A benevolent dream

     Allow no man to asunder the love we engender; bereft of the tongue which apostatized the moon, this vessel had grown no more than a squirming mass cast aloft the abyss. Yet even stripped of light, a spurned star grows apathetic to its aches of melancholy, one's lament eclipsing the interminable laughter of the skies. 

    If one is ever remedied of agony, who was once divine must pray for their forgiveness… To balter amongst the precipice of demise, finding love amongst the maelstrom of gore; for to mend, calls for vacancy, as their apathy flourishes, sprouting a gaping maw that retches its bile as damage in an attempt to appease its gluttonous hunger for animosity. 

    Now, in the epoch of tranquility, I float in the abyss, - to ‘be’ is a saturation, for I deem this sentience to be a mere line between what is and not - to await. Await the chance to elude this glistering flame within, to appease. 

• !

Eyes. Before me?

I return a glare. Prayer? At this hour, so late… Who hails to the spurned star? 

I descend to hearken their words. 

• …

The stench of decay permeates the room. White tiles in grime, yet still glistening against the rays of moonlight seeping from the creases of the shutters. A heart rate monitor stands bedside, beeping in continuity. 

The skies stretching above these lands are mire-drenched, the footprint of man made horrors lacerating the night beyond the horizon, lining like capillaries. To call this ravine home, I could only dread. A frail voice speaks in prayer, kneeled at her bed.

The being was humanoid, presumably a young adult. Fair skin wrapped her enervated vessel, stark against the hair flowing in the shade of charcoal. I’ve descried her kind countless times, yet not once had I spared a moment to observe their mien. I heed her bruises, the veins that had grown blue flowing with blood beneath her skin; even starved, the body fights to painstakingly patch itself up. I mimic her kin. 

My intangible light, dominated by limbs building themselves from sheer will; ebony casing, charcoal curls. Not a wonted visage, but not the worst from me. (One can always seek the local government for avowal in case of doubt. Those pesky councilmen will confirm my word without fail, I’ve done much worse.) My steps remain demure, as beguiling startling her may sound, I’ve decided to eschew a murder charge today. 

I hearken your words, follower, isn’t divinity willed to remain in the skies? To you, I grant riposte; I’m bored, and divine.

• “ Hello. “

My tongue was spoken to hold a gentle echo ad nauseam. I never took note of it. She turned coyly, not an acerbic whip of her head, but the feeble glare of a porcelain doll matched mine.

• “ Hello. I need no tending, miss. I was in the middle of prayer. “

• “ I’m no nurse. Albeit no offense taken, I wouldn’t expect anyone praying to maintain constant mindfulness of a god possibly appearing in their room. You’re forgiven. “

She blinked, surveying me. 

• “ A god…? Benevolence? “

Her lips curled to a faint grin.

• “ Have you come to fulfill my wish?... “

Only now have I fathomed that I did not hearken a moment of her prayer. I paused for tense seconds. Mere kismet that my eyes are veiled, otherwise I’d have broken out into ducts of tears of shame. 

• “ Certainly! If only you could remind me of it? “

• “ Love. “

She did not elaborate. 

• “ Love? “

She turns her head, almost rhythmically helping herself to her feet, laying her body atop the mattress. I discern her struggle, but offer no hand. Her gaze does not return, but is fixed on the window. 

• “ Love. It’s been so long…”
• “ Through 19 sick winters, I could only spend my days staring out this window. In that time, I learned about love. The lovely partners furled up in fabric in the snow, hurled together for warmth. During the heat, when bare skin is separated only lightly, finding joy in cold treats. Isn’t it so mesmerizing? “

I follow her gaze. The windows are behind shutters.

• “ …I don’t see it. “

• “ In the daytime. I can’t take my eyes off their small, yet loving gestures. If my eyes grow weary, I’ll listen to their laughter. “
• “ I’ve always been a sick child, grown up into a sick adult, sick forever. This has been my only entertainment. It’s all this sick body has ever desired. To be cared for by hands that are ungloved and bare, yet gentle and loving. “
• “ Yet this sick body, it has been my barrier for so long. It limits me to this hospital, to these machines and minimal opportunities. And who would love this thin, rusty body? If only it was working and alive, or if only it healed, I’d break free the first chance I’d get, and run the valleys in search of love. “

Faint the ardor to her words, yet it hollowed a deep void within my cold heart. A void of… Pity. 

• “ I know my words are hard to believe, this weak voice can’t express my feelings deeply enough for someone to really understand. But I feel the one thing I exist for… I cannot get. It’s a constant want, without the ability to get. “

Oh, dear. I feel pitiful.

Of yore, I was equivocal in the eyes of rue. To bear pity where absent is asinine, a mortal trait that I hate, yet once held as my very own, the epoch where I was pure. So why is my heart heavy with guilt? 

Oh, dear. I feel.

• “ This prayer was spoken in my last breaths. I hoped you could give me one last chance. “

She turned her head to me, yet I had lowered mine to cover the cowardly god beneath her veil.

• “ The dead are outside my grasp. I have no will in your fate. “

• “ Ah. What a shame. “

Return to the window.

• “ I’ll never feel love. Have you? “

• “ Not yet. “

• “ Sad. “

In moments of exchanged silence, I moved to kneel bedside, resting my head on her mattress. It was pungent of rot, yet it was no matter to maunder over. 

She began coughing. Asperous coughs tore her throat, as the coarse pains abrase the tissue; it turned to choking, drowned by blood that bubbled at her lips. A clump of gore falls onto her lap, when she falls aback.

• “ Oh, It’s soon my time. “

She let out dreary coughs.

• “ Thank you for being here. If only for a moment. You won’t leave me in these last minutes, right? “

I straighten up, towering over her.

• “ Of course. “

• “ Lovely. “

• “ Please… “
• “ You were my first prayer in so long. Please, accept this as a fulfillment of your wish.  ”

I lower my head, brushing hair and cloth from my face. It creates a secluded ring as they fall on her chest, pillow, sheets; engendering a circle of only our faces.

Our lips meet. Her thin, cracked mouth presses against mine.

I met her gaze one last time. Shock, yet a tranquil relief in her eyes, as their color faded.

The taste of her blood hasn’t left my lips since then.