((update 8.8. 07)) Awakening
Rue:
PART 3: MYSTÉRE
Kemese´s body was maybe the twentieth one I discovered laying in the dust of the main street, although I am not entirely sure... I didn´t count them. I only know that a long time had passed before I finally came to kneel by his side, prolonged even by my lack of strenght... long enough for me to hope that perhaps, somehow, he had been spared. Of course, I should have known better – had he survived that pointless massacre, he would have found a way to let me know, but the child in me refused to believe the obvious less seen with my own eyes. So I kept searching... walking through the darkness, and I forgot about the complete exhaustion I had been feeling just a little while ago. Driven by madness and despair, I never stopped bending over my lifeless friends, my tribe to be, mentally preparing myself for what was to come. And come it did.
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song. His body was not left behind in some unnatural position, nor were there any visible wounds or traces of blood on his body. One of his arms folded, he might have been sleeping, except his chest wasn´t moving in the usual calming rise and fall. Softly I laid my hand upon him, a gentle touch he couldn´t feel. I bent my head close and half enveloped him, pressing my body onto his as if I could nurse him to life by my touch. „Please... Kemese, please...“ Finally I found the wound at the back of his head, still wet, blood covering his beautiful hair, which erased the last faint glimpse of hope. And with noone around to see me, I felt entitled to start sobbing.
When I was a little boy, my mother always tought me that death is a natural part of life. I still feared it, more so after the unfortunate death of my little girl friend. For me, death was exact and merciless, an enemy to hate and fight against in that lost battle of life. No one escapes its clutches, and no one long escapes the harsh reality of dealing with the loss of someone dear, but this semblant fairness can´t lessen the pain. Not in the slightest.
At the age of seven, I once heard someone calling it the „long sleep“. Since the moment, sleep too became my foe. Night after night, I would lay in my bed, finding countless little tasks to employ my mind with, trying not to fall into slumber, using all my willpower to keep me heavy lids from falling, believing blindly that perhaps if I found a way to overcome sleep, the same willpower would help me to keep myself alive, out of the Death´s reach. Usually, I surrendered eventually, mentally yelling at myself in the mornings, or I managed to stay awake and kept dozing off then during the day. Either way, I learnt that my efforts on that field were and would always be fruitless, but the hathred and reluctancy to go to bed stayed with me... until Kemese changed it.
I never talked to him about it, afraid that he might think me crazy, but I was in love... and suddenly I wanted to dream about him. About our future. Sometimes, he would steal into my room, or let me stay in his house overnight, and we would spend the night chatting, lauging like children, cuddling and touching here and there, knowing more isn´t allowed. Then we would fall asleep in each others arms, the sky already whitening on the East, and all at once sleep was welcome and precious, shared with another.
That was over now. Beyond redemption, like a dream, and my new life would also end as soon as it started, I knew that much. The ritual wasn´t completed... the most pleasurable part of it, the prize for my suffering was missing, and I knew what that meant. There was noone left to complete my make over, and even if I had the chance, I would never let someone else have me, never let them take what I wanted to give to Kemese. In fact, I wanted to cross the bridge to the other side as soon as possible and meet him there. What point was there to living without the one I lived for? I sat quietly by, remained faithful, my sobs fainter and fainter – I have exhausted myself. The tears though would not stop flowing.
Later, I found a better position and placed my head on his chest, like I so often did in sleep, intending to lay like that until my last breath, warming his coldness with my fever. How long would it take? Would it be painful again, delirous, or would I just fade away? Thoughts swirled through my mind like in those sleepless nights, the corpse under my body becoming stiff. His soul, his spiritual body, the eternal one... where was it? And where would my soul go? I could remember my wraeththu teacher speaking about their Gods, about Aghama, just as I recalled my mother praying to the human God, Jesus. If she was dead too, she´d surely gone to Heaven...and Kemese... he would exist in the other plane he believed in, with the dehara. But what about me? I was stuck on the way, neither human nor wraeththu... perhaps my soul was destined to wander in darkness till the end of times, an outcast. The thought made me shiver.
I must have fallen asleep or unconscious... either way I didn´t hear the har until he was just a few steps away from me, a combination of beauty and danger in the moonlight. We didn´t get strangers were often, the villige was not an area loved by tourists, and there was nothing of particular importance around. My first and only thought was that this person was responsible for the massacre and returned to enjoy the sight. Very well then, at least he would end my waiting. Come on. Finish me off.
My tongue, surprisingly, refused to cooperate with my mind and instead of this silent wish, I voiced a hysterical moan. „Get away!!! Leave us alone!!!“ My hand was searching for Kemese´s dagger. Like if there was an „us“. Like if there was someone or something to fight for.
velvet69:
Really good story I hope to see more soon
wawayaya:
Beautifully done!
Rue:
Aw thank you and thank you!
Velvet, weren´t you the one who liked Laurell K. Hamilton?
Rue:
TEMPORALLY SUSPENDED.
I have about 3 parts written but game died, pictures can´t be taken.
PLEASE HELP!!!
http://www.insimenator.org/showthread.php?p=442389#post442389
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