Post by Victor Vaughn on Oct 22, 2013 19:08:17 GMT -8
Like water torture.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
With the mathematical precision of a metronome, ichor as black as the night sky dove from his wrist to the cement floor.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
He could feel the place where his heart once was swell in panic briefly, and then shrink in defeat. He could see the tangible source of his continued existence pour onto the floor, drop by drop.
He looked to a small candle a few feet from him, the only one lit in the candelabra. The light was blinding here, in his sanctuary, but letting in the enemy was the only way to get the results he wanted. Once again the thing where his heart should be raised its hackles, in fear of the flame. As he approached it, his shadow snuffed the out the wisp. A dark vein of energy ran from the smoking wick, up his arm, over his shoulder and towards his face. His eyes opened wide, and with a sudden burst, it exploded in a shower of gore. He reached up and put his bleeding wrist to the wound and held it there for a few moments.
The pile of viscera on the floor begun to stir, and in a swirl of pitch black emptiness began to form.
Swirling chaos, pure nothingness. A tiny gateway to the place he longed for.
His mind stopped. He could feel the wash of cold pour over him like a mountain stream. He could not feel his body any more. He closed his one good eye and he instinctively let the air in his lungs escape.
Then there was nothing.
Then he knew everything.