The Last Scenery Ever Witnessed.

[Nest - Far From Lands]

High above sea and ground, on a platform of the farthest and steepest mountain hidden in the cool, grey smog. Merely a wide pillar, with an overgrown path circling downwards, or upwards, the mile tall hill. Here the air was dead, yet not much unlike the infected ambience streaming across the seemingly defeated world beneath. It was cold, a dull and lifeless embrace of the earth. On this cliff, the last one with a still wet grass from the last morning dew, the last dying tree, crippling together with colorless fir needles, here stood three beings with each mind in coma. Blackdressed, in the simpliest shirt and jeans, all dusted from the fragments of the eerie air and the dried clay that flew with it. They were dead aswell. No honor who held up their bony spines, no light in the halfshut, halfopen eyes of a depressed acountenance. So alike they were, like sister and brothers, skinny, so long and flowing hair, threadbare. The one man with the hair as grey as the sky, stood not far away from falling down the soaring steep. Black, small fires and a pit of surviving, regenerating, sick and petrifying human life, was what he gazed numb upon. The slender woman with her arms crossed, and the sinewy, lanky man in the shadow of her, they were both listening to the grey. Yet he hadn't said anything yet. Not in words.

He sighed a deep sigh, from the bottom of his endless lungs, yet what came out was only a weak breath. With this wind, he could no longer whisper... No longer whisper the aspen leaves in rattling, barely even his own hair. He opened his bitter-looking mouth, and spoke low with a voice dry as stone; 'It is over.' And with the silence that fell once again, so did the bricks in the woman's and the other man's already emptied hearts. The stillness among them, lingered as a sleeping ghost, gently, massaging the headache. Although it was disturbed by the darkbrown-longhaired, goathorned man, who scrapped his one army-boot against the gravel as he moved the weight from the other leg. The black gravel was loose, and the mountain bent down into the long path, leading to the corrupted grounds of this, destroyed earth. 'This shall indeed be our last meeting... I thank you for the company you've brought me, yet here I now will bid you my very last farewell, my warriors.' The grey uttered with such a dead expression. At this, the darkbrunetted woman rose her porcelain face to. Her deep forest eye glisterned, framed with tired, irritated, red and grey shadows and long lashes. She lightly opened her snakebited lips, gasping unhearably, carefully moving her thin legs over the gravel-like dirt, not to stumble or sink with those heels on those torn pumps. The horned, darkhaired man behind her rose his attention from the ground to her, wathcing gracefully, knowing what she would do. She walked a few steps closer to him, the grey, revealing his skinny profile slowly...

'... N-no...~' she let out with a vulnerable tone, and a supressed cry, yet still calm. Her gaze was soultearing. The grey turned his head and met it, with the melancholy in his, long faded, dark hazels. The little, weak breeze that flew around him and moved the thinnest hair, soon waved in hers aswell. He calmed her with his gaze. And yet she blinked a tear out, speaking low but on a high pitch; 'I... I don't want to leave you...' And he blinked back, opening his eyes slowly and only halfway; 'I know... But yet you must...' he replied soft and even lower. His gaze moved a bit, followed her as she stepped closer, looking back at him with the feeling of an unwanted goodbye in her eyes. 'Close your eyes.' he whispered. And she lowered her head to his weak brisket, lashes sealing the eyelids together. And then he whispered in her ear, 'This shall be my last grave...~', as soft and aerial as his whispers used to be, the whisperor of the wind, '... After this, I hope for no man to disturb my death...' . A faint sniff heard from her, as she gently let her head fall to his bone, still he moved no finch at all. '... There are no reasons of shedding tears by now... All is gone... And you are free... You who cries in silver...~' ... His two last meanings echoing, fading into a distant sound of nothing. This, last whisper flew to the ear of the elegant man behind them, he who wore the crown of the goat. He sought their eyes, looking just as sad, with tired, and red, irritated eyes from the unpleasant smoky air. The grey backed a step, gave the woman a look, in which he embedded the message "farewell." She nodded with the gaze in her sharp, darkgreen forest eye, and blinked as she lowered her head away to see her heels would not make her stumble.

As she walked slowly away from the dangerous steep, back to the horned man, while he exhanged also a last look of the eye, he swallowed lightly and tenced his jaws, wanting to say something. He went up to him right away, stretching out his hand; 'I simply cannot go like this without shaking your hand even once...' his dark voice said with a depth of respect and devotion. His honest green gaze met by a quite placed acountenance, for this grey man had never in his eternal life shoken hand with anyone. Yet he ofcourse did slowly put his skinny arm out, letting it get grabbed by the much sinewyer, who shook it properly and sturdy. Somehow the warrior's look in the face, stays always the same. That was a thought that came to the grey, as the soldier let go of his hand, nodded, turned around and walked off to the young woman, putting his arm around her waist, kissing her hair, and started their long promenade down this mile long path... An emotion, an empty emotion ran over him, what it was he did not care about, for he had long forgotten how it was to feel.

As they rounded the cloudy, shaded corner, overgrown from the hilltop which hanged over the path as a roof, he turned around again and faced the void in the ambience. He sat down on a phlat stone that happened to be under him, let one leg hang over the grassed edge of the steep, bent the other one up to his body so he could rest the arm against the knee, the other hand put steady to the ground. He raised his head a slight, to where he could see beyond the black smoke rising from the valley of growing horror. Here he would sit for the next centuries, waiting, as his body solidified to stone, and for the weather to tear his statue to ashes and fragments, so he could finally die after all... This... Time...~

---

On the path, downwards to safe ground, the last soldiers paced on. No one could ever tell whether it was dawn or dusk. But it made no matter to them. Throughout this long walk, through these hours they never spoke a single word to eachother. Both bearing the same thoughts, the same grief, the same uncertainty, yet same vault... They did not need to talk. This day, or this night, was what they had been awaiting. And now it was here, about time, one could easily say... They had no pride or honor left, nothing to defend anymore, no road to ride on, their strength they once had, had flown away like the light had been blown out. Yet there was one thing they still had, who only they possessed, and no one could ever take away... The empty void of the farthest corner in the universe whence they first came from. And that would now become their land of the dead...

When they finally came down from the ancient hill, and stepped in the monochrome sand, they stopped after only a yard. The world around them was a sea of coal and ash. The man sighed deeply, he blinked slowly, and raised his neck, looking at her. She changed stance of her feet, hopefully to find a somewhat stable position in the fine, sand of burnt soil. And then she looked up, back at him. In his pale knight-acountenance, framed with the long, thick, dark hair, hanged a heavy expression. The kind, green eyes hated this situation. So did hers, the wild sense in hers, had been tamed and killed. She sighed aswell, sank her head against his brisket, glanced at his hand, moving just a finch of her fingers, and he would grab it right away. They closed their fingers around eachother, holding hard, like nothing would tear them apart. He, leaned his neck over, scratching her silky hair with his goat-bearded chin. Now his silver tears would start dripping aswell... He kissed her hair and breathed it in. She answered, and raised her wet cheek to his, finding his mouth, clinging the metal in their lips together. And as they emerged into what would be their very last, passionate kiss, the tears of their death would drip down into the burnt soil, solidifying into tiny silver pearls. Suddenly, a black, violent flame enshrouded their holding hands, spreading over their arms. She put her other palm over his chest, and in an instant set it ablaze, as he would follow, by touching her porcelain throat and cheek, schorching it badly. And as the black fire embraced their crumbling bodies, they stood still as the birds of a feather and cried all the way into their death, to the last... Ash-grain.

These fragments, will spread out in the far universe, once this planet dies. Once this planet dies, they can go home...