He longed.
And oh, how he longed.
Longed for a burning warmth he could feel on the tips on his fingers,
Longed the sweet heat of someone’s breath mingling with his own,
The smell of smoke and flaming ashes,
Longed for a grumbling voice in the morning to whisper honeyed, meaningful nothings in the shell of his ear,
Longed for kisses with intermingling lashes.
And so, he longed.
And longed.
For contact.
For adoring glances stolen under the night sky’s freckles that humans liked to call stars and constellations,
For hushed breaths in the comforting silence, buried in darkness’ blanket,
For a hidden smile thrown under dusk’s observations,
For something so painfully specific he couldn’t place in his senseless casket.
Love.
That’s what some people liked to call it.
Adoration.
Praise.
Fondness.
Admiration.
He longed for it.
He wanted it,
Needed it.
He hasn’t felt it in so long.
He was willing to give.
Willing to give anything and everything he owned or had to get it.
He had gotten one taste and he needed more if he wanted to live.
He became greedy.
Wanted every drop, every breather he could get,
Relishing it for a second before storing it away in the iron cages of his brain.
He wanted, no, needed so much that he was willing to drown.
Willing to drown in thundering waves,
Waves of black tar,
Filling his lungs with it,
Gluing his throat shut,
Rendering him unable to breathe,
Rendering him another slave among slaves.
He needed it so much he was willing to be buried.
Willing to be buried in scalding hot sand,
Dry and scratching against his skin,
Filling his mouth to the brim,
Shrivelling his tongue like a leaf left in the desert on a whim,
Rendering him unable to speak.
He knew it was going to take him.
It was not going to be kind,
Consuming him whole,
Both body and mind,
Like he did it.
He knew he was going to die if he took more of that addicting heat.
Oh, to feel the welcoming hand of death gently caressing his face,
All bones against his skin,
Promising him all the love he could possibly attain,
Luring him into the plunging depths of hell with such a delightful voice,
To lovingly wrap him up in the softest of silks and laces.
The most enticing curse of curses.
He began thinking.
Maybe it was meant to be.
Weren’t both the same thing?
So, he kept taking.
And taking.
And taking.
He was so tired.
It was so tiring.
He could always hear that oh so alluring,
That oh so saccharine voice of death in the background wherever he went,
Calling,
Begging,
Asking him to come with it.
And the more he took,
The louder those whispers,
The clearer those voices,
The nearer those calls.
He ignored them all; no matter how close they seemed to be,
Knowing the cries would catch up eventually.
Until one day,
Death finally caught up.
He saw the faint glow of white around subtle, bony edges,
Noticed the soft lines of porcelain,
Contrasting against onyx robes,
Caught the faint aroma of freezing waters and fiery embers as he stood on the ledge,
The oh so brittle ledge made out of ancient, breakable bones.
He guessed his time had ultimately come.
It caught up to him.
He smiled.
It cared enough to chase after him.
The voice - voices? he wasn’t sure anymore - kept calling out,
Kept promising to give him all he wanted,
All he needs.
All the admiration,
All the adoration,
All the love,
All the praise,
All he wanted,
All he wished to procure.
The smooth, velvet words crowded his senses.
He was exhausted.
But somehow content.
Earlier in his life;
Should he have submitted?
Why wasn’t he scared,
Why wasn’t he afraid,
Afraid of the impending doom that was sure to come?
He had that question long figured out.
Because nothing would happen if he did.
Because this was a winning situation.
He had nothing to lose.
Nothing materialistic to desire.
Nothing to miss.
No one to miss him.
He was going to get his love.
Even if it was going to burn him alive.
His smile slowly turned into a wide grin.
The situation truly was a win-win.
He let the pale; white, fleshless fingers gently touch his face.
The bones felt smooth across his skin,
Their touch ever so careful across the empty space,
Ever so gentle,
Ever so unjudgmental,
As if he were the most beautiful,
The most fragile statue in the world,
A statue unblemished by sin,
Threatening to fade away as dust by a single touch.
The bones felt both cold and warm,
A bittersweet feeling he hasn’t missed much.
A faraway yet familiar memory.
Like a pleasant autumn breeze.
No one had ever treated him as such,
Touched him like that,
Embraced him like that.
The voices in his head ceased.
He was staring death right in its eyes.
Black.
That was all he saw.
A dark, soothing void.
He sensed no danger,
Sensed no flaw,
Not a single one in this inhuman stranger.
He dared to gingerly touch its wrist with his own hand.
Strange.
No one had let him do that before.
He felt the comfort he needed to feel all this time ago.
A bony thumb swiped at his cheek,
Rerouting a stray tear that escaped his eye.
He hadn’t realised he started crying.
He wanted to think ‘weak,’
Yet it’s been so long since he had done that.
That one droplet made the goblet overflow.
The cascade then began,
Tear after tear,
The salty liquid flowed freely down his face,
Leaving behind a sticky trail for the next drop to follow.
A sob spilled from his lips,
Lips that were still grinning,
Lips that were trembling with emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time.
He was crying.
He missed it.
The feeling of inevitably letting go,
All worries disintegrating into the smallest particles,
The finest specks of stardust and grit.
His heart ached.
It hurt.
So, so much.
He felt his knees buckle,
His other hand grabbing onto the silky fabric of death’s robes,
Holding on so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
And death just stared.
It didn’t comment,
Didn’t speak,
Didn’t react.
Standing as still as the night.
Slowly, he started laughing.
A laugh he hasn’t heard in a while.
The sound was bursting through his lungs,
Stretching his lips into an impossibly wide smile,
Almost blending out the sharp pain inside his ribcage.
Melodious,
Loud,
Full of sentiment.
‘I accept.’
He guessed that he has gone through a lot of changes.
He looked up with teary lashes and a smile he hasn’t felt in ages,
Strange and unfamiliar on his face.
He really was going mad.
But he guessed he was okay with it.
‘I’ll come.’