Vigil
10-17-10, 01:41 AM
(Solo)
A sensation of hazy, momentary bliss permeated Liam's senses as he found himself in the throes of euphoria. He remembered the sound of static welling in his ears, building to a dull roar that seemed to drown out the world around him. His mouth had the bland, dry flavor of cotton being stuffed into it, causing him to pant and his heart to race as the old man experienced the exhilaration that precedes the terror of suffocation. And the dark panic that was supposed to grip him never did. And even if it had, the old man didn't care. He couldn't feel pain or experience sorrow, for the tendrils of his consciousness reached out and touched the cosmos, and as far as he was concerned he had succeeded where many had failed in becoming one with God.
As Liam drifted under the dark undertow of oblivion, he saw strange, beautiful colors dapple his vision as his mind, now empty, ebbed and flowed with a sort of celestial equilibrium that accompanied somebody under the effects of an opiate high. He saw visages of faces he knew to be long dead smiling upon him and inviting him further into the soft, utter darkness that was filling his mind. Within minutes, he plunged deeper into the black seas of unconsciousness until fathoms below, he could no longer recognize himself or remember his name. Soon afterwards he was swallowed whole by the abyss and he lost himself in the shadows beyond the wall of sleep.
Liam was in a field. He was dressed in his best Sunday clothes and without shoes as he felt his youth return to him. It was spring and he was at his farm in the tilled fields where he and his family had labored every year to yield something from the ground. The earth was wet and soft under his bare feet as he walked towards the farmhouse where he could hear the sound of his children giggle as they played, as they always did before lunch. He saw the visage of his young, beautiful wife near the stables tending to the cattle. Her back was to him, but he knew her body intimately and remembered the softness and fragrance of her beautiful, blonde hair.
The old man opened the door and found himself in the dark corridors of a castle he knew to be the manor of someone known as Talbot. It was the night before the full moon and he knew he had to work fast. He weaved across the hall, darting between ornate armor and cases full of artifacts as he moved across the red carpet that decorated the floors upon the balls of his feet. Liam was old but agile and in his hand he bore a long, slim dagger made of silver, but had been caked in ash to conceal its glimmer from view. Ducking below the panes of windowed glass that pooled soft, comforting light within the halls, Liam tried to stick to the shadows and to avoid the unwanted gaze of a passing sentry.
He was only a few feet from the master bedroom when he reached the large, thick wooden doors that stood between him and vengeance. Liam placed his hand upon the cool brass handle that was shaped into that of a wolf's head. Its tongue extended from its mighty jaws and was nailed to the varnished wood. The dark irony didn't escape Liam, but he had no time to contemplate Talbot's decorum as he pulled the massive door quietly open until there was a space big enough for him to fit through. Retreating through the threshold, Liam closed the door behind him so that he could enact his bloody revenge in privacy.
Liam was in a field. The black threads that tailored themselves as his suit sweltered under the wavering heat of a Coronian summer as he continued to walk through the fields. The hard labor of tilling and sowing the fields had paid off as he and his family was rewarded with a sea of tall, golden wheat that already rose to his waist. His son and daughter were feeding the chickens that paraded in front of their coop. He saw his wife throw a blanket across a clothes line, and her youthful, voluptuous silhouette bending over to grab more of their clothes as their son snuck up behind her and startled her. Liam could feel tears well in his eyes as he heard the melody of their laughter.
Soon, the sound of the laughter was forgotten as the pair retreated from view. The wheat continued to grow and Liam was eventually swallowed whole by the golden, tumultuous sea of his own making. A sudden feeling of claustrophobia caused him shout out to his wife, calling her name. "Maeve!" He cried. But nobody heard him in the warm tranquility of that summer afternoon. And soon he was alone again.
