Dokončit

Dokončit (As seen in Brave New Words Issue 1)

I can no longer remember my story, what I have lived through, where I have been. The only thing that has remained with me is my purpose, and that I have ignored. But now I have found my terminal flourish. I can leave this world with a blast of virtue, trailing sparks of golden flame from my heals and carving through the shroud of darkness that will consume me.

I was wandering the streets, the hard cobbles anchoring me to some semblance of reality. The evening was beginning to close in, light just illumination enough to allow the eyes to trick themselves. Gloominess betrayed ghouls always lingering in the periphery, awaiting their chance to pounce. But the Scribble Spectre keeps them away. The others trapped within me seemed to cower away from the Spectre’s presence He is real, not a fictive apparition of man or beast released to reside deep within my subconscious. Stronger than their false existences he protects me. He allows me to walk the streets in the real world.

I stopped. My legs walked separate from me, their instinctual touch on the cobbles bypassed any cognition, driven by a primal desire that riddled my veins. Stood before me was a marble building. Its peak disappearing into the evening black sky. It’s door clawed with age, stone exuding the stoicism of historicity.

More than all this though, the building was throbbing. As my eyes flickered between realities I saw the stone bulging with stifled screams. Almost supersonic, a crackle deep inside the ear picks up their calls.

The crescendo. The final movement ushered in by an almost-sound of approaching destiny and inevitability clashing together in a cymballic cacophony. I pushed the door.

Its firmness seemed invulnerable. But my weight upon the door was more than my physical essence. I conjured from me my absorbed words. Wringing my soul like a sponge they poured out, wraithlike. Insinuating about the door they slid along its edges, stroking them, appeasing the instinctual sapience of the wood to repel my invasion.

It gave way and I entered. My steps inside already disturbing the careful balance of the world. Each footfall sending specks dancing into the air, while their negative absence remains behind me. The first marks in the virgin ground. A buzz cut through the soft silence and light burst through the darkness. Spreading out to defocussing distance, stacks of books, veiled in the grey of age and neglect. Their screams quietened to mere whimpers. They sensed my presence. In the edges of the audible I hear a tapping. The muffled sureness of shoe leather guided with purpose. Approaching. I turned to look for the safety of retreat. The door had disappeared, replaced by swirling intertwining fronds of smoke. The books sit silent with apprehension. We wait…

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