Καθάριζα το σκληρό μου πρωί πρωί, γιατί έχει γεμίσει ένα κάρο σαβούρα.. Και μέσα στα documents βρήκα μια παλιά συμμετοχή μου σε ένα fantasy writers workshop. Ναι κάποτε είχα την εντύπωση ότι μπορώ να γράψω και σοβαρά, τι να κάνουμε, παιδιά είναι, άστα να παίξουν.
Μαυρίστε μαζί μας όμως. (πρέπει να είχα φάει μεγάλη πετριά από γκόμενα τότε για να γράψω τέτοιο πράμα πάντως..)
I have always lived alone. Since time untold I have travelled the vast emptiness of space and time. Soaring over the decaying frills of mortal existence, I have sipped the exquisite juice of immortality to its full.
My realm, the vagueness of the unknown, the desert of the dark lurking fears . I am the stuff of nightmares, the dark essence of the night, the shadowborne undying foe all mortals have to battle in their short pitiful existence. And I never loose, nor ever will.
I am the deity of grief, the messenger of both Ancient and Newborn Gods. No prayers will ever be written for me, no sacrifice made on any altar on my name. No temple will be ever built for me, and no incense burnt to pacify me.
For I am Death. The mournful laments are my hymns, and your graveyards my temples. Your tears are the sacrifices I receive with my hands crossed on my chest, bowing in respect as I collect the souls of the departed for their big journey to my realm.
Every breath of comfort you take, harbors the seed of fear for me, I know. Every tear you ever shed, is a silent homage to my everlasting dominion over your life. Every nightmare that wakes you up drenched in sweat is seen under the shadow of my wings over your sleep. You all know me, you all expect me, yet you will never acquaint yourselves with my name. And the scars you carry, that bear my name, will never heal.
I have always respected you, always loved you for what you are. Tiny incandescent trails in the great weave of time and space. Some shine with unyielding light, some implode with vile darkness even I cringe from. But all of you have a moment when you have the chance to be truly free from everything. Truly and deeply independent, shining, basking in the light of mystic glory. The moment we meet, that shatters the light from outside and leaves your souls vulnerable and pulsing before my solemn stare. Most cry and wail in that moment, begging for more, begging for a just a single moment of life. Either with a sword through them or peacefully on a bed, most will kneel and beg for more.
To them I will bow my head in respect, for I understand the divine agony of the soul before it departs your world. I know and revere the bond your soul forges over the years to your home, your loved ones, your world.
Yet there are these few rare ones, who accept me with a smile. Those who have led a full life, a happy life, a life of creation and love. Those are always ready to leave, knowing they have left their mark behind, knowing they have fulfilled their purpose in this plane of existence. Those rare beings accept my presence, and almost consume my darkness with the warmth and light from their pure souls. Never afraid, never begging, never kneeling. Those come not behind me to begin their journey to eternity. Those stand up and walk beside me, gazing with wonder around, souls burning brighter than a million suns.
For those, I have shed tears. For those, I have felt my existence fold and twist, and an invisible hand rending tears on my immortal soul.
For those, I would die.