Every particle of my being strains, rebelling against the knowledge flooding my veins. It’s not nature that lingers on the horizon, poised and on the verge of attack. This is something much worse, a force far darker than the world ever dared imagine.
It is the approach of death.
The economy has brought about its own kind of strain. People cave beneath the stress and pressure of everyday life. They turn on themselves and each other with the ferocity of rabid wolves. Nothing is held sacred anymore. The world pulses to the beat of frightened mortal hearts.
I’d like to say I feel pity watching humans suffer, but I don’t. If anything, they have it coming. Mortals are greedy, self-centered creatures too blinded by their own desires to realize the damage they have done. They think they are impervious to the fate that looms above them . . . but they are not.
There will come a time when the sun no longer dispels the shadows cast by mankind. Perpetual darkness will entomb the world and smother it against her callous breast. The final battle draws near, a pointless war for a worthless prize.
My words may offend you. I only speak the truth. You are nothing but puppets to my kind. Weak and desperate you call our names, bleed us dry, and offer nothing but petty trinkets in return. You’re ungrateful, self-centered sheep, too blind to see that mortality is a blessing. Death is a blessing. To roam these forsaken planes for all eternity with no expiration date—that is the true definition of hell.
Bitterness paints my soul with vile shades of grey. Exiled and far from home, the infinite waves of loneliness batter my forsaken shore. I am faced with an infinite nothingness, knowing that the drums of war rise in the distance, and those in my company press close. They gnash their teeth in eager anticipation, starving for a mere taste of mortal blood. They will relish in your downfall and take glee upon hearing your wails of despair. Like the Pied Piper luring rats from the city, your screams will serve as music, calling forth the bloodthirsty and damned.
Do not call on me when that day comes. I care little for the wants and needs of a dying society. You brought this upon yourselves. Each lie that flowed with ease from your tongue, each withered promise whispered brought you one step closer to despair.
There was a time when I loved your pathetic lot, but time has a way of eroding our resolve. I would like to forget this time of weakness, but I cannot. Unending reminders brand my skin. My essence is tethered, weighed down by the layers of damnation draped around my soul.
I am no angel. I am a Fallen, forsaken, damned—and your time has come.
~ Adriana Noir
© Copyright 2012 Adriana Noir. All Rights Reserved.