What Lurks in the Dark – Page 6

My Dear Reader,

Why do we find that our dreams do not carry the same feelings they once did? Can’t you remember your imaginations in childhood being so vivid, they blurred the lines of life and fiction? All those mornings staring into the mirror, envisioning who you would one day become. What could it possibly be… Do our dreams deceive us in our youth, or does maturation rob us of our ability to believe them? Or maybe, finding the will to chase your dreams far after the butterflies have settled, is the true test of one’s conviction? At least, that is what I would like to believe. I do apologize, I sometimes forget myself, I did not mean to come across so perturbed! But, these questions may offer some bearing to this tale, as we pick up right where we left off.

As you and Samuel enter the Bar to finally realize your journey, very different preparations are being made at what I can only express as the boarder of existence as we know it. Golden dust trails as Death strolls into frame. The only accompanying sound to his stride is the shifting of sand, growing louder with each step. Closer and closer, the sands eventually can be heard crashing all around, as if the desert itself had sprung up right there into a waterfall of dust. The place grew dark until nothing could be seen, and at that moment the footsteps stopped, and the air suddenly silent.

A match was struck, and the dim light outlined Death’s figure. A skeleton in a suit, searching its pockets before retrieving a small silver case. You could once again see those boney fingers as they handled the case with impressive familiarity. In one effortless motion the front spring-lock was engaged, the lid flew open, and the opened case was talently caught in Death’s palm. A cigarette was pulled from the container, and just as effortlessly, the case was flicked shut and slid into a pocket like a magic trick so good you’d pay to see it. Such a practiced routine he had, but more shocking was that the cigarette was lit in the midst of the second act, while you were tracking his sleight of hand.

A second match was struck, and candles lit the space. A table topped with hourglasses and a scale could now be seen. Death slumped into the lone chair pulled up to the table before surrending a sigh of relief. The cigarette was clenched between his teeth as he pulled the watch he had picked up at the graveyard from his waistcoat pocket. Chuckling to himself, “It’s about time” while he shuffled around the hourglasses. Finally finding the match, he rested it upon one of the platforms before placing the watch on the other. The watch, to his dismay, came up light on the scale. The chuckles subsided and gave way to outburst. “What!?” The cool composure Death had all this while went up in flames, the table was flipped over along with everything else, and ashes settled over them as his cigarette dropped to the floor. The candlelights quickly burnt out on the cold ground. Death went into a frenzy of curses and jeers I dare say near unrecognizable as language. All you could manage to make out was: “Where is their damn time going, WHERE are their memories running off to!?” The half-smoked cigarette was slowly dying out about the same time his tantrum was cooling down.

Just when the situation seemed to have calmed over, a heavy presence entered the room. Something foul, something vile, something truly damnable was there. The final weak ember blew out, and the pitch black darkness returned. “Death! You are making a mockery of the powers that be… this issue has only seemed to worsen under your watch, and you’ve had more than enough time to reap such trifling seedlings from the earth. You have tested my patience for the very last time. If I am forced to question your resolve once more, I promise you an existence far worse than this…”

Even I cannot claim to know what this entity that struck such fear into Death itself really was, but to be honest, I am perfectly fine if I never find out. Moreover, It’s absolutely no wonder why Death is a fan of Marlboro…

My dear reader, I am deeply sorry to say that the likelihood of the immaterial being as simple and straightforward as the material, is slim to none. The nature of the many forces at work in our real and or imagined lives, are not quite as they seem… but I have a hunch you have caught on to this yourself. For you already know what happens when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares right back. So until next time, my friend, and Godspeed.

Most Sincerely Yours,

Samuel Hyde

Posted in Art

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