It's all fun and games until someone remember they're supposed to be alive. Then they start shrieking and crying about how it's all unfair and they never should have come here as if that changes a damned thing about this damned place and all our damned bloody souls.
I suppose if I were as young and fresh as them I'd be just as scared, hurt and angry by it all but honestly I've been here for so long that I hardly remember a single person from my living days. I don't even remember waking up here - I just am and I am dead and I am here and that is my life.
Rather, it's my unlife I suppose. It's hard to describe the way I both feel alive and feel lifeless. It's like I'm floating over a haze and occasionally I'll see an opening and there's the most beautiful green field full of flowers. But the haze always comes back and all I see is a grey nothingness.
I wonder if the others see the same as me or if they think we're actually on a boat on the open lake. We're not - we're in the mouth of something vaster and older than the lake, something that roamed here when here was an ocean and its prey was just as vast and ancient.
Now it feeds on us and our memories, drowning the bodies and filtering the souls out to sit in its mouth where it savours us like a fine wine. I remember how I used to be so excited at the though of soon being old enough to drink wine with my parents at their formal dinner parties but I don't remember their faces.
No comments:
Post a Comment