This is my 1st short ever. Brings back a lot of memories. I was 15 years old. Can you guess who the old man is waiting for, and who instead appears?
My senility has long sought to catch up with me, and perhaps it has concluded its task, or perhaps my time here, like many I've known, has simply come to an end, as there is a silence at my door, persistent in nature, which urges me to follow, and I no longer have the strength to resist its influence on my poor wretched soul.
Absent was I from last night's rest, as I laid awake, pondering the existential questions of my being. In less than two hours, a man will knock at my door. He is a feared commodity, and all have come to flee at the slightest whisper of his name. Even I myself am of no exception, for I have hidden from his influence long enough. The time has now come, at my finest hour, to welcome him as my final guest. He will carry with him an umbrella as black as his heart. He will make it a point to be punctual, as he always is, and arrive with a companion of sorts, who may or may not be in fact, within his relation. This will be a visit of inconsolable affairs, and a great indecision shall be placed upon my shoulders, on this, the fifth day of what is proving itself to be, the coldest month in history. Yet things are not always as they make themselves out to be, for it seems, this may irritably lead to a first of its kind, as I, a man of principles, will be made to endure a wrath of such magnitude, from which I fear, they may be no returning from.
I open the door in cruel anticipation and find only a greeting of my own design. I then embrace the necessity of a coat and scarf, and took a walk among my troubled thoughts, to free my inner solitude, and set sail to the conflicting belief that I will diminish into the absence which is mortality. Alas, I fear, as I often do, that shelter from my restless mind, had become but a myth among the night air.
Thus began my promenade along the snow covered streets, supported by tall familiarities whose branches of delicate crystal would all too willingly shatter under the slightest mention of its name. In a sudden betray of their passive tendencies, they reach out to me in wicked ghastliness, urging me to follow into a hibernation,where only crows dare to venture. The constant stare of the moon, never fleeting, never blinking, followed my every step, as if anticipating my next one. It soon found another purpose to taunt and began soaking up the evening sky. It wasn't long before that, which I could not understand, began to feast upon my unspoken words. In the background of my perceptions, the symphony of the night still echoed through my every ambition.
I surrender to a warmer setting, as reluctantly, I return to my sentence of isolation, within a domicile illusioned by symmetry, which, to this day, has not yet failed my temptation, a lust within my tormented anguish which sleeps until awakened. The sun had since gone down, and so I taskfully build a fire among the ashes of my fallen comrades. Warmth quickly fills my heart yet coldness always seems to find me. As the fire consumes its fuel, I am comforted by the awareness that things which do not suffer mortal death, are swiftly conducted to their end by time. The persistency through which an emotional truth lingers still. This being the agonizing reality that my life has come to an end, and I, dying to live another day, will soon become invisible to the past, and my mortal efforts, will suffer a similar fate.
Although at times a fabrication of perception, what a comforting thought, as is this fascination with the certainty of things. And I soon become anxious on such which is inevitable. Inevitability being, as a romantic would say, the return of loved ones. Yet this is no such case, for my loved ones had long since perished under the watchful eye of the careless moon, from whence there be a graceful light. Yet as the faces of my intentions dearly part, redeems it does the sadness in my heart, which has descended into night, from this, such loneliness endured, which is, by all else, none can measure.
The candle sticks which have provided me with spiritual illumination, are suffocated effortlessly with a strain of my breath. Following my betrayal of light, a reflection soon taunts my intrigue, yet I fear not, for it is mine. And my reflection deceives me as it escapes into a ghostly figure, like a midnight stalker, watching me from behind the cloak of night. Shadows manifest themselves into a presence I dare not bring attention to.
The evening unleashes countless gestures to which I debate opening the door preemptively. This, I struggle with ease as I convince myself of its good intentions.
Yet the sound of bony fingers against a surface of hollow beginnings, soon penetrates the air with an eternal resonance. I answered reluctantly, limiting my capacity of understanding, and am greeted by that which only intrudes on my privacy, the retreat of my senses from which the wind soon carries a whisper, incomprehensible to my attempts, brought forth by a simple upbringing which taught me not to learn. And from beyond the night, he showed his face, making his presence known to me in his own good time. His was a face of tragic deceit, for he had darkly withered upon his back, a state that none could follow.
His semblance carried the warning of years, heavy with all the sentences of life. His lack of expression conveyed the pain of others, and held a thousand meanings, as it penetrated the room. He entered as though the proprietor of my possessions and towered above everything around him, accompanied by the one foolishly willing to flatter his graceful facade with an everlasting praise.
