1. Charisma

    Charisma Transposon Contributor

    Jul 23, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Lahore, Pakistan

    Dead Soul

    Discussion in 'Image Story Contest' started by Charisma, Jul 27, 2007.

    I haven’t known a second of peace in this lonely world, bereft of hope and full of desolateness. My eyes, now barren, are cracking in demise. The sanity I used to possess is a fairytale unheard. There are steps to be traced to the graves of the very disgraced and unloved. War is the key to full dominion now. I haven’t heard the word love for quite a time now.
    Her heart rips up open, screaming like a dying lion. The tears of the sky make me dry and dead. I carry my sorrow, donning the remaining traces of joy with its blankness and languor. I’ve lost the endurance to die again and again. I know it’s my fault that I have to take away their smiles, but it isn’t fair – to be the only dead soul.
    Lemon’s pearly eyes once whispered into me. They cried like a symphony for a frightening breeze. They said loud and clear, life is nothing but an indication that death is near. Death is a like hole, boundless and anonymous. You don’t need to feel blissful and happy-go-lucky – it’s going to get to you with its very own feet.
    The bloodstream of the autumn sky takes a vicious turn. It burns and burns until it empowers the ambrosia of my hive. I step again into my own body, touching the corners of its boundless throbs. I’m immediately stung with the poison of love – thus am I cursed to ever feel elation. I kiss myself an acidic bye, leaving again the cremated body uneaten. The tears of my life gather into a puddle of desire. All those I loved, and all those who loved me – carrying a spineless glee have died with a forgotten zeal. I do not know how to explain to this widow, that I haven’t sold anything but life.
    She steps towards me, screaming again and again.
    ‘If good existed, why do I have to feel this botch?’
    If only she knew that I was standing in similar bewilderment. I look again at the satanic youth of that archangel. His eyes closed, and youth ripped yet sewn; he was living my life – and yet I stand, knowing I’m a dead soul.
    ‘I told you this would happen if you sold your life to me. Agony, didn’t you know the curse I withheld for years?’
    His bulky eyes, mock me again, blinking for a split second. I let my body smolder, again and again, knowing I’ve sold the gift of life. Love is a joke someone played with man sometime long ago. If it really was there, these shaken homes, extinguished smiles, and shattered hearts wouldn’t dwell in this dawn of life. Words unspoken and dreams unseen are all I have to comment and rely on now.
    Her crystal blue eyes and glossy pink lips, with an angel’s harp playing with her voice. Her cotton candy hair with a golden glare and a milky white skin with few specks of blood red. She once smiled at me, and told to be free in myself. She kept my name Agony.
    ‘Agony my dear, do you know who I am? I’m Celestia, your mother and your abode. Where have you gone? Did you die again? Once a soul, have you decided to sell your identity?’
    The screeches echo in my ears, banging against my conscience. Oh zip it, oh my – it’s eating me whole. Lemon’s pretty hair, bursting like hay on a hot day, feels like velvet. He ridicules me again, saying one thing with conceit and vain.
    ‘You’ve lost your family, Agony. You’ve lost your life and now it’s her turn.’
    A silky soft smile appears on my face. His final victim and then it’s over. She’s the only one left, with no more bliss to share. Enough of this pain, now it’s time to say goodbye – or at least bye. He stretches out her vivacity, her amber hair and gray-blue eyes dying down like sulking poppies. It’s finally done, and this dead soul, has seen everything before it even begun.

Share This Page