[ it started with the blood of literacy ; incomplete ]
December 26, 2010 - 3:09am — Rutilus
It was a rainy night, you know. I still remember looking out at the windowpanes and seeing great droplets of water committing suicide, ending their lives as they had been forced to do. I remember taking one moment as a photograph in my head and keeping it for a while, my reflection looking tired and impatient in the window. I recall the sky that night, black clouds billowing and draping upwards to the velveteen abyss that hung above the rest of the world and I, the pale moon a signal, a mournful warning. I knew it would not be long until my fate was decided.
What you must know about me and the others is that our world is just like yours. Exactly the same, in fact, but the main difference is that in our world, black magic runs amok, white magic is scarce to come by, and our royalty is rather old-fashioned and traditional...at least, it was back then. I believe there have been stories written before about this world - something about a man that worked in a theatre, two friends united then lost, never to remember eachother, nightmares...Part of a dream I had, you know - but in my world, people call my dreams prophecies.
My name is, appropriately, Prophet. I have been a poet all my life and I hope to continue that, with or without my prophetical abilities. But I must be silent about my current state, for a little while.
As I said, it was a rainy night when they came for me. The guards took me, one for each arm, and they half-led, half-dragged me down the stone-walled corridor. I wasn't struggling. I was just too tired to try and walk properly. Prison food is not pleasant and as far as I know it never has been, not here. I closed my eyes as they dragged me, and I tried to summon the poet inside me, the one that I had been known as - but he would not surface. I felt hollow. I felt cold, inside and out. I felt dead already. And I felt even more extinct as I eventually looked up into the stone-cold eyes of the king of our time. I cannot even recall his name, nor when he came to the throne. But I know that he was a white wizard of sorts - not the most powerful, but those people were at his command. The darker creatures...I tend not to look back on them if I can help it.
The king's eyes were darker than the sky outside that night. They stared at me with such venom, clearly-written disgust on his face, ice as the hollows of his cheekbones, daggers as the point of his chin, blades as his jawline, silver hooks as teeth. Truthfully he looked normal - but in those few seconds that I managed to look at him, he was as inhuman as anything I'd ever seen, and I had seen many things. I had destroyed and created them.
"Black magic," he spoke not to me but at me, spittle flying from between his royal jaws. I cowered as a black rag fell over my eyes. I whimpered as the cuffs on my hands tightened. I shuddered as I felt cold metal against my mid-back. A knife? A gun? I couldn't tell; too preoccupied with terror to distinguish between point and round emptiness. "The great, prophetical poet..." And I felt the air stir, I felt his hair sway as he nodded.
And then I awoke in a place of beauty.
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Edit: Sorry for being a drama queen, guys <3 I've decided to sort of...give up on this version of my lot's past and rewrite it :U Uh, sort of.
I really enjoyed reading
I wish you'd learn to appreciate your art for yourself.
I wish I would, too. Don't
But genuinely - thankyou for reading this, Mis. I've just been feeling left out of everything lately, which is really my own fault for not getting involved.
I'll always love your
Thanks, Sarie xD You know I
This made me wish there was