Tiny Vessels

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  • Publiceret: 13 okt. 2017
  • Opdateret: 6 mar. 2018
  • Status: Igang
Short stories set in the universe of my novel Vessel.

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7. Fragment

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the center of the crackling room lay a bundle of people, sprawled out on the floor for the ones who entered to see. This, was the first thing they saw, after they'd been deemed infected. 

His head hung, the floor met with cloudy eyes, black splotches decorating his snowy skin. There was no doubt, he was going to die here. He wondered if his family was going to save him, then he blinked as he realized he'd been thrown to the ground, the iron door closing without telling. 

There was no spark left in him, he raised his head to the masses in the cellar; hands to their heads, some screaming, other vomiting blood or crying. Yes -- he'd do that too. But there was nothing left in him, no will to fight, no will to scream.

Darkness enveloped his shivering hands, the garbs he wore when healthy no longer there. He mustered strength in his decaying legs, choosing the stone brick he'd pass away on. There was no attention given to him as he walked, the others were looking for their own brick.

A smooth stone shinier than the rest caught his tired eyes. It welcomed him with arms similar to his mothers, warm arms, safe arms, healthy arms. Her berry red lips, exotic black hair, glass-eyes molded in crystal.

"Doth not worry. Thee are safe, Dawe." His mother would tell him with vowels dipped in honey. There was no pain. 

Then he saw his hand, there was a wound in his palm, it oozed with yellow, and red, and pain. The stone grew warmer underneath him, he'd sat there for a while now. The darkness was getting darker, could darkness get blurry, too? 

Spring buds played at his face, tickling his cheeks and making him lift his hand to brush them away.

The buds weren't real. He was becoming them. White flurry, snowflakes all around as they blinded him in the darkness that faded. Everything was so bright, so pure. Until, he saw the face of someone. They'd returned with the dark, drowning his feet and slithering up his legs.

"Where are thou headed?"The figure asked, as if it assumed he knew. He'd just followed the spring buds, how could he know where they were headed?

"Do thee knoweth?" He asked back, and the black figure seemed to scoff.

"Yes, but doth thee?" It raised a pointed a finger at him, its shadow sprawled out like a ripped cloak, moving up against non-existent walls, circling him in his corner of white. The buds screamed at him, until they too, disappeared. The figure grew darker, bigger and fluids leaked from its skin, red and black coloring each other, meeting, hugging, suffocating the other until only one stood. 

"Who art thou?" 

"I am death, thy death." 

It said, followed by its cysts popping, spouting black goo and crimson tendrils from their holes, drowning him in mix-matched hues. And he fell. So far, and for so long, that his feet forgot to kick.

He landed in a barren land. Sand dunes stretched across the horizon. Now that he thought about it, there was a horizon -- he'd landed somewhere. Warm, soft sand embraced his toes, but compared to the beauty of the purple horizon, the sand was bleak. Then he laughed at himself: if the horizon is beautiful, then sand feels nice.

Picking himself up from the golden field, he begins to walk. His feet weren't tired, his eyes didn't burn, and the black sacs of blood and goo weren't there. He walked a narrow road through two hills of sand, a large building exposing itself at the edge of the dune. 

The building shined, it was made of white stone, a type of stone he hadn't seen. Like the brightness the buds of spring had shown him, the building's light greeted him like an old friend. He was meant to be here?

In the sand, there was something unusual -- a misty ball. With a tilted head, he approached it and it expanded without him noticing, swallowing him whole. The man who'd once stood in the endless oceans of sand, he was no more. His identity had been taken, and something had replaced his heart.

The ball of mist cackled at the man now forgotten, rising up in the stranger's body, making it stand on its empty shell as the mist swam through the veins of the vessel, stopping only at the edges of the body, wrapping all within those lines in haze. 

His eyes that had rolled up into the back of his head, danced their way back, broken bones cracking back in place without the help of glue. 

Ice. That was all one could say about its eyes now. It raised its hand, staring at it like a baby would at its mother. It blinked for the first time and lifted the hand higher. Purple clouds was what it first saw, and it would be what it saw last.

It wondered what it was -- but then it remembered. It was a part of him, yet also, a part of the human. So it was only a fragment, a small piece, it was merely a vessel, a cause for something of the greater good.

Or not?

One part was for certain. It couldn't wait to return to Earth, the world where instead of purple, the sky was a gentle azure, a color that kissed you good morning every day. Purple could do that too, but not as good.

White sickly lips, messy black hair, and bleached eyes molded in disasters. 

Not long before it could join the other vessels. 

It hoped to cease God's child from the face of the Earth. It would do it quicker, faster, better than any before it.

It'll cease it? 

Ceis, that'll be what the vessel is. 

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