The wheels creaked and groaned under the weight of the wagon that held all of their possessions as Liam ushered the oxen on and down the dirt road that would lead them to a new town and a new life. He sat beside his beautiful wife who was cradling their firstborn, their son. They rode under the shade of the canopy of orange, leafy trees, the beginning of November biting on their heels. They were a young couple who left the busy, industrious port of Belfast for a better life. Seeking a quiet, peaceful place to raise their children, Maeve insisted the countryside over that of the city. Arguments had been raised on either side, but he found himself in agreement that the city was no place to raise their children. Especially in a land that did not belong to them and a new world that only their children would be born into.
With Ireland so far away and the peace they sought to raise good children who would make good Catholics and strong people, it was important to keep their traditions alive. This was why Liam found himself on a wagon with his wife and son with all of their possessions in the world tucked away under the canvas of that wagon. That was why the young couple found themselves making their pilgrimage to a town called Spiddal, a town where Liam's brother assured the both of them was a good Irish and Catholic community. It was also one of the first villages established by the Irish so deep in the frontier of Corone since their arrival.
It was perfect.
The couple felt themselves lost in the idea of starting a farm with a good, healthy family one day. Warm in his checkered coat and slouch hat, Liam smiled as he ushered the oxen on and down the dark path that led to their promising future. Maeve rest herself against him and lay with her head against his shoulder. Aside from the births of his eventual children and finding the love of his life, Liam remembered this as one of the happiest moments of his life. And he sought to make the most of it, for better or worse, as he and his family journeyed farther down the road and into the unknown. Whatever it may bring.
Liam was in a field. The panic was forgotten as the wheat turned from yellow to gold to hues of brown. As quickly as they grew high above his head, they were cut down by scythes and bundled into bales that littered the fields. His fear of losing his family again vanished as it grew colder and Liam moved across the fields, the ground cold and hard under his bare feet as autumn came. The strong, healthy oak and redwood surrounded their spread lived and died as leaves of stark green gradually turned yellow, to shades of orange and eventually red.
Smoke erupted from the chimney as his wife cooked a feast in honor of their harvest. Wives of their neighbors helped her in the kitchen as the men sat at the table and talked and joked while smoking pipes and sipping from a strong whiskey one of them had chosen to brew weeks before. The children from the surrounding families played with his and they took turns jumping into the piles of leaves they would later use as mulch. They danced and played. Liam felt a growing urge to reach that house and sit with his family and friends to dine upon the food he had reaped from his latest harvest. But, no matter how hard he tried, the old man never grew closer to his family as he walked through the fields, trying to reunite himself with his family.
Tears dappled his wife's gray face as Liam embraced her ravaged remains in the confines of the haven that had once been their home. Her glassy, lifeless eyes stared at him in horror as she lay in his arms, dead. Her blonde hair was pasted to her face, which was cold and clammy with sweat and blood. She was wearing her favorite nightgown which was wet with blood. There was so much crimson, brackish blood that came out of his wife and onto the floor or on her dress. Her passing was not slow, but it had been brutal as Liam saw she had been eviscerated by tooth and nail. Immediately he thought of the creature inside of him that stalked the bars and hid in the cage that was his bones and flesh, waiting to be loosed upon the world.
Liam blamed himself. The middle-aged man had wrestled with his curse for almost a decade without a mishap, but now his wife lay dead and his daughter was missing. It was a bad dream, he kept telling himself as he rocked back and forth and sobbed. He cradled Maeve and spoke to her soothingly, trying to will her back to life. Liam so desperately wanted his wife and love of his life back. He kept hearing himself say "No." over and over again, but he was starting to go into shock. Unwilling to accept that his life was in ruins, his family destroyed, Liam lay his wife down and stood up. Stepping over her, covered in blood and crazed with grief, Liam Duigenan dashed out of the house and into the cold, February afternoon.
