the end. [soy's death post]

there is no end and there is no beginning
there never was
there never will be

obliteration comes aplenty
with blood and tears
1 2 3
done

everything falls
nothing lasts except all things
for all things lasted

Her hair, as she falls, is beautiful. It flows back and forth, full freedom, no constraint. A gingery hue begins to radiate from it, and she begins to struggle. The dark that encases her and the cold that chills her is no match for the heart that fights for her. Falling into black, erasing her memory of what was, preparing for what will be.

For minutes and hours, or so it feels, her hair flies in front of her face, her naked body stinging against the frigidity of the wind. She can not feel the ground beneath her, but she knows she is standing. Black clothing is tightly wrapped around her, a thick scarf protects her lips from freezing. Her cheeks are rosy and so is her nose, but she can't feel anything. It is as if she is naked, wrapped in the arms of something bad, something cold, something evil.

She is clueless for some time, unsure of who she is or what she is known as. She knows nothing of her, nothing of what is around her, but she knows that she once was something. She knows that once before, somebody called her something, knew her as something, thought of her some way. She knows that at one time, a whole nation cheered her name. In synchronous shouts, they all shouted syllables, repeated, cheering her on.

A chilly night of darkened white fills her visual sense, two figures appear, fading through heavy snow, pouring hard from the sky. They hold hands. They too, are heavily clothed in thick black fabric, but she feels that they can feel nothing but warmth. It is not a temperature warmth, but instead an emotional one.

She feels that they have burned bridges for her, been to the depths of the darkest seas and never thought twice. For her. Their faces become clear, a male and a female. Their grips on each others hand break and both of them clutch on to her shoulders. She willingly lets them.

- - - - -

In a white room, she sees a creature. It is mangled, green, strung with greasy black hair, and it's eyes are bulging out of its head. It speaks, although anyone but her can comprehend it. "Don't look. You weren't me to see me like this."