This is actually moderately old. It's a short (very short) piece I did that was originally intended to be in two parts, but, I ah... got stuck, like I seem to have a knack for doing, and only have part one finished. Despite this, the first part works well enough standalone, and I'll point out right now that I rarely write in the first person perspective, so this is a bit of a deviation from the norm for me. Perhaps, in time, I will pick the project back up, but until then, here's a little bit I feel worthy of sharing.
Feel free to comment, ask questions, or what have you as you will. If I post any others, they also will likely be upwards of a year old due to a terrible case of an all-encompassing art block.
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It had been countless millennia since last I saw his face brimming with energy. After I found him, the memory of his features started to fade, until only the countenance of his corpse, frozen in agony and shame, remained. I had succeeded him, and in his absence, began a family, and further developed the kingdom he dreamed of and fought so hard in his life to earn, build, and achieve. Yet, in life after his had ended, I steadily felt a cold and terrible emptiness, which nothing could chase away—not a new partner, not a husband, not even a child, or a prospering empire.
I was distressed so constantly that no one ever noticed, and my old comrades from his time had forgotten it was even there. No comfort came in realizing his dream. No relief took in maintaining and furthering that dream. No solace found me in death. While I, too, was claimed by Sacred Hell, I never saw more than a glimpse of his face in passing while carrying out our duties under Arimos’ order. I was in a constant state of apprehension and disconcertion in those millennia.
While my soul retained its memories of life in vivid detail, I noticed that those of the other inhabitants about me lost theirs bit by bit, like the text of an ancient book fading away with increasing age. As I realized it was generally an inevitable occurrence in Sacred Hell, my distress only deeper rooted itself and grew. I was an anomaly there, and I was certain that he was not—our passings continued to involve little more than him catching my eye, and it was then that I realized I had no longer existed to him even before my death.
Arimos did not judge harsh upon me. My place in his realm was intended a privileged one; I had done nothing to earn eternity of his tortures. Still, I was torn into agony of my own each time I saw our commander, and there was nothing that could be done—that I would allow be done—to ease the ache that’d swallowed my soul.
Order continued in the realm undaunted, and eventually the hurt became a hind-thought as the shock and sting of my revelation lost to an encroaching aloofness. I came to reluctantly accept my lot as it were, and I went numb, becoming distant and reflexive. I stopped reacting to normal occurrences, and I stopped noticing the times I passed him by. Nothing unusual ever happened in Sacred Hell. This is actually moderately old. It's a short (very short) piece I did that was originally intended to be in two parts, but, I ah... got stuck, like I seem to have a knack for doing, and only have part one finished. Despite this, the first part works well enough standalone, and I'll point out right now that I rarely write in the first person perspective, so this is a bit of a deviation from the norm for me. Perhaps, in time, I will pick the project back up, but until then, here's a little bit I feel worthy of sharing.
Feel free to comment, ask questions, or what have you as you will. If I post any others, they also will likely be upwards of a year old due to a terrible case of an all-encompassing art block.
__________________
It had been countless millennia since last I saw his face brimming with energy. After I found him, the memory of his features started to fade, until only the countenance of his corpse, frozen in agony and shame, remained. I had succeeded him, and in his absence, began a family, and further developed the kingdom he dreamed of and fought so hard in his life to earn, build, and achieve. Yet, in life after his had ended, I steadily felt a cold and terrible emptiness, which nothing could chase away—not a new partner, not a husband, not even a child, or a prospering empire.
I was distressed so constantly that no one ever noticed, and my old comrades from his time had forgotten it was even there. No comfort came in realizing his dream. No relief took in maintaining and furthering that dream. No solace found me in death. While I, too, was claimed by Sacred Hell, I never saw more than a glimpse of his face in passing while carrying out our duties under Arimos’ order. I was in a constant state of apprehension and disconcertion in those millennia.
While my soul retained its memories of life in vivid detail, I noticed that those of the other inhabitants about me lost theirs bit by bit, like the text of an ancient book fading away with increasing age. As I realized it was generally an inevitable occurrence in Sacred Hell, my distress only deeper rooted itself and grew. I was an anomaly there, and I was certain that he was not—our passings continued to involve little more than him catching my eye, and it was then that I realized I had no longer existed to him even before my death.
Arimos did not judge harsh upon me. My place in his realm was intended a privileged one; I had done nothing to earn eternity of his tortures. Still, I was torn into agony of my own each time I saw our commander, and there was nothing that could be done—that I would allow be done—to ease the ache that’d swallowed my soul.
Order continued in the realm undaunted, and eventually the hurt became a hind-thought as the shock and sting of my revelation lost to an encroaching aloofness. I came to reluctantly accept my lot as it were, and I went numb, becoming distant and reflexive. I stopped reacting to normal occurrences, and I stopped noticing the times I passed him by. Nothing unusual ever happened in Sacred Hell.
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