Liam was in a field. It grew darker as twilight fell upon the land and the frigid grip of winter caught Corone. Liam was bent over, walking naked across the hard, icy crags of his field as he tried to reach his home. He cut his bare feet upon the hard dirt and froze in the darkness as he bled in the snow and staggered across the field. The old man could no longer feel his extremities as his flesh froze and cracked. He rubbed his arms and his chest and tried to tuck his member between his legs to protect it from the elements. He hobbled to his home across the bitter remains of his field. He saw the silhouettes of his family in the soft and bright warmth of their home. They all were sitting by the hearth as his wife read the children a bedtime story and eventually turned to the black, comforting leather-bound book of the Bible for their evening lesson.
Liam desperately wanted to be with his family and out of the cold. He wanted warm clothes and a place to sleep that he could call his own. He wanted his children to know who he was again and to feel the warm invitation of Maeve by his side. Feeling his lungs wither under the chill air as his breath began to fog his vision, the old man continued to hobble until he could walk no further. Eventually his feet gave from beneath him and he crumpled to the ground and into the mounds of snow he had been retreating from.
He writhed and shivered, desperately wanting to call out for help but he was freezing and he felt compelled to fall into the warm comforts of sleep. Except, he knew this time it would be forever. He'd never wake up to see the smiling face of his wife or to share their joy of their children. He'd never eat another meal or drink and smoke with his friends. He'd never till or sow another field or be around for another harvest. Liam Duigenan would sleep and any memory of his family and the life they carved out for themselves when they were young would die with him. He was the last of his family and with his wife dead, his daughter missing and his son in exile, he'd never experience the pleasure of a father who could be assured that things would move on without him.
No, Liam would die here and now. Naked and cold, hungry and found wanting. As he lay there fighting off the provocations of his last, dark slumber, he stared at the starry sky and looked to the moon that was full and bright. It's pallid, warm luminescence shined upon him and he found himself hungering for an end to it all as the danger of letting loose his monster upon the world one more time was almost too much to bear. But, eventually as he found himself writhing and crying at the injustice of it all, Liam stopped moving. His eyes closed and his breathing slowed. Eventually he fell into the warm reaches of sleep and sank back into the placid, dark seas of unconsciousness.
Then, Liam died.
A sensation of hazy, momentary bliss permeated Liam's senses as he found himself in the throes of euphoria. He remembered the sound of static welling in his ears, building to a dull roar that seemed to drown out the world around him. His mouth had the bland, dry flavor of cotton being stuffed into it, causing him to pant and his heart to race as the old man experienced the exhilaration that precedes the terror of suffocation. And the dark panic that was supposed to grip him never did. And even if it had, the old man didn't care. He couldn't feel pain or experience sorrow, for the tendrils of his consciousness reached out and touched the cosmos, and as far as he was concerned he had succeeded where many had failed in becoming one with God.
As Liam drifted under the dark undertow of oblivion, he saw strange, beautiful colors dapple his vision as his mind, now empty, ebbed and flowed with a sort of celestial equilibrium that accompanied somebody under the effects of an opiate high. He saw visages of faces he knew to be long dead smiling upon him and inviting him further into the soft, utter darkness that was filling his mind. Within minutes, he plunged deeper into the black seas of unconsciousness until fathoms below, he could no longer recognize himself or remember his name. Soon afterwards he was swallowed whole by the abyss and he lost himself in the shadows beyond the wall of sleep.
Liam was in a field. He was dressed in his best Sunday clothes and without shoes as he felt his youth return to him. It was spring and he was at his farm in the tilled fields where he and his family had labored every year to yield something from the ground. The earth was wet and soft under his bare feet as he walked towards the farmhouse where he could hear the sound of his children giggle as they played, as they always did before lunch. He saw the visage of his young, beautiful wife near the stables tending to the cattle. Her back was to him, but he knew her body intimately and remembered the softness and fragrance of her beautiful, blonde hair.
