Varia Visive

by journcy

Memory? (Random)

Prompt #471: “Those Who Tell the Truth Shall Die, Those Who Tell the Truth Shall Live Forever”

"This great evil. Where’s it come from? How’d it steal into the world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who’s doing this? Who’s killing us, robbing us of life and light? Mocking us with the sight of what we might have known?

Does our ruin benefit the earth? Does it help the grass to grow and the sun to shine?

Is this darkness in you, too? Have you passed through this night?"

---

I sit.

I see nothing. The darkness around me is complete.

I hear nothing. Not even the faint drumbeat of my heart.

I smell nothing. Not even the smell of emptiness.

I taste nothing. Not even the never-ending monotony of saliva.

I feel...

Cold. A coolness, and a dampness. Like a breath on my neck. But the breath is not from any living thing. No, it is a dead breath. It freezes me; it warns me. The breath is colder, the bite of ice.

The snow I have landed in crunches faintly beneath me. It is powdery and light, and it is truly lovely.

I see now. A forest surrounds me, blanketed in the snowfall.

I hear now. Not much, but the faint rustle of plants and leaves and life.

I smell now. Not much, but the faint wisp of pine.

I taste now. Not much, but the faint bitterness of dirt, from the snow.

I feel...

Pain. Something has lunged at me, from beneath the darkness of the brush beyond where I sit. A wolf. It crosses the distance between us in no time, sinking its teeth into the leg I bring up to defend myself. Its fangs are sharp, tearing into me like daggers.

I wield the two daggers before me, attempting to appear threatening.

I see little. The light in the room is faint, but I can just make out a form in front of me.

I hear less. The oblique clink of hooves against stone.

I smell less. The mild musk of sweat.

I taste less. The metal of blood.

I feel...

Anger. Whoever is in front of me has done me wrong. I cry out, and run at them, daggers held before me. I catch a glimpse of their coat--deep purple. Unfamiliar. I swipe with my daggers, magic more competent than the knife they too hold--but in their mouth. Too bad for them. I stab, and I kill. I feel a rush of adrenaline, as the thought occurs to me that the assassin--it was an assassin, I realize--may not be alone.

The adrenaline is quickly joined by a cold sweat as I stare at the mare in front of me, wondering what the next sound to echo through the room would be.

I see more. A lovely green, and a deeper blue. A flash of pink, somewhere.

I hear something. An uncomfortable silence, broken only by a brief movement, here, there.

I smell something. Fear?

I taste something. A flower, past my lips but minutes before.

I feel...

Terror. I have asked a damning question. I have made a decision that cannot be undone, and I have thrown myself off of the intelligible side of life and landed amidst the uncertainty of waiting. Waiting for the answer to the same question that has ruined so many before me. The mare's mouth opens. My eyes widen unconsciously. I pull my breath in. A tight feeling has taken over my chest. Air is precious, but only for a moment.

Or for much longer. I am drowning. The water around me is strangely warm. I flounder, panicking.

I see, not what I need to. No rescue comes.

I hear, that what will ruin me. Bubbles race past my head.

I smell, only the smell of water--if such a thing can even be described. My nose is treacherous.

I taste, the foul salt of the ocean. I have run out of air, now. I inhale only water.

I feel...

Acceptance. My time has come. It will end like this. Curious, that I would go through so much to be ended in such an insignificant way. A simple accident. An... Accident...

I awake.

I see, what I always see. The lush blankets of my bed.

I hear, what I always hear. The muffled rush of wind, and maybe the creak of the tower.

I smell, what I always smell. My own scent, strong on my sheets.

I taste, what I always taste. The comfort of a meal a few hours past, a fine meal.

I feel...

Grateful. Grateful that the memories of all the years of the past are nothing more than memories. But... Maybe not. Maybe there are some memories I wish I could have back. Times I wish to relive. But not those. Not those that haunt my dreams, not tonight.

I wonder if the sickness of my nights is a punishment for what I was forced to do. That is a memory I certainly wish to leave in the past. The memory of a wrong, corrected by a wrong. The result of a mistake. I wonder if the spectres of my dreams are not the judgement of the universe, conspiring against me. But no matter.

Dawn will come soon enough. My chance at redemption, and hers as well, will soon be upon us.

I will have my peace.