-So Another Drop May Fall-


A second more?

A few more minutes?

Perhaps a few hours more?

Who could know when the last drop shall fall?

It is the continuous storm that captures and entrances the mind, this is the great horror of one's existence and yet it is also one's zenith. It is the moment at which you know that you are alive and not dead like those below you. There is a feeling of power there, contradicted by the feeling of helplessness, like a rook on a chessboard, powerful yes, but bending unto the will of the player.

I feel it as everyone before has and everyone to come shall, the lust. It is something more primitive then anything else; it is the primary instinct of all creatures. Self-preservation: the preservation of the self and none other. Selfishness perhaps.

Another shall die so that I may lift myself above them, into life. So that I may survive to repeat the cycle over and over, countless times more until finally it will fall, fate's blade.

Another movement, another drop of blood followed by another and another until it is a quick flowing stream, a river of life and death intertwined. But is that not how it is supposed to be?

After all they are the same are they not?

Life and death, are they not one another?

Kin by blood and so much more?

Another slice, another stream to fill the holes in my body and soul. I can feel the end coming for me slowly, Life leads me towards its inevitable end with its kin, and Death awaits me so that my life can begin anew. For that is why I am here is it not?

To fill these holes and find the conclusion of my tale?

Ah, I see it there. The shining steel reflecting the glow of the life-giving sun as it cuts through the air towards its inevitable destination. I feel the cut and yet I don't. I feel the pain and yet I feel joy for it. I feel the end coming yet I know it is merely a beginning.

I feel the air rushing past me as I collapse to the ground, barely conscious, my vision blurry and unfocused as I watch the conflict about me. The rivers never stop, they flow as they always have, the crimson rains about me as the world finally fades away into nothingness.


Then, as always, it ends and once more I find myself sitting here. A quill clasped firmly in one paw as I awaken in the same familiar room as always. The cheerful sounds of the tavern's patrons wafting slowly up through the halls, the soft pitter-patter of raindrops against the windowpanes reverberating throughout the room. Reality echoed eerily for a moment as I passed between the lines of fantasy and reality, subconscious and conscious. Somewhere in the back of my mind the dream clung on, but slowly reality stripped it away as consciousness retook control, eyes flicking open slowly.

(edited: 2-25-05)