His walk seem to hoover, as he found his way towards the center of my chambers. There, he began to speak in long forgotten tongues, and with a gesture of absolution, he imposed the discretion of silence upon the room. His glance, absent of substance, petrified into a darkness so absolute, that it seemed to reach out to me in pure terror of its origin. In no effort at all, the momentum of balance was disrupted with the single word which escaped his lips. Love, he spoke of in painful reminiscence and fleeting sympathy. His voice shook with the trials of uncertainty as his faith struggled inside him. Within his eyes, reflected an eternity of sights unseen and questions dared not asked. My attention escapes his words as I momentarily entertained the lighter side of despair.
His companion, burdened with the perils of punishment, guided his curiosity toward my frail condition, and whispered silence into the dark man's ear. There was a lack of inclination to what exactly had been spoken. Yet my body spoke otherwise, for it began resisting his presence in uncontrollable shivers.
He simply stared at me, awaiting some morbid reaction, which I could not give. Instead, I stole a glance at my pocket watch, a time piece given to me by my lovely wife, who had long since left this mortal plane. I spoke for a lack of anything better, then continued to hide my face withing the time at hand, as it gave me a glimpse into the inner workings of my past, a past long forgotten, envious of itself, where my days had been spent in laughter, unaware of my timeless demise into the aftermath of things undone, and consequences overlooked.
He remained unresponsive toward my demeanor, as though he craved something other than what was promised to him. My sudden lustful impulse was to break from my role and plea for my life. Yet I dare not, for the significance of my words weigh heavily upon my shoulders. As did his hand which could not exceed his grasp. In approach of lost conflict, my only reply is to apologize for I had no resistance to give him.
And so I fearfully recline my obligation of mention,and carefully observed his every fashionable fragrance. Observed, as the flicker of candlelight, which oddly enough, had resuscitated from it ashes, danced upon his pale complexion. It was then that my hunger evolved into worship of a different nature. His silent patience displayed a refusal to discuss trivial matters, and of what will be told of my tell tale fate.
I believe that if I dared whisper his name, all matters at hand would have concluded rather abruptly.
The dark man, whose name shall not be revealed, exhaled a thousand ghosts, and gathered his posture, as if a gladiator rising once again into battle, to redeem his legacy, yet a legacy of darkness was he for none shall be left behind to mention his passing. With a twitch of his finger, the atmosphere melted into memory, and in an instant of fleeting moments, so ended one of the great conversations of life, as he and his secretive companion left my domicile through which they came. The night air welcomed them with unrelenting admiration and obscurity swallowed them whole. After which, only the reddish glow of his eyes could be seen. The wind grew uneasy of its own influence, as it carried them toward other distant happenings. After all talk had been spent, only his words echoed through me. Love, he had so meticulously said with the imperfection of truth. The fable from which all was to be forgotten. The requiem of remorse to which the burden of my affections linger still.
Have I prevailed the trial of errors, so inevitably placed before my aging sorrow. Or perhaps death has befallen the blindness of my youth, and the winter of agonizing solitude has subsided. I submit once again to my watch and it appeared frozen in synchronicity with his departure. All that remained was the silence of fearful demand, and I succumb beneath the weight of my trembling resolution. Robbed of the privilege of death, I have been forgotten once more, and lost, it seems, from my incurable self. What has become of me, and what distance have I yet to traverse in order to reach, if any, a final destination. Questions, as they are allowed to persist, haunt my every tendency for grievance. And the closer I travel toward the light, the heavier my shadow then becomes. These are the afflictions from which I truly stand alone. Questions, as it began, and questions, as it will end. But I dare not utter the one which troubles me so, in fear that it may be disclosed to me, the exact identity of the man whom I have just entertained this evening to end all.
Thus began my promenade along the snow covered streets, supported by tall familiarities whose branches of delicate crystal would all too willingly shatter under the slightest mention of its name. In a sudden betray of their passive tendencies, they reach out to me in wicked ghastliness, urging me to follow into a hibernation,where only crows dare to venture. The constant stare of the moon, never fleeting, never blinking, followed my every step, as if anticipating my next one. It soon found another purpose to taunt and began soaking up the evening sky. It wasn't long before that, which I could not understand, began to feast upon my unspoken words. In the background of my perceptions, the symphony of the night still echoed through my every ambition.
The candle sticks which have provided me with spiritual illumination, are suffocated effortlessly with a strain of my breath. Following my betrayal of light, a reflection soon taunts my intrigue, yet I fear not, for it is mine. And my reflection deceives me as it escapes into a ghostly figure, like a midnight stalker, watching me from behind the cloak of night. Shadows manifest themselves into a presence I dare not bring attention to.
He simply stared at me, awaiting some morbid reaction, which I could not give. Instead, I stole a glance at my pocket watch, a time piece given to me by my lovely wife, who had long since left this mortal plane. I spoke for a lack of anything better, then continued to hide my face withing the time at hand, as it gave me a glimpse into the inner workings of my past, a past long forgotten, envious of itself, where my days had been spent in laughter, unaware of my timeless demise into the aftermath of things undone, and consequences overlooked.
