E V E R D E A T H

by L.F. Blake

Prologue

When he was young, he swam in lakes of blood and crawled along rivers of bubbling black oil. He howled at skies boiling with gray clouds, and breathed deeply the smell of tar and ash. He cracked the bones of the weak between his teeth, and screamed with laughter at those who wished for another world, another life.

But that had been long ago, perhaps a thousand years, perhaps ten thousand. Days passed like years, and years like hours. Eternity spun on and on, a spider weaving a never-ending web. And like flies, all here were caught in it. They would never escape; they would never die. Life would go on without end, without hope.

For there was the true secret of Hell, the hopelessness of it. All things without end must eventually become agony. To be immortal and invincible, to feel no pain nor any fear, was not a gift but a curse. Without pain, there could be no pleasure, nor any hope without fear. Without death, there was no life.

And so he left, slipping beyond the borders of his world, into the world of the living. He escaped, for a breath of time in the vastness of eternity. He lived in the bodies death had made vacant, and he breathed fresh air and swam in cold, clear lakes that tasted of mountain streams. He made love to the living, to life itself, and was drunk on mortality. He fell in love with a color called blue.

But always the call came, the beckoning home, and always he returned to his own world. To remain with the living was to become one of the living, and that begged a price too high. For he, like every being in every world, had a great fear, and the fear was death.

To those who left reviews on the old copy, thanks so very much for your comments and suggestions! I appreciate it all and look forward to more. To flamers, please keep in mind that while you may annoy me, you are also adding one more review to my count. Tricky that way, innit?

One last note: These chapters will be short, some of them drastically so. Not only does this let me get you the story faster, but it fools me into thinking that I have written more than I have, thus warding off despair, anguish, and abandonment of the story. I'm sorry if this bothers you.

Love to all, and hope you enjoy!

Blake