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 Purgatory

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whilaroo

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Posts : 130
Join date : 2009-12-24
Location : I'm in Brooklyn on a Halloween night...

PostSubject: Purgatory   Tue Jul 13, 2010 6:09 pm

The sound was not unlike that of oars dipping into water, and the rise and fall seemed very much like a small boat making its way across some darkened lake. Where they went and where they came from was indistinct. It was hard to see anything. The only light came from the figure who might as well have been rowing. It was like fire, perhaps, if that was indeed what fire had been like. It was hard to remember.

Neither the passenger nor the pilot had really spoken at all from the trip's beginning, yet that was not necessarily a bad thing. Still... there was a question that desired to be asked. "Why..." the start was slow, that was what a lack of speech got you, "Why, are you taking me back?" The ghostly figure said nothing for some time, but then, "You will do terrible things." Thought demanded some time but the answer was inevitable, "Yes. Why are you taking me back?" Again, the phantom's reply was slow in the coming, "It is not my decision, what you do with this second chance. Only, I am to ensure that you have it. So it has been ordained." That was a frightening thought. The stars above glimmered in a new way, as if each was an eye, watching, hungrily. "Who has made this ordinance?" against all effort, the question was hesitant. No reply was really expected. The query wasn't even really directed at the ferryman anyway. The wind was cold all of a sudden. Even arms wrapped tight couldn't fight it. The realization that such sensations hadn't existed for so long never really struck. It was just... they started happening again.

In the distance, through all the mist, the edges of a shoreline could be seen. "I will do terrible things," the voice resounding in the closeness of space was haunting. "You decide who you are, who you will be," the closer they got to shore and the more distinct that it became, the more intangible did the man at the oars grow, and the more brightly did the fire which he seemed to hold burn. His words almost slipped by, like whispers in the back of the mind, swept along by the swift current of progressive thoughts that generally assaulted the brain upon awaking from sleep, like the edges of a dream only half-remembered. "Will I remember you? Remember all of this, when I'm there?" speaking the words too loud might mean that someone else would hear them, so they came out quietly, of their own accord. The answer which followed would be forever a nuisance, a plague, the question shouldn't have been asked. "Yes," it came out so simply then, but it still caused the chills that ran down the spine. Breath turned to steam in the cold morning air. The world was gray. Grey is a drab color. Gray is a depressing and sad color. Gray is the color of death. "Will I ever see you again?" this made the last question even worse, but it had to be said, as did the answer. "I doubt it, but I do not know the hearts of men. Fare well," the light had been growing. It was almost too hot. Certainly it was fearfully bright. And it just kept growing.

Dawn is a funny time. Right up until the sun breaches the horizon, it just keeps getting lighter by bits and pieces, the world that is... Yet, even when the sun with all its power sits on the surface of the endless sea, it never grows warmer. Hand dangling in the shallows as you are crouched down by the pebbly shore. It's so cold. Not like tears, they are warm, but the water is sad... Despite its coldness, it is sad, and bitter from salt... It's just so bright. That hand dripping with cold water is a little shield, but effective, and then the light is caught in one of the droplets... Can you imagine something so beautiful? No... Something like that may only be seen. Somewhere, perhaps, there is a creature who can imagine such things. Perhaps they were the ones who imagined this... They must have a hideous imagination though... To conceive of something like me... I will do terrible things...
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