This blog is for all writers, published or not, that want to connect with other writers and who want to improve their craft.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

"Revelations: The Eyes of God" by Taj Thompson

Here I was. Surrounded by whiteness once again. No longer in deaths’ arms. 
I didn’t feel his warmth against my tarnished skin. I didn’t feel his heart beat against my head. Beating as if it had no care in the world. 
Here I was surrounded by this white.  And a lonely cool breeze hitting my face. A cool breeze competing with the warmth this soft fabric covering my body provided. A rich white blanket.  Thick enough for one to drown in. Soft enough to erase all your worries. 
The cool breeze ran across my skin like the summer wind my imagination had shown me. The laughter of curious children was all I needed now to assure this was a dream. 
So I remained in my position. Reluctant to discover the truth. My eyes focused on the white ceiling above me. My ears focused on the sounds of birds chirping. Had this been a dream, I didn’t want it to end so soon. 
Death heard my prayers. And it had a face. It had a name. Trowa. He was the man I owed. The one who faced the Gods with no mercy.
This breeze felt too familiar. Still, no memory fought for my attention. It was a gust that remained foreign to my mind, but familiar to my skin. So I turn over. Attempting to locate its source. 
From a white metal fan it came. Pointed toward my head. A fan resting on a black night stand while I rested in these white sheets. Sheets that touched my skin the way I dreamt of being touched. Tender. Softer than a mothers touch. 
My body remained lost in fantasy, yet my eyes were still cautious. They focused on a black metal gun next to the fan. Perched as if it was watching me. Pointing in my direction with its silent threats. It wasn’t the same gun from my dreams. The very gun that I felt so many times pressed against my head. The man and his gun were no more.
I felt the gun call out to me. No memory to call my own, but I could almost feel the cold metal in my hand. So I had to grab it. I had to be safe.  
Metal chimes suddenly clattered in the distance. A duet with the birds. The sounds of a summer day. The very days I dreamed of as I begged death to come for me. And death came. And he brought my dreams to life. 
Together the chimes and the chirps formed a mystical tune. I could envision the angels as they danced in glory. No longer was I in pain. My agony had risen to the heavens in revenge. I hoped to never see it again. 
Here I was. Laying in a bed soft enough to make me think I was floating on water.  Gun clenched in my grip. Eyes beaming at the white ceiling. Death had brought me to heaven.

If you enjoyed this excerpt, download the whole book here.

No comments:

Post a Comment