It.
The length of eons stretches behind it, all memory’s is lost to noise, being and purpose are displacing hazes of a dream upon a memory.
It stretches out it’s hand, having long ago lost all notion of what a hand, a finger, an arm, and a limb once were. It touched the void of nothing, and pulls it like a cloak around bones that creak, groan, and splinter with the aching of time so long that stars birthing and burning there last are but a twinkle.
Pressure of a time before time presses against it’s form, imagined or not the form sinks with every gasping step, every clawing escape of breath, of lips that escape beyond the ravines and crocked peaks that are all that remain of ruined lips.
Darkness closes, darkness it’s companion, It sighs the desperate rasping sigh of the damned as it beings to pass it’s burdens to it. To Darkness, to the End, to the Void. Darkness takes them and eases support past ravines and scars of flesh, torn by ages, swamped by memories of times forgotten, of echoing actions and arrows that fell upon it.
The Darkness holds It all now, no more steps can be made, no more fights, or dreams, or questions asked or answered. A distant echo of a memory plays across the ruined landscapes of a mind once fortified, but now dust. The ravines and crags of ruined lips twitch as a memory of warmth, of light, of emotions that have no names now. It does not know if it was It’s own, or a gift from the darkness. It does not care for now is the time of nothing.
It slips into eternal sominance, it husk and bones are baked by the winds of time, bleached white then dark, then black. The last breath slips amongst the spaces, the dying rasp echoing like a rustle on the wind. The final light in those burned out orbs, blackened by epochs, mixes with the light of stars and dances in the darkest places.
It has become the earth, the air, the light, and in the darkest places, beyond the light, beyond the stars, beyond life. It dreams silent dreams, waiting, ever waiting…..
