Forgotten Times

“I.. am not… ready to die.”
They closed around him; He braced himself while sensing the end was near. He grinned (a grin of a dead man), dropped his weapon (with the loss of hope of a dying man) and thought about how close he was to surviving. But he was playing the game of the damned, no game for humans. He realized there had never been any hope, for he had just been prolonging the inevitable. His ending was written long before his first breath and the author none other than humanities closest friend, death. He stood there, breathing heavily, legs weak, drenched in blood and sweat, but he never gave up. He’s going to keep fighting till the end. Not just his end but the end of everything. For he’s the last hope, the only hope, since the beginning.

The Beginning

Life is mundane, humanity has always set out to find excitement wherever it may lie. Whether it’s falling through the sky or diving to deeper depths, we will find it. Society is nothing but a bore, if only life was anything like it used to be when there were no massive civilizations. Hunting and fighting everyday, just to simply survive. A life of fulfillment, because there’s nothing more fulfilling than surviving. He sits there on his bed, staring at the floor with a dead expression on his face. He hasn’t slept in days, by choice. He doesn’t want to, that worlds just to cruel for him, but he’s become weary. He knows that there is no escape, no matter how hard he tries he will return. His head is crowded with thoughts, thoughts that haunt his soul. His eyes become very heavy, but nonetheless he fights the urge to sleep. Eventually, he faints from pure exhaustion. “Now our fun begins…” All night he has nightmares, nightmares of a new kind. These nightmares rip and terror at his every last nerve. They make him want to kill, they make him want to die. He tries to stop dreaming, he tries to wake up, but he never can. He lays there suspended in his own personal hell, trying to escape. Over and over, he cries for help, but no ones around to hear. Loneliness imprisons his soul, hatred fills his heart, and death can be seen within his eyes. This nightmare seems never ending, forever tormenting. Then finally his alarm clock, sounding louder than the roar of thunder across the sky, wakes him from his horrific slumber. He lunges out of bed in a sort of panic. Heart racing and out of breath, he sits there. Light headed, he can barely keep his eyes open, but he stands up. He leans against the wall and slowly slides to the ground. He stays there, sitting in the shadows trying to forget, but the nightmare still torments him in his awake state. He remembers every detail (pride from pain insert). He remembers screams of pain and fear, but not to whom they belong. Tears start to roll down his cheeks.

Impressum

Texte: Nicholas Vaughn Elliott
Bildmaterialien: Nicholas Vaughn Elliott
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 02.06.2012

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