Misguided Efforts

Death. Death is the only release.”

Nov. 13, 2010   “Tragedy – Finale”


Anetho finished tying the last knot into his noose and secured it upon his third story patio overlooking the expanse of Eversong below him. His work was finished and at long last he would be granted the peace of mind he so desired. A release from all mortal affairs. From his every weakness. He would finally be rid of these horrific sensations ripping through his heart at all hours of the day, despite his best efforts to force a smile. The countless women he filled his bed with. Even the screams of the dying. Nothing else would fulfill him as this moment could, he thought.

Dawnpride secured the rope about his neck tightly and gripped at the railing that seperated him from his intended plummet. He took a sharp breath of air, savoring it as he exhaled slowly. “Where do monsters go when they die?” He pulled himself up onto the metallic surface, resting his rear against it, his feet now dangling freely. “They shan’t go to the heavens, where angels fly.” He whispered, closing his eyes and falling forward. His mind emptied for a brief moment before it shook with the sensation of pain about his neck, as his airways constricted. His whole body jerked with the sudden stop and he gagged. His neck didn’t break, and he knew this was going to be a very discomforting process.

The world around him seemed to glow brighter and brighter, as he was distanced further and further from the joys of life. It was so frightening and so satisfying that he couldn’t decide between a smile or kicking his feet in panic. It grew darker despite the glow of the sun. His lungs became heavy and desperate for air. His heartbeat slowed, and his thoughts clouded. Just a few more seconds would be all it took…

Anetho shot upright with a violent snarl, cold sweat holding his hair to his face as he panted. His left hand rubbed at the base of his neck as he looked about, slightly disoriented. He’d been dreaming; or rather, reliving a moment in time through his dreams as was often the case. He shook his head, and composed himself. He was still alive and well, it seemed. Or perhaps in the moment he died, he was condemned to this hell, a carbon copy of everything that existed in life meant to further torment him. He sighed, leaning back against the collection of Orcish furs and primitive pillows, drawing the bearskin blanket about himself even tighter. “…What a lovely dream…” He whispered to himself, attempting to return to the embrace of a night’s sleep.


~ by anethodawnpride on May 27, 2013.

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