this accursed place, fouling the taste of every rat hunted and mushroom foraged. Even the scant drops of water gathered in dirty puddles on the ground smell of eggs and taste of iron. As each day passes, I slowly lose more pieces of myself to the gloom which encroaches upon my very being. Left with naught but a mantra, "Leave this place, find who put you here.” At one point, the purpose of my imprisonment was better known to me, but any recollection of those details has long since slipped through the sieve of my mind in its frantic battle to stay alive. Even so, with these words as a target, my feelings as a bow, and the knowledge of these depths as the arrow which will fly towards the manifestation of my desires, freedom is on the horizon.

 

The exact amount of time is unknown, but I have stalked these halls for what feels like an eternity and know its darkness like no other. With this knowledge at my back, there are three advantages in my favor. The hand of God will breach these walls from the outside to find me here, and in doing so will open a passage to the outside. Even if only for a moment, I will have a way to escape. There are only two places where they will be able to make the trip to the depths to find me. The central lift is the most notable, but it is located in a large open hall packed to bursting with undead. Even the most fearsome warrior would struggle to abate such an onslaught, so that leaves the southeastern staircase, near the prisoner’s chambers. It opens at the end of a long hallway of locked cells, with more running perpendicular to it. He will expect little resistance in this secluded and secure area of the dungeon, and therein lies my opportunity. In my time here, I've also developed a bit of an understanding with the locals. At first, hiding or running in fear were the only options available to me. Over time, my resolve to fight hardened into something powerful enough to fight back with, but their tenacity is not to be underestimated. Beating them back time and time again, only for them to get back up and pursue me was disheartening, to say the least. Compounded with everything else the dungeon threw at me, I eventually gave up. With a self-derisive sneer, I threw myself headlong into their ranks, just praying for this suffering to end. But God seemed to have other plans, as they ignored me. Flat on my back and utterly gobsmacked, I can only lay there and let out a sardonic cackle. Whether it stems from their familiarity with me, or the rotten flesh I've cloaked myself in, the undead have begun to ignore my presence. Used in conjunction with the cell key I found on a dead guard, this will be the crux of my plan to escape.

 

My final and most powerful advantage is my desperation. For years have I toiled away in this place, fighting against the despair to find a way to make things right. Through starvation and dehydration, grievous injury and moral decline, I have dedicated every fiber of my being to my struggle for survival on the back of the slim hope that one day I may be free of this place. So much so that any recollection of my purpose here, or even of the person I was before has completely vanished from me. And now, on this night, a man sets out from the land of the sun to find me here. That will be his greatest mistake, for the sun's love cannot reach you here in this place adjacent to the nadir of existence. He is but a man, no danger could ever outweigh his own life, so for what cause does he fight that could ever hope to match my desperation? A warrior fights for pride and honor, or to protect those he loves. I am no prized quarry, nor am I a threat to anyone in this place. A holy man would fight for duty, but in that case would his duty not be to vanquish the animate lifeless husks from these halls and free me? Or has God himself decided that my cries in the night are a nuisance? Does my frantic scurrying for survival amount to little more than a rat in the walls to him? Well then I should prepare a warm welcome for my guest, for as the saying goes, "Even a cornered rat will bare it's fangs".

 

With my preparations complete, I lay in wait with bated breath. As soon as the man steps into the hall in front of him, but before the gate behind him closes I must break for the gap and escape before he can catch me. Malnourished and feeble, I could offer little resistance should he spot me and attack without warning. Thus, my plan hinges on this key and the undead's tendency to ignore me. I fully opened the first cell on the right in direct sight of his entrance, and about 20 on both ends of the perpendicular halls. Then I unlocked, but did not open the cells closest to where he will enter. The skeletons and zombies in the cells do not have the intelligence to open the gate, even if it is unlocked. Though they will wildly bash themselves against their cages to hunt down their prey once they smell him coming. While he focuses on the enemy in front of him, the cells to his left and right will fly open, releasing even more problems for him to deal with. In that moment of distraction, I will make my escape. Though I can recognize him for what he is, merely a tool for God to bring about his own ends, I cannot afford mercy at a time like this. I do not wish to be a murderer, nor do I wish to make others suffer the way I have, but I cannot stay in this place any longer. The last dregs of humanity are draining from my soul and if this, my greatest opportunity yet, is all for naught, then despair will be all that's left to me in this place. What will become of me then? When the final piece is ripped away and shattered, what will be left in it's place? In the end, only time will tell.

