I'm generally a mellow person. My writing is generally optimistic, because I like to escape in my writing, and I have a hard time being optimistic about the real world. So in my fictional worlds, I like things to have a bright light at the end of their tunnels. This has not been so true as of late. I really came to realise this with my latest assignments, most notably our flash fiction, or "post card" fiction assignment.
We had to develop a story in under 500 characters. This is what I came up with.
Pain.
All I feel is overbearing pain. It starts in my stomach, blossoming out, following the trails of ruby red blood, dripping from within. Droplets hit the gravelly pavement intermittently, sounding loudly in the heavy silence, a sepulchral symphony cutting through the deafening quiet.
The cold begins to creep. It starts in the fingers and crawls slowly up the arms. The same happens in the toes, dragging itself slowly, lovingly, caressing its way up the legs. The cold will soon reach its mark. Life blood will stop flowing, heart will stop beating, lungs will stop breathing, and cold will set in. Cold always sets in.
It’s happening now. A final ragged breath and all is gone. All is darkness. All is empty. I open my eyes and the sight assaults me. Blood. Ruby droplets coat the pavement, coat my hands. I let out a breath, breathing for myself, hating every second. The emptiness is back. There is never an escape. I turn away from the alley. There is no life for me here now. All is cold. All is empty.
Death is emptiness. Emptiness is death. I am death. Without death I cannot live.
Now, I'm actually rather proud of this. I like it. It might even mean I'm finally growing up. Who knows? All I know is, I've noticed quite a change in my writer's disposition.
Change is good. I like change now. It's a sign of new things to come.
