I'm not dreaming. I'd be screaming by now if I were.
The world around me dissolves, bleeding and fragmenting until nothing is left except me and the encroaching dark. I float in the quiet abyss, wondering if this is what death is. The rumors in the After tell a less peaceful description of the time after death.
A gust of wind shoves me forward and rips my clothes off and I watch my polo shirt and blue jeans sway behind me, moving with the current of the wind. Shivering, I wrap my arms around my naked body, but the cold doesn't dissipate. With only the sound of my heart and my teeth chatter to fill my ears, I slowly step forward, walking on thin air.
A brick wall forms next to me, splattered with dry blood and covered in graffiti. Trailing my …show more content…
Turning away from the sight, I take a deep breath and shut my eyes. All at once, the nerves on my hand scream and activate, creating a ripple effect of pain not from scraping against the wall but from an intense heat coming from an unknown source.
A minute of dread and screaming passes until the pain subsides with an icy chill.
I reopen my eyes and stare in awe at my completely healed hand, with not even a scar or bruise.
"A gift I could give you." A smooth and charming voice utters from behind, breaking the calm. Although the voice is beautiful, something about it stabs my …show more content…
"Let's not use the S word, okay?" With one fluid hand motion from him, the zipper dissolves.
"What would you prefer to be called, sir?" I fumble to get the words out.
He responds immediately, meaning he was waiting for me to ask. "Morning Star. I would prefer Morning Star..."
He cracks his knuckles and leans his elbows against thin air, his eyes tracing my every shift of weight and movement of balance. Unable to meet his gaze without crying, I stare at my newly healed hand.
"Incredible isn't it?" He points at my shaking hand.
My entire body shaking and twitching in panic, I force a head nod.
"Why are you scared?" He tilts his head, feigning curiosity when he already knows the answer.
I manage a shrug. I bite my tongue from spieling the thousands of words I want to tell him.
"I see talking isn't your strong suit. Let me help with that." He waves his hand in front of my face and I feel as if I am floating.
All restraint is lifted and the man sitting across me seems meaningless; a blob without any features.
"I'm scared because I live in the world you created. I live in the After because you and your cursed pride convinced you to bite the hand that fed all of us,
The world around me dissolves, bleeding and fragmenting until nothing is left except me and the encroaching dark. I float in the quiet abyss, wondering if this is what death is. The rumors in the After tell a less peaceful description of the time after death.
A gust of wind shoves me forward and rips my clothes off and I watch my polo shirt and blue jeans sway behind me, moving with the current of the wind. Shivering, I wrap my arms around my naked body, but the cold doesn't dissipate. With only the sound of my heart and my teeth chatter to fill my ears, I slowly step forward, walking on thin air.
A brick wall forms next to me, splattered with dry blood and covered in graffiti. Trailing my …show more content…
Turning away from the sight, I take a deep breath and shut my eyes. All at once, the nerves on my hand scream and activate, creating a ripple effect of pain not from scraping against the wall but from an intense heat coming from an unknown source.
A minute of dread and screaming passes until the pain subsides with an icy chill.
I reopen my eyes and stare in awe at my completely healed hand, with not even a scar or bruise.
"A gift I could give you." A smooth and charming voice utters from behind, breaking the calm. Although the voice is beautiful, something about it stabs my …show more content…
"Let's not use the S word, okay?" With one fluid hand motion from him, the zipper dissolves.
"What would you prefer to be called, sir?" I fumble to get the words out.
He responds immediately, meaning he was waiting for me to ask. "Morning Star. I would prefer Morning Star..."
He cracks his knuckles and leans his elbows against thin air, his eyes tracing my every shift of weight and movement of balance. Unable to meet his gaze without crying, I stare at my newly healed hand.
"Incredible isn't it?" He points at my shaking hand.
My entire body shaking and twitching in panic, I force a head nod.
"Why are you scared?" He tilts his head, feigning curiosity when he already knows the answer.
I manage a shrug. I bite my tongue from spieling the thousands of words I want to tell him.
"I see talking isn't your strong suit. Let me help with that." He waves his hand in front of my face and I feel as if I am floating.
All restraint is lifted and the man sitting across me seems meaningless; a blob without any features.
"I'm scared because I live in the world you created. I live in the After because you and your cursed pride convinced you to bite the hand that fed all of us,