B4-6

Flashes of lightning rips the sad canvas of stars.
Crimson-veined eyes wide open, screaming pupils hungry for light.
A muffled scream escapes a gaping hole that used to be a mouth.
Pulse quickening, erratic jumps, veins bursting, spilling their contents into obscurity.
Bones breaking clashing, scattering splinters, stabbing the flesh that surrounds them.

A sad sob echoes throughout a dark alley, lulling, playing with the subtle wind.
Pieces of torn paper adorns the empty walkway, boxes of memories lay open waiting for the old hands that made them.
A sliver of light beams downwards a sad, small spot.

A doll hangs in the coldness of the air.

The Seeker walks towards the darkness.
As soon as he took his first step into the chasm, a peculiar coldness embraced him, robbing him of any warmth he had hoped to keep.
Keeping his hands inside his pocket, he walks towards the doll.
The Seeker smiles.

An old friend.

He traces the string that suspends it by the neck – black, charred, filled with the most familiar texture in the world, and filled with darkest of hatred.
A shrewed smile taunts back, buttons for eyes unsurrendering, fighting back oblivion.

“Hey there, buddy. I remember you.”, he utters while placing his hands on the name etched on the doll’s belly.
A name he loved and hated the most.

A sudden wave of negative emotions flood him, condescending, drowning him with hate and contempt – and regret.

He forced himself to a smile.
“You have pained for me for so long, yet you have earned nothing right in return.”

Slowly, he begun to untie the black string. He’s tied it with more knots than he could remember.
“Strange, maybe she tied it herself”, he thought.
As quickly as it arrived, he brushed the thought away because he knows about the potent poison it carries.

“I would ask forgiveness, and I know you’d give it without second thoughts, but we both know it wouldn’t matter anymore.”

The sob intensifies into a loud moan. Somewhere in the farthest corner of the dark, the Child stirs.

The Seeker turns around and heaves a sigh.

It is laced with fear, the kind that makes you wish everything was just a dream, the kind that washes over you after a faith-shaking nightmare.

He returns his gaze unto the being he was holding.
“He’s almost awake now, see, almost awake now.”
The Seeker feared what awaited him, but tried to focus on his task at hand.
He must finish this first. Somehow he knew that he must.

“You are free now, I could never thank you enough for what you have done, for what you have suffered in my stead.”
After retracing the stitches in every limb, after erasing the name, after piling them in a single heap upon his palms,
the doll disintegrates, leaving no trace of its existence.

Once more, he turns around and readies himself for the next encounter.

He would wish, with his first step, that he should’ve turned around and ran like hell, away from this forsaken place.

Away from this sadness, away from the memories he kept hidden, away from this solitude.

He never thought he would utter his sane lasts, never thought facing this demon would be the last thing he would do before succumbing to madness.
If only he knew, he would’ve just let his resolve falter, just this once. He would’ve kept his sanity intact if he knew what awaited him.

Somewhere else, where light flooded the world, where there is redemption, a moth escapes the palm of cruelty.
With its heart racing, it struggles to wave its broken wings.
Finally, after eons of searching for warmth in a world bereft of it, it finds home.

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About delamorte

Eherm... A boy with a soiled face who's spent 23 pathetic years trying to make a difference... An old man trying to talk his way out of his own cage... And the Seer who's trying to poise these two alter egos' rage... You won't find anything interesting enough in me to ask about my real life facts. Trust me, things will get more and more boring once you take that path. Disclaimer : These are just random rants and stories cooked-up out of boredom and prolonged stages of catatonia. Please feel free to troll/criticize my works, i am but a poor soul trying to find my way out of this miserable phase some of you call life, your critiques shall serve as my guiding light.
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