 

The rumble of the earth, and shrill grinding of steel sound the trumpet for this trial. Darting toward the entrance, my eyes spot a strangely dressed titan of a man. His height a towering 2 meters, garbed in a black jacket with no coat tails, and slim-fitting slacks that cuff at the ankles. His vest is adorned with gold buttons and there is a thin black strip of cloth wrapped around his neck, under the collar. At his waist is a small staff of some sort, with an intricate twisting handle and a head that glows with the warmth of a hearth stoked by your mother. The only familiar thing about him is the large gold-trimmed book bound in black leather that sits bound to his hip by thin pieces of delicate cloth. Being marked with a cross sigil makes it clear that he is some kind of holy man, though I cannot tell from where he hails. He raises his hand to his ear, speaking aloud in a language I do not understand. My atrophied muscles creak from the tension as I shrink deeper into the cell, bracing for whatever manner of spell or catastrophe might come from such ominous words. Time grinds to a halt alongside his voice. One. Two. Three. My body nearly collapses as a breath of relief escapes me in the realization I'm safe for the moment. This shall be my one and only chance, if I cannot bring myself to focus this opportunity will slip away forever. 

 

The denizens of the dungeon smell him coming and begin to pound against the inside of their cages. A cacophony of groans and crashes reverberate through the stone halls. The rattling chains of those who died bound, creates a sick kind of harmony with the icy air and putrid stench, placing the true nature of this hell on a pedestal for all who enter to see. Wary of his flanks, but undaunted by the sounds occurring around him, he steps forward toward the single enemy in his sight, unaware that he is stepping directly into the ant-lion's pit. As he presses forward, I sink deeper into the wall so that I am not seen, slowing my breath and waiting for the perfect moment. With a single strike. he bludgeons the opponent I set up as a diversion; the igneous glow slowly enveloping it before dissipating upwards like snow in reverse. Suddenly, the crash of metal striking assaults my ears, as the cells in the adjacent halls fly open releasing their ravenous residents.  The undead at the end of each hall lurch their path to the epicenter where every shambling corpse would converge on him. I watch from the fifth cell on the left in the main hall, out of sight but close enough to run when the time comes. As he is surrounded, an uneasy rhythm begins, driven by the lumbering steps of the crowd and the heavy palpitations of my own heart. 

 

He frantically uses his left hand to pull out his holy tome. The pages flip seamlessly before stopping, as if they have a mind of their own. He raises his staff high in the air with his right. His mouth opens as if to read, but the polytonal sounds that spill forth from his lips leave me frozen in awe. As if a chorus of men stood before me, chanting in unison. The fiery end of his weapon glowing ever brighter. The voices crescendo from line to line, as if trying to crush the opposition with the power of sound alone. The act could be seen as confidence or bravado, had his countenance not betrayed his heart. Abject terror. Regret. Sadness. Instinctively I look away, his face acting as a mirror to my years of torment. Searching for anything else to lock onto, my eyes find a small puddle of water on the ground. Dimly lit by the torches on the wall, something vaguely familiar but also completely foreign lies in wait for me. The feral eyes of a beast. The smile of a mad hunter bearing down on his prey. The entity reaches up and touches it's cheek, and in my palm is the rough sensation of weathered skin. As this realization reaches my brain, the expression shifts to one of pure horror. Part of me wanted this. 

 

Before I know it, I've sprung from my cage in blatant defiance of my darker half as my desperation evolves into a new form. I stumble over my feet in a mad dash to keep from becoming the same kind of person who discarded me in this pit. Arms outstretched to throw aside all in my path, I make a beeline for the man. "Get down!" I  try to scream, but crying out to him does little good with a voice unaccustomed to such outbursts and the roar of cadavers that encompass him. My only hope is to reach him and shield him from this disaster, but the density of the crowd and my weakened constitution make this a nigh on impossible task. The three meters separating us widens into an impassable chasm, as despair begins to sink in. The last embers of humanity left to me are about to be snuffed out before my eyes. The frenzied corpses, now but a meter away from him on all sides, scream in hunger with an undertone of rage at that which they've lost. This lone man stands boxed in, the opposition far to great for any individual. His chant at a fever pitch and his body alight from head to toe with a glow that seems to channel it's way to his staff; a shout fills the air. Being in unison for the first time, I can hear the voices say, "DEI GRATIA" before punctuating his incantation with the sharp clang of his weapon striking the ground. In the blink of an eye, the light that had been building within him bursts out in all directions before the world goes black.