The old man opened the door and found himself in the dark corridors of a castle he knew to be the manor of someone known as Talbot. It was the night before the full moon and he knew he had to work fast. He weaved across the hall, darting between ornate armor and cases full of artifacts as he moved across the red carpet that decorated the floors upon the balls of his feet. Liam was old but agile and in his hand he bore a long, slim dagger made of silver, but had been caked in ash to conceal its glimmer from view. Ducking below the panes of windowed glass that pooled soft, comforting light within the halls, Liam tried to stick to the shadows and to avoid the unwanted gaze of a passing sentry.
He was only a few feet from the master bedroom when he reached the large, thick wooden doors that stood between him and vengeance. Liam placed his hand upon the cool brass handle that was shaped into that of a wolf's head. Its tongue extended from its mighty jaws and was nailed to the varnished wood. The dark irony didn't escape Liam, but he had no time to contemplate Talbot's decorum as he pulled the massive door quietly open until there was a space big enough for him to fit through. Retreating through the threshold, Liam closed the door behind him so that he could enact his bloody revenge in privacy.
Liam was in a field. The black threads that tailored themselves as his suit sweltered under the wavering heat of a Coronian summer as he continued to walk through the fields. The hard labor of tilling and sowing the fields had paid off as he and his family was rewarded with a sea of tall, golden wheat that already rose to his waist. His son and daughter were feeding the chickens that paraded in front of their coop. He saw his wife throw a blanket across a clothes line, and her youthful, voluptuous silhouette bending over to grab more of their clothes as their son snuck up behind her and startled her. Liam could feel tears well in his eyes as he heard the melody of their laughter.
Soon, the sound of the laughter was forgotten as the pair retreated from view. The wheat continued to grow and Liam was eventually swallowed whole by the golden, tumultuous sea of his own making. A sudden feeling of claustrophobia caused him shout out to his wife, calling her name. "Maeve!" He cried. But nobody heard him in the warm tranquility of that summer afternoon. And soon he was alone again.
The wheels creaked and groaned under the weight of the wagon that held all of their possessions as Liam ushered the oxen on and down the dirt road that would lead them to a new town and a new life. He sat beside his beautiful wife who was cradling their firstborn, their son. They rode under the shade of the canopy of orange, leafy trees, the beginning of November biting on their heels. They were a young couple who left the busy, industrious port of Belfast for a better life. Seeking a quiet, peaceful place to raise their children, Maeve insisted the countryside over that of the city. Arguments had been raised on either side, but he found himself in agreement that the city was no place to raise their children. Especially in a land that did not belong to them and a new world that only their children would be born into.
With Ireland so far away and the peace they sought to raise good children who would make good Catholics and strong people, it was important to keep their traditions alive. This was why Liam found himself on a wagon with his wife and son with all of their possessions in the world tucked away under the canvas of that wagon. That was why the young couple found themselves making their pilgrimage to a town called Spiddal, a town where Liam's brother assured the both of them was a good Irish and Catholic community. It was also one of the first villages established by the Irish so deep in the frontier of Corone since their arrival.
It was perfect.
The couple felt themselves lost in the idea of starting a farm with a good, healthy family one day. Warm in his checkered coat and slouch hat, Liam smiled as he ushered the oxen on and down the dark path that led to their promising future. Maeve rest herself against him and lay with her head against his shoulder. Aside from the births of his eventual children and finding the love of his life, Liam remembered this as one of the happiest moments of his life. And he sought to make the most of it, for better or worse, as he and his family journeyed farther down the road and into the unknown. Whatever it may bring.
Liam was in a field. The panic was forgotten as the wheat turned from yellow to gold to hues of brown. As quickly as they grew high above his head, they were cut down by scythes and bundled into bales that littered the fields. His fear of losing his family again vanished as it grew colder and Liam moved across the fields, the ground cold and hard under his bare feet as autumn came. The strong, healthy oak and redwood surrounded their spread lived and died as leaves of stark green gradually turned yellow, to shades of orange and eventually red.
