All is silent in the cold darkness before my open eyes.
I see nothing. Not one ray of blessed light can find me here, no glittering drops of sunlight can peirce the ebony folds that clasp me in this horrid place.
Where am I?
I try to lift my hand, but it refuses my command. It lies still and cold, as if frozen to my chest, an icy touch on a raging heart. I try to shift my fingers, but they too ignore my silent pleas. They clutch something, and I cannot loosen the grip, nor can I perceive what lies there. I try to stir my legs, but they will not rouse. They are held by nothing that I can sense, but they feel as if they are made of iron.
I strain to see, but my eyes are blind.
I strain to speak, and a terrible sound echoes from the caverns of my chest, gargling from my throat, and spilling out like a grating curse over the parched lines that were once my lips. It borders between a deep groan and an otherwordly shriek, becoming neither. I fall silent, horrified by the sound and by the sensation that warns me that my mouth may no longer hold a tongue.
I strain to hear, and a small sound begins to form in my ear. At first I cannot discern whether this sound is in my mind or in the darkness. It is so silent, I cannot be certain of it actually being. And yet it fills every fibre of my body, until I feel I shall burst from the vibrations of it. It sounds very much like breath.
Then the voice of a thousand sighs falls like daggers upon my senses.
"Slumber no more, my pet."
A cold draft brushes over me, so heavy it feels more like a wave than a breeze. I feel a shiver creeping through my spine, but my body lies perfectly motionless.
"You cannot see, can you? It is because you have no eyes, my pet."
I know the voice speaks truth. Without seeing, I know. I feel the liquid stained sockets that once held my green eyes, and I know.
With that knowledge comes horrible, revolting truth. I can feel my legs now. They are rotting. Deep wells of pus-filled flesh are scattered across my form, dotted with corroded edges of skin, empty veins, gnawed muscle, gaping bones, and newly awakened nerves, tingling with raw fear.
I can feel my hands, those bony plates bereft of flesh.
And I feel my fingers. Revealed instruments, once so slender and graceful, robed in pale skin, now blood-stained shades of scarlet, clutching tightly to the handle of a jewelled dagger.
"You will be forever mine, my cadaverous Queen."
At last, I feel my heart. It beats fiercely, the one remaining organ in my rotting corpse. Pounding and dancing violently to the burning voice echoing in my ears. Muscle and tendons have melted away, devoured by death. All that holds the aching organ to my sunken chest is the gleaming steel of a gentleman's blade.
Author notes
Partly my own cobwebbed mind, also inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's stories: The Premature Burial and The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar (and others).
A contest entry
- Once upon a time, I ripped the wings from my spine. by On Frail Wings..
700 points, ended July 11, 71 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Inspired by Poe or Byron? Write about it! by The Fun House.
1050 points, ended July 18, 27 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Also, I should add, the allusion to the other being was very intelligently crafted.
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Finally got around to reading some of your work.
It actually did remind me of being buried alive. I wrote a poem about that once, a long time ago on another account. Even the surrealism reminds me very much of my own work back in the day. I used to write some pretty dark stuff.
It's interesting that the last thing to remain is the heart. Some eastern religions consider the soul to reside in the heart (although they assert this is a different heart, one which resides within the right side of your chest). Great descriptions... puss filled flesh and empty veins, tingling with raw fear. It really could have come from Poe himself.
Great write, I'll have to read your novel.
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Thank you so much for the wonderful comments!! Your opinion is highly regarded and very much appreciated. I'm glad you enjoyed my piece. I wish my novel was this good, but I think there's always room for improvement. Thanks again!
S
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I can see the inspiration there. I like the perspecitve you've taken here and how it all meshes together. It is a well done piece of work and the ending is perfect. Well done
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Can't help but read these, because I know they'll be well worth the time spent.
One of the few reasons I still hang around.
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Very nicely done, S! I love the wording and what inspired you! Poe was a nifty man! Awesome work here, dear! Best wishes in the contests with this!
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