 

I regain my senses with a start, my eyes jumping around the room in search of any clues as to what transpired.  In one cell is a great fire, the sickening stench of burning flesh making it clear what rested beneath the intense blaze. On my lap rests the coat of the man who ventured here, which strikes me as odd, more so the fact that behind me sits the man himself. Even seated his size dwarfs me, but despite this he does not feel threatening. In fact, this coat on my lap and the position of his seat indicate that he is a man endowed with great kindness. Not to mention, the genuine smile he shared with me when I came to. Nearly collapsing again due to the severe contradictions in my logic and emotions, the man slides forward to catch me. My body reflexively recoils at the touch of another, before wearily sinking into the warmth that my lonely soul desired.

"I can tell you have questions, but try to remain calm and relax for now" For the first time I can understand him, as he speaks to me in a gentle voice with a thick accent.

"You can speak my language?" my voice struggling to come out properly.

"A bit, my mother was a history scholar and my father an anthropologist so it came with my upbringing. Pardon me for forgetting my manners, I am Donovan Raffles, a priest of the Gordian faith in service of the Carius Empire. You may call me Don. And I'm assuming you are Sir Elijah?"

"I do not recall, who I am lost importance long ago. For years my only purpose has been escape, and now that my final chance has been lost to me I can only sit and wait for you to pass God's judgement upon me."

"Hmm.. And how do you know what I'm here to do?"

"The spirits that dwell here have whispered of you for weeks now. And since God has cursed me to be here, why would he not then reach down with his own hand and snuff me out?"

He paused briefly, looking a shocked "I see, I think you are a little confused. Why don't you ask me some questions and I will try to answer where I can, as I also have some things I'd like to ask. You can go first and then we will go back and forth"

My mind is flooded with inquiries but I choose to hold off on the more pressing ones until I understand my current situation better.

"How do you know my name?"

"I read about you in the court records of the Hargen Theocracy."

An impression of familiarity, and with it comes the sting of anger from somewhere deep in my psyche. This reaction tells me he speaks truth, but does not give me the details I truly seek.

"But I thought-"

"No need to be impatient, I will answer whatever you want in due time but it is now my turn to ask."

Slightly frustrated at being forcefully structured, but ultimately just happy to finally be finding the truth, I concede.

"My apologies, go ahead"

"I guess a true gentleman never loses his manners." He says with a toothy smile, seemingly pleased by my statement.

"Okay, how long have you been wandering this place?"

"I cannot recall, there is a wall in the North-West corridor with tallies marking my days of confinement. The wall hit capacity at around 1200 tallies, and I know I've been here much longer than that so my best guess is around 5 years."

"I see, now you go Elijah."

"I thought you were from the Carius Empire, Don? Not only is the name unfamiliar to me, but how were you able to read the court records of a foreign nation?"

"The Carius Empire has been a superpower for almost two centuries now, a few decades ago we overthrew the corrupt Hargen Theocracy. In an attempt to learn from their mistakes, my father and mother worked to preserve their old documents and records."

Something in his words feels unsettling, or maybe just plain wrong. But he doesn't give me time to ponder these feelings as he jumps straight to his next question without prompt.

"Why do you blame God for the position you are in?" His words strike me hard, but don't come with the judgement you would expect of a holy man asking such questions. A sour feeling swells within me, is this guilt?

"Isn't it obvious? God is the creator and regulator of all. In his omniscience, could he not see me here and know my plight? In his omnipotence, could he not send some heavenly messenger to save me from this place? But he did not. I cried and begged for salvation to the farthest reaches of heaven, but the only recipient was a selfish child playing at God, covering his ears and turning his face away from those who needed him"

Expecting to be reprimanded for speaking such blasphemy, I hesitantly look up but once again see only the sad eyes of a man who sympathizes with my plight.

"I can't even imagine what you've been through to make you feel that way. But you don't need to fret anymore, now that I am here you can finally lay aside your burdens."

His odd phrasing causes my insides to twist. Once again, confusion clutters my brain. Convinced it would be the end of me, I trembled in fear of this day, but now that the hand of God is opening it's fingers before me I feel strangely at peace. He does not seem to mean me any harm, so why was I convinced God wanted me gone? Could this gentle soul really be here to take my life? What can I believe anymore? I sit up, shifting anxiously, unable to face him in this state. Instead of spiraling into endless introspection, I choose to be straightforward. 