Smoke erupted from the chimney as his wife cooked a feast in honor of their harvest. Wives of their neighbors helped her in the kitchen as the men sat at the table and talked and joked while smoking pipes and sipping from a strong whiskey one of them had chosen to brew weeks before. The children from the surrounding families played with his and they took turns jumping into the piles of leaves they would later use as mulch. They danced and played. Liam felt a growing urge to reach that house and sit with his family and friends to dine upon the food he had reaped from his latest harvest. But, no matter how hard he tried, the old man never grew closer to his family as he walked through the fields, trying to reunite himself with his family.
Tears dappled his wife's gray face as Liam embraced her ravaged remains in the confines of the haven that had once been their home. Her glassy, lifeless eyes stared at him in horror as she lay in his arms, dead. Her blonde hair was pasted to her face, which was cold and clammy with sweat and blood. She was wearing her favorite nightgown which was wet with blood. There was so much crimson, brackish blood that came out of his wife and onto the floor or on her dress. Her passing was not slow, but it had been brutal as Liam saw she had been eviscerated by tooth and nail. Immediately he thought of the creature inside of him that stalked the bars and hid in the cage that was his bones and flesh, waiting to be loosed upon the world.
Liam blamed himself. The middle-aged man had wrestled with his curse for almost a decade without a mishap, but now his wife lay dead and his daughter was missing. It was a bad dream, he kept telling himself as he rocked back and forth and sobbed. He cradled Maeve and spoke to her soothingly, trying to will her back to life. Liam so desperately wanted his wife and love of his life back. He kept hearing himself say "No." over and over again, but he was starting to go into shock. Unwilling to accept that his life was in ruins, his family destroyed, Liam lay his wife down and stood up. Stepping over her, covered in blood and crazed with grief, Liam Duigenan dashed out of the house and into the cold, February afternoon.
Liam was in a field. It grew darker as twilight fell upon the land and the frigid grip of winter caught Corone. Liam was bent over, walking naked across the hard, icy crags of his field as he tried to reach his home. He cut his bare feet upon the hard dirt and froze in the darkness as he bled in the snow and staggered across the field. The old man could no longer feel his extremities as his flesh froze and cracked. He rubbed his arms and his chest and tried to tuck his member between his legs to protect it from the elements. He hobbled to his home across the bitter remains of his field. He saw the silhouettes of his family in the soft and bright warmth of their home. They all were sitting by the hearth as his wife read the children a bedtime story and eventually turned to the black, comforting leather-bound book of the Bible for their evening lesson.
Liam desperately wanted to be with his family and out of the cold. He wanted warm clothes and a place to sleep that he could call his own. He wanted his children to know who he was again and to feel the warm invitation of Maeve by his side. Feeling his lungs wither under the chill air as his breath began to fog his vision, the old man continued to hobble until he could walk no further. Eventually his feet gave from beneath him and he crumpled to the ground and into the mounds of snow he had been retreating from.
He writhed and shivered, desperately wanting to call out for help but he was freezing and he felt compelled to fall into the warm comforts of sleep. Except, he knew this time it would be forever. He'd never wake up to see the smiling face of his wife or to share their joy of their children. He'd never eat another meal or drink and smoke with his friends. He'd never till or sow another field or be around for another harvest. Liam Duigenan would sleep and any memory of his family and the life they carved out for themselves when they were young would die with him. He was the last of his family and with his wife dead, his daughter missing and his son in exile, he'd never experience the pleasure of a father who could be assured that things would move on without him.
No, Liam would die here and now. Naked and cold, hungry and found wanting. As he lay there fighting off the provocations of his last, dark slumber, he stared at the starry sky and looked to the moon that was full and bright. It's pallid, warm luminescence shined upon him and he found himself hungering for an end to it all as the danger of letting loose his monster upon the world one more time was almost too much to bear. But, eventually as he found himself writhing and crying at the injustice of it all, Liam stopped moving. His eyes closed and his breathing slowed. Eventually he fell into the warm reaches of sleep and sank back into the placid, dark seas of unconsciousness.
Then, Liam died.