This piece is a short piece. It's rough as I banged it out for posting on NG. It's abstract and I hope not too morbid. I was taught language function in Afrikaans and sometimes mess up when applying to English. I'll sit and refine what I have tomorrow when there's a bit of distance between me and this. Hope you enjoy the read; if you don't... then I have failed and cannot help you. Here we go.
The noise dies down and the world fades into the background.
I crumble inside like dying vines; one strandâEUTMs precarious grip fails and it tumbles to the decrepit dust, its neighbour goes with it and one by one they all fall. Soon the wall is bare and all that is left is for the sterile earth to ineffectually swallow the rotting mass of vegetation. The process seems familiar.
The rain breathes freezing paths of ice between my shoulder blades. Torrential waters flow ineffectually into the corpse strewn pit that had become the grave of my friends and advisers. A loose eyeball swirls in the watery vortex of the insatiable pit. Nothing is ever digested in this world. Broken debris and detritus remain in one recognizable form or another.
I had tried to dispose of Trajan cleanly but as he lies here in this hole before me the compulsion to measure his death overwhelms me but my eyes cannot find the puncture amongst his blood stained robes. Why wonâEUTMt the water dilute the blood?
The dead old man had never made sense when I was a child. He would speak and point me towards kindnesses but to a child kindness is an academic concept only applied in line with wants. I grew older and wiser but I do not know if he grew wiser in the years I had known him; maybe his voice had simply become louder.
He had awoken to find my glinting dagger inching carefully into him. His eyes had almost defeated my resolve when they became a sorrowful mirror of my planned actions. âEUoeAm I the first to die?âEU he had asked. I had nodded stiffly through fat tears.
The tide of his life had ebbed as even his last words had become an act of altruism; âEUoeAn age with a broken spirit is a broken age. Ageless men cannot be broken.âEU
TrajanâEUTMs calm death became the clamour of everyone elseâEUTMs panic as they realized that the end had come. Some took it, some
And beautiful Danny, Danny the Angry, was the hardest to die but the easiest to kill. Unlike Trajan, Danny had never known peace for a single instant since his conception; paranoid, distrustful and supremely destructive; constantly looking over his shoulder. I had not seen any alternative but to be heavy handed with Danny. I had taken his right arm, now cradled almost delicately in his left, from him right at the start. The knife wielding limb had become the instrument of his death as he had continued crawling towards me with all consuming hatred: âEUoeWhat will you be without me!?! Another pussy just waiting for the next hard shaft to penetrate and rape you! Fuck them! Fuck you! They will take and take until there is nothing left of you to take! I am the barrier! I am safety!âEU
I tried to be kind then âEUoeIâEUTMm sorry Danny but that is not true in the sense that you mean.âEU but Danny would not let go; he was young and angry and kept coming at me. I back tracked as he came on and when his strength had finally seemed to reach its end I knelt next to his bleeding form wanting to say a proper good bye. But he would ultimately deny me even the shallowest of moments to express my love for him; for all of them. He was angry and bitter and young.
The worst thing I could imagine was dying face down in the dirt so I dropped his severed arm still clutching his knife and turned him on his back. The wheezing and broken shell had seemed less angry then despite the crimson streaks running like a malicious omen over his face and pooling in the dark hair beneath. Red war paint flowed from his nostrils as less and less blood had flowed from his severed shoulder as his heart grew weaker.
âEUoeDanny?âEU I whispered sorrowfully.
His eyes focused then fluttered around as if searching for a target but they fell on me without rage or resentment and he croaked weakly âEUoeYes?âEU
âEUoeIs there peace?âEU
His pupils had contracted to a point then and he attacked me with his remaining limbs. I had grabbed the nearest weapon, an axe made of his arm and knife. I held the bloody bicep two handed and swung the clutched knife at DannyâEUTMs chest over and over again. I think I had gone mad in those moments as that knife tore him open like an axe bit by meaty bit. When he had gone quiet I had dragged his corpse to the edge of the pit and nudged him in; he did not fall face first mercifully but on his side.
He had died a grotesquery. Danny probably deserved what I did the most if I have to think in terms of entitlement. The hole in Danny haunts me and looking at him there with his face half buried in the mud and the hole in his body I cannot help but wonder if IâEUTMve become a monster in my pursuit to be rid of monsters.