The early morning dew had gathered into frost over the night. Soft and powdery, it blanketed every plant I could see, from the tall scuttle grass to the delicate blossoms attached to their parent trees, everything glistened white. Why had I come here? I asked myself that question every day, and every day I put it off, content to just look at the stone ruins, and to run my hands through the freezing soil, watching it slip through my fingers.

This morning, I sat on the stoop of stone, tightening my boots and making ready for a morning jog. The ruins had been my home for little more than a year now. Everywhere around me I found the cold stillness in my ear, and everyday I had hoped for a little more time.

Having finished tying my boots, I stood up and jumped off the stoop. I landed with a thud on the soil. As I jogged, my mind worked furiously at the environs, taking everything in. I strode on a gravel path, and could hear the crunch of leaves beneath my boots. Trees surrounded the path on both sides, forming a thick wall of foliage that not even a mouse could burrow through. It was quiet. Except for my thudding footsteps, I was deafened by the magnificent silence permeating the frosty air.

Why had I come here? Usually I only had to look at the beautiful landscape, and that thought would be banished from my mind. But today, the question proved strangely persistent. Why had I come here? From where had I come? The question struck me like a lightning bolt, and I jolted to a stop. The silence enveloped everything as my mind focused on the question. Yet, I found I was accustomed to noise, and the silence barricaded my mind from the answer like a steel rod blocking a dungeon door.

I could not find the answer. My desire for a morning jog vanished from my mind, and was replaced by that single, aching, persistent question: Why had I come here? I turned back from the path, and left the way I came, eventually making my way to the steps of the stoop, where I stopped. The stoop led the way into the ruins of a towering cathedral. I slowly pushed the large door open, straining from the effort. Then I walked in, and let it swing closed behind me.

The cathedral smelled of age, and dust. Long rows of warped pews straddled the sides of room, halting in the center to form a long corridor where a priest would walk. Along the sides of the walls, stained glass brightly burned with the morning sunlight. The archaic pictures told stories from ages long ago; people rejoiced as they were led out of Egypt; they cursed the lord as they were tortured by snakes; one sat alone in a garden, at peace with his violent tremors.

I walked through the isles, stunned by my puffing of the chest, until I reached the end of the pews, and the beginning of the altar. As my hand reached out to touch the silken fabric, the question once again struck from the back of my mind. Why had I come here? I suddenly trembled with fear. Was I unworthy? What happened to this place, this beautiful, peaceful place? The answer bit me as a snake would, and I slowly turned to my congregation from behind the altar. The silence of the church was broken by the baroque organ music forming in my mind. I envisioned people sitting in the pews, upright and not afraid; they were not afraid of looking at the face of god.

“Heretics!” I screamed. The people laughed at my displeasure, thinking I had made some sort of joke. But I did not joke. With trembling hands, I had poured the wine, and given it to these bastards of civilization. They had taken it with filthy hands, and poured the Jesus juice into filthy mouths. Realizing what I had done, I stopped. I tore the cup away from these people. Once again, the question arose in my mind: “Why had I come here?” This time, however, the flash of insight that controls the world, the revelation of god gave me the idea of looking up into the rafters, where I saw the blood mangled corpses hanging from them.

The corpses had their faces removed, and the sign of Satan imprinted on their heads. But as they dangled, they were paying for their crimes. I stepped up, and took the people down, satisfied at their punishment. The blood had stained their Sundays best; now I saw them for what they were. I grew scared, as the people did not come back to live. They lay there, silent and desecrated. What had happened? My hands instinctively came to my mouth, not understanding the revelation I had been given.

He had said to kill them, those undeserving souls. He had said to punish them, those in need of salvation. Soon, he would come, and take them back to life. Slowly, my hands came to my head, and I rested my head in them, tears flowing from my eyes. I had been deceived. I had followed the devil.
I ran from the cathedral, making as much noise as I could. I screamed and wailed, unaware of the shadow that came from the walls. Finally, I stepped outside, and saw the landscape for what it was. It was dead, choked off by the deafening silence. Not even my voice could break it. It had come here to kill, to kill, and to die.

In the silence, the frost, and the landscape, I turned my eyes inward, and saw who I really was. I saw why I had come here. for I had come here to die.

:end:

Interesting, no?

-Cacafire

Originally Posted by Hound All in all I really liked it, but there are some things that stood out a bit while reading and after reading it. You mention that the character both visits this area often, and that it has been his home. This is a bit of a contradiction.

Originally Posted by hound Also, you mention that he had come there to die. If he goes there often and only just now realizes that he wants to die, there should be a better reason than simply getting the notion to look up. If you want to take the route that the sudden realization of all that had happened randomly inundates him, you should give a better reason for it then than the aforementioned seemingly random notion to look up.

Originally Posted by hound I suppose this is largely irrelevant, but why is it that the bodies are in the rafters? How would he have gotten them there etc. I understand the importance of the desecrated bodies being strewn around a catherdral, but the rafters?

Originally Posted by hound I did enjoy it though, like I already stated. With a little tweaking this could be really good. ~Dave