"So you aren't here to kill me?"

In my fugue, his momentary pause seems to drag on forever.

"My mission was to enter the Hargen Labyrinth and judge you myself."

Bile burns my throat as the embers of fury kindle my heart. The searing steam of rage fogs my mind as my thoughts begin to spill like a serpent’s venom from my lips. 

"You think me a fool, boy?! You've been evading answering my questions from the start. What are you hiding!? You march in here with your painted on smile, hiding your intentions in an attempt to make me lower my guard, and now you speak of judgement? Who gave you the right? Was I not already deemed guilty by court? Or do you just wish to feel powerful? Is your position of priest not sufficient? Now the noble holy man will ascend the heavenly throne to play judge too! Hogwash! You're no God, Donovan. I should have just run and left you to die earlier!"

The fervor I began with dissipates as my tired body consumes what little energy it had to spare. My dwindling rage is replaced with apathy as my weary mind gives up on freedom. 

"I can't take this tension and confusion anymore. Have I not suffered enough? I'm so tired... if you're going to continue toying with me, just end me now and be on your way. At least then, I'll be able to rest peacefully in the afterlife."

The priest gently reaches out his hand, but is quickly rebuked.

"Don't touch me!"

I slap his hand away, my gnarled nails leaving a sizable gash. Collapsing to the cold stone floor with this final exertion, I stare vacantly into the familiar darkness that surrounds me. This is all I've known for years, I was foolish to think freedom was ever on the table for me. It seems fitting that I should die here as well. As I contemplate my place in the world in an attempt to accept my current circumstances, Don removes some cloth from his pocket to patch his wound. He begins to speak, but never looks at me as he focuses on his hand.

"So why didn't you then? You had plenty of time to escape, yet you didn't."

There is a pause as he finishes bandaging his hand; he moves to face me once again but I avoid eye contact.

"I heard you cry out to me. Then when I finished my incantation I found you laying among the pile of shamblers on a direct path toward me. I was truly trapped, but you didn't take the opportunity presented to you. Why?"

Shame overcomes me as I recall what I saw in that cell.

"I could not bear the thought of becoming like those who put me here. I saw my years of suffering in your eyes, and tried to avert my gaze, but found something even more horrid. I've been corrupted by this place, and as I stood there facing my own ugliness I realized part of me wanted to watch you suffer too."

"Is that so..."

Hesitantly, I turn to gauge his feelings. He smiles down at me with pride in his eyes, as he sidles over to gently prop my head up. Embarrassed for my earlier outburst, I look away.

"I apologize for lashing out, I'm filled with fear and unsure of so many things. I may have felt you were being disingenuous, but it was wrong of me to berate you when you've shown me nothing but kindness since our meeting."

"No apologies are necessary, you were merely venting. As for your assumptions, you were partially right. I was being intentionally evasive, but it wasn't out of malice. Quite the opposite, in fact. I just didn't want to overwhelm you, but I see now my attempts to spare you the extra stress backfired severely."

Donovan's eyes take an almost sad shape, as he gazes at the scripture he carries. Carefully fingering the gilded accents, his smile dims.

"To be honest, I never wanted to become a priest in the first place. I was born with a strong aptitude for Light Magic, making me ideal for the role, and I'm proud to fulfill my duty for help the people. My personal aspirations have always been secondary though."

He turns away, failing to hide his wistful eyes behind an unintentionally tepid smirk. He lingers a moment, before taking a deep breath as if to brace himself for what comes next.

"That being said, this job was one I chose of my own volition. When the emperor asked my parents to investigate a hidden underground chamber, I insisted on being allowed to assist. It was as if I felt something pulling at me. I believe God meant to guide me to you, and I'm beginning to understand why."

He sits me up to face him, straightening his posture. His eyes piercing me, as if to see my very being. Noticing this worrisome change in demeanor, I begin to squirm. It's been a long time since I've even seen another person, let alone been scrutinized so thoroughly. Looking him squarely in the eyes, I exhale my anxieties as I prepare to face the truth.

"This will be my final question, well technically there are three but they all have the same answer. Whether you know it or not, I will tell you the whole truth afterwards. Now, Elijah, why did you collapse back there? Why don't you remember your time here? And why are you safe in this place?"

Stunned for a second, I ponder what he just said. They all have the same answer? That doesn't make sense, I collapsed because I am weak. I don't remember my time here because I've been fighting for my life the whole time. And I'm definitely not safe here, though the undead are no longer a problem. So what could he be trying to ask right now?

