This happened.
The clock had ticked eleven o'clock in night and the great gong of the catholic church nearby went on. and on. and on. I rose up from the bed, grabbed the matchbox and lit the candle that was on the nightstand. The woods under my feet crooked and cricked and made sounds and went louder and louder. There was nothing that could stop the noise. Why do I have to be the one? It's simple and I understand for it shall be done. My choice has nothing to do with it. When I looked up again, I was on my knees, crawling towards the door. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. I'm glad. It's a burden. Take me.
Fire. Blazes of orange flame raises through the woods, as a layer of smoke starts to chamber up in the room. I embrace it. The warmth, reminds me of home. It has a certain sensation that strikes me, like the smell of old book or the vanilla sticks. The flames rise higher and I can feel the heat on my skin. The roof caught fire. The fire is spreading. Half of the house is burning. I almost can't breath. A piece of the ceiling falls just couple feet beside me and broke straight into the basement. Are these figures coming towards me? This burns. Shade of a man. Two men. Coming toward me. No emotion. No face. No lips or mouth to define them. No identity. They approach. My skin burns. I can feel it sear against the heat. I can feel my flesh boiling, almost smell the stench of human meat. I can't see anymore. Can't scream anymore. Pain. Agony. For what seems like an eternity. I think it's over.
I thought it was over.
I died 3 years ago, in my wooden cabin on the mountain side. This happened.
The clock had ticked eleven o'clock in night and the great gong of the catholic church nearby went on. and on. and on. I rose up from the bed, grabbed the matchbox and lit the candle that was on the nightstand. The woods under my feet crooked and cricked and made sounds and went louder and louder. There was nothing that could stop the noise. Why do I have to be the one? It's simple and I understand for it shall be done. My choice has nothing to do with it. When I looked up again, I was on my knees, crawling towards the door. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. I'm glad. It's a burden. Take me.
Fire. Blazes of orange flame raises through the woods, as a layer of smoke starts to chamber up in the room. I embrace it. The warmth, reminds me of home. It has a certain sensation that strikes me, like the smell of old book or the vanilla sticks. The flames rise higher and I can feel the heat on my skin. The roof caught fire. The fire is spreading. Half of the house is burning. I almost can't breath. A piece of the ceiling falls just couple feet beside me and broke straight into the basement. Are these figures coming towards me? This burns. Shade of a man. Two men. Coming toward me. No emotion. No face. No lips or mouth to define them. No identity. They approach. My skin burns. I can feel it sear against the heat. I can feel my flesh boiling, almost smell the stench of human meat. I can't see anymore. Can't scream anymore. Pain. Agony. For what seems like an eternity. I think it's over.
I thought it was over.
I died 3 years ago, in my wooden cabin on the mountain side. This happened.
