An End Other Than Death (Part 4)
Every day that passes I feel my memory fading. Ighodia, Coghan. The shore that saved us from the Storm. Home. The white blankets of snow that sat atop the roofs, the warm fires inside the homes.
Every minute I spend in this place, wherever it may be, I know my memory of what came before fades.
It feels like only a few months ago, now. I cannot really tell. A few months ago I was walked to the warm stone temple, and there I was given my End. I was special, they said. They would grow old and die. I would not. I would experience an end other than death. I am special.
There, in that warm, quiet place east of Ighodia, I met my End.
My ears were rammed with bronze stakes. The world went quiet and it would never be loud again. I remember being sad that I hadn’t enjoyed the noise of the people back in Ighodia. I guess I had thought I would get a chance to hear anyone’s voice before I would be able to hear nothing at all.
Then, I was forced down. My eyes were taken from my skull. I would no longer see. My world was replaced with pitch black for weeks upon weeks.
At some point I was stripped and laid down, against what felt to be nothing. I would lie down and float for the end of time.
Only recently has my vision come back to me a bit. Now I see stars in a black sky. My pale feet touch flooded black soil, sink in. A strange feeling between my toes. If I think too hard about it, or think about something other than it, like I am right now–I am thinking about my past, after all–then I can’t feel it. But sometimes I feel like I can take a step, and maybe another, and maybe that’s my End.
Other people grow old and die. But I won’t. I’m special. I lose my ability to see and hear the world, and instead I can see and hear the gods. I hope they welcome me. I worry that maybe they are angry.