The Adventures Of John B : The Sacred Stone

Part 32 - A Distant Toll.

Is it such a feat to reach death?

At times, breathing can be such a challenge- and yet, we're still here.  In a black and white world distinguished only by good and bad- unaccepting of the gray that lies in between.

The hardest thing in the world is to live- something we find so normal, but something that requires some inhumane strength; a miracle borne of being in the right time at the right place.

Living is being able to deny death of its power, absolving it of its fatal sting.

Living is being able to summon the courage you never thought you could have, the wisdom and the grace of a thousand of lives, years, hours passed.

Living is flying with no wings, sailing the skies - streaking the seas of a serene, cloud-infested world.

Defying gravity in a single swoop, evading the cruel arms of "fate" as you desperately cling to even an ounce of hope.

Death is not giving in to things you can't control.  It is the loss of spirit, it is developing a fear of life.

It is alright to fear death- though at times, it can be such a cruelly comforting presence to run to.  But being unwilling to live will slowly wear away at you, until you are nothing but an empty shell of flesh- waiting for absolution.

You live on through the legacy of life that you bring, but you must give yourself the chance to make one first.

Some day, I hope to soar.

To fly in a place where no one can drag me down.

Where numbers drift in the winds and I can not hear the dreadful drawl of their taunting cries.

I want to fly.

With you.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I sighed.

A single sigh.  

A single hope.

A single dream.

A single heart, pulsating with such frequent worries about the future and regrets of the past- time planning to wear me out until I am nothing but bones.

My mind drowns in this sadness, one that I am so familiar with- so much so that it has no effect on me.  In the end, my deepest, darkest dreams will die with me at the bottom of a deep, dark sea.

It seems fitting.

My body sinks, back slumping as strands of hair invade my view- loose and wild.

I frantically whip them away with the tears, repulsed by the cool, intense touch of emotion- a physical representation of my own weaknesses.

Feet lousily dragged across the dreary halls, the result - an echo of empty whispers and broken promises.

What did it matter?

I was too lost in myself to care.

"..Hey."

My head piqued up, desperate eyes darting in search of relief.

A man stood awkwardly to my left, clenching his fist- this grip of death desperately holding on to secrets of the past.  Ones I might never know.   For to say them would be admitting the end- would be promising to let go.