6 June 2012
There, the battered musical box stood, on the dusty mahogany table. It plays you a tune, a haunting melody that seemingly, slowly rips your mind of its sanity. The shift in tone, the climax of the rhythm brings about a weakness in those crooked knees of yours. You feel yourself, in an eternity, falling to the icy ground. It is freezing, yet burning. How is this possible, you muse? Yet, you know something must have occurred. But what? As you find that all bodily functions have ceased to exist, something materializes in a puff of acrid, greenish smoke. It is a skeletal figure clad in black. Have you heard of the fabled Grim Reaper? The servant of Hell who drags evildoers to the depths of hell, aided by nothing but his scythe, has arrived for you. After you collect your thoughts, the Reaper’s hollow stare petrifies you.
Never in your life did you dream, or perhaps have a nightmare, of coming face to face with him. You question the intentions of the Reaper, yet all you get for a reply is that same hollow stare. A wave of paranoia engulfs you. You have no recollection whatsoever what sins you have committed to deserve this. Death is by no means painful. Yet, you consider how much pain will be inflicted upon you if that scythe were to come swinging down upon your neck. The Grim Reaper glides across the room silently, a black spectre intent on finishing off its target. Failure could never, and would never be an option for it. For the Reaper strikes true, never missing its target. You quiver as it approaches you; you can do nothing more. A flash of lightning illuminated the room for a split second, its light reflecting off the reaper’s scythe. The time has arrived. You cannot escape this time.
{I'm writing the final part (Part 2) of this story which I'm gonna post tomorrow. Hope you like it ;) }
Rhythmic Death: Part 1 • Opuss № I