"Your question makes no sense, those are three separate things with separate answers."

"Maybe from your perspective, but not from mine. I shall explain, but bear with me as this requires some background knowledge. Two centuries ago, the Carius Empire was founded by a group of people exiled from the Hargen Theocracy. Their crime? Speaking out against the unjust practices of their state. They were led by a man of great faith, who sought to stop their innumerable atrocities committed in the name his God."

My heart begins to pound.

"In the end, he was made an example of, but the people he inspired carried on his work. In this new land, built up from scratch, they taught the Gordian faith and built a country with the strength to rival all others. To this day, that man is revered as Saint Hayes, and he is written about in the earliest records of our holy text. Lauded as the paragon of faith, and credited as the founder of the Gordian Religion. That man was you, Sir Elijah Hayes."

My breath stops cold as it tries to make it's way to my lungs. Exhaling forcefully to try and break the blockage aggravates my arid throat, sending me into a coughing fit. Donovan hands me a canteen, which I accept hastily. I imbibe the offering with fervor, careful not to spill the first fresh water I've had in years. The crisp liquid cools my throat, subdue the cough. As my breath returns to me, I struggle to form some semblance of a rebuttal.

"Wh-What kind of game are you playing? I thought we were past this, but you must be trying to trick me again. That couldn't be possible. The times don't match up, and I clearly don't look two hundred years old. You'll have to try harder to deceive me."

I brush him off without a thought, but my denials do nothing to slow my heart rate. 

"Are you aware of what happens when the devout are corrupted by necromancy?"

"Necromancy is what made all those monsters down here correct? I'm assuming it's much the same."

"But you see, God always protects his faithful, even unto death. The body is preserved by the power his power, and the mental faculties remain mostly intact. The only difference is they become able to hear the voices of the dead, and they eventually gain the ability to control them. At this point they become what is commonly known as a Lich. A being that presides over the dead."

Unable to accept this answer, I shout the first thing that comes to mind.

"Bu-but they merely ignore me, I can't tell them what to do. If I could I would have used that power to escape from here instead of leaving it to chance."

"But you never abandoned the human part of yourself, that's the catalyst to gain control. In the end, you essentially gave up your chance at freedom to try and keep me from dying."

"But this can't-"

"I'm sorry Elijah, but you have been dead for almost two hundred years now."

My head is flooded with feelings and visions of a place that feels like home. I can only assume these are memories of my past, but they still feel like they aren't actually a part of me. Half of me wants to deny him, but in my heart I know he's telling the truth. 

"So the reason you were being evasive, wasn't to deceive, but to avoid blindsiding me with something so heavy?"

"That is correct."

For the first time, he is the one to look away. His solemn eyes and drawn lips tell me all I need to know. I chuckle despite the weight of the news. My tortured soul is washed clean by a cool spring rain, as acceptance blooms in my heart.

"Oh don't brood boy. You are far too kind for your own good. I'm a perfect stranger, but you went to great lengths to show consideration for me. You are radiant, Donovan Raffles."

He meets my gaze, mouth agape. With a faint smile on my lips, I lock my fingers and bow my head. As I close my eyes to speak, I'm filled with an ethereal feeling. My body feels like it's being lifted, yet I still feel the ground beneath me. 

"It has been a long time, Father. There is a lot to say, but I will be brief. I'm so sorry, I turned away from you for so long. Casting blame and hatred toward you out of ignorance. Despite all of it, you never turned away from me. You've watched this whole time haven't you? You spent these years suffering with me, as you handcrafted a way to save me. Despite all the pain I've felt up to this point, I feel nothing but gratitude now. I found my truth, discovered that I actually made a difference in this world, and you even sent this blessed child, heart made of gold, to guide me home to you. I truly am not worth of such grace. I could ask for nothing more personally, but I hope you will continue to guide and bless young Donovan as you have me. I love you, and will see you soon. Amen."

"Amen"

I open my eyes to see the young priest kneeling before me, in the same manner I was. A true smile graces my face for the first time in centuries. I spread my arms, as if to take flight.

"Thank you for everything Donovan, you may do what you came to do now. Send me to my eternal rest, I long to meet my Heavenly Father. I've kept him waiting far too long, wouldn't you say, my friend?"

"As you wish, my friend."

He speaks calmly, but I don't miss the tinge of sadness in his voice. He is truly too kind. Pulling out his holy tome, he places his right hand on my head.

"I'm glad I could be the one to see you off. Is there anything you'd like to say to your people?"

"Heh, they are hardly MY people. I merely inspired them to take action, they did the hard work. That being said, I hope you'll tell them of my struggles and story, so I can continue to inspire them for a while longer."

"Until the end of the great Carius Empire, we will speak of the great trial of our founder, who braved the darkest depths for centuries to find his way home. I swear this on my name, on my honor as a Gordian Priest, and as your friend."

I take preparatory breath, glancing down the hall of the only home I've known for centuries. The fear and anxiety I expected to feel do not come though. The only thing that comes to me is something akin to gratitude. Through anguish and turmoil I fought, and was nearly broken time and time again. Now, I see that this was a trial I needed to overcome in order to become the person I was meant to be. To help the people of Carius, descended from my old friends, to push past their own struggles and continue to fight.

I smile at him kindly, as a single tear falls from his eye. He opens his tome and reads aloud. Instead of the menagerie of voices I heard before, he speaks clearly but kindly in a voice that sounds like a parent's bedtime story.

"Book of Josiah, chapter of salvation. And so the king's shepherd journeyed, even into the dusk. With no path to see before him, he wandered aimlessly until he faced exhaustion. His faith stronger than his body, he did not plead the Lord to guide him thence, merely showed gratitude for bringing him thus far. 'Dear Father, my flock is gone and there waits naught for me should I return, but I can only be grateful for you bringing me safely to this point. Whatever may be, I know it is part of your greater plan for me. Should I die here, I find peace in knowing I will see you soon. Amen.'"

What a fitting verse. As I listen to my eulogy, an ephemeral light flows from his hand into me. The blue light projects vividly onto surrounding area, causing the darkness to subside. This feels.. familiar. The sight is reminiscent of a fishing boat on a clear summers day. The ambient light, deep like the sea, while the pure sky blue stream spreads out from the crown of my head. As I ponder these thoughts, my flood of memories from earlier begins to piece itself back together properly. I recall the small coastal town where I grew up. The smell of fish and the taste of salt in the air. In fact, this verse is one I remember studying as a student. I'm filled with fond memories of my friends, as the glow fills me from the my head to my feet. It's comforting warmth reminding me of the wife I left behind. I guess I'll get to see her soon too. With a peaceful smile, I raise my face toward the heavens. Hoping to maybe see the faces of those waiting for me.

"From on high the shepherd heard an indescribable voice, falling to his knees in awe. 'It is not your destiny to die here. Your great faith shall be as a lamp post to the people. Pick from this tree a single nut, and affix it to your crook with a vine. Follow the sound it creates toward the light which will guide you from whence you came.' He clasps his hands in silent gratitude before rising to his feet to do as he was told. He shook his crook gently, and the sound is mimicked by the forest creatures. The sound guides him through the forest for hours, before he reaches a familiar knoll. The rising sun in the distance shows signposts his path, as he marches toward the future foretold of him."

Donovan closes his text as he looks fondly down at me, misty eyed.

"Do not cry Donovan, we shall be reunited one day. In paradise."

"Amen, my friend. That we shall"

With a strained smile as a farewell, he breathes deep before speaking one final time.

"Salus Dei"

With those words, the glow that built inside of me slowly makes it's way out of every pore of my body. The sensation of floating overtakes my physical senses. My consciousness, attached to the light, drifts leisurely toward the ceiling, unto Heaven. I watch from above as my body collapses to the ground, age rapidly overtaking the vessel preserved by God's power. Even without a head, I can feel the place Don's hand was, and remember the warmth fondly as that of my final friend. The feeling floods my being, as I drift joyfully towards the sky. With one last silent goodbye I turn towards heaven and ascend to rest in paradise.

Author's Note

First thing I've written in like 10 years so I would greatly appreciate constructive criticism though. Struggled with dialogue, tips would be appreciated. Also I know I suck at naming, I'm working on it.

Reviews

[Vol]

Copied and pasted on my home screen for analysis.

[MayHeartsYou]

Thanks Teach I appreciate you :)

[Oyewale Akintunde]

This is good writing. I'm not criticizing when I say "you can do better." I believe that because you have great potential. Keep up the good work!

[MayHeartsYou]

Can you give me any suggestions?? I know it's lacking, but it's hard for me to pick out everything because I wrote it. I know my criticisms of it, I posted it so people could give me input :) no need to hold back