Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/771297-Preface
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: ASR · Preface · Writing · #771297
Preface to the book I'm writing
He walks through the woods, densely growing trees and shrubbery give him a seeming endless maze, in which he has meandered for countless hours. Up ahead, there is a break in the continual stream of tree after tree, and a single ray of moonlight pierces the shroud of darkness around him. Following the trail of light, he makes his way into a quiet clearing in the middle of the forest. The serenity of the area seems to fill his heart with an emotion he has not felt in all his lifetime, a sort of longing for a better life, a life which does not involve constant lying, cheating, or killing. A life, which instead, holds hope for a better future for not only himself, but for all of mankind. Shaking his head, he scoffs the feeling as mere weakness, brought about by his endless travels of late with very limited sleep. Looking around him, he spots a soft patch of grass beneath a towering evergreen. He casually saunters to the spot and sits, resting his aching body back upon the strong, supporting trunk of the tree. He lays his head back, thoughts of this and previous days actions coming to his mind. The shrieks of terror from his victims, the incessant whimpering of the pathetic losers whose lives he ruined with his fraudulent actions, and the sinful way in which he spent his spoils he received after his long days "work".
As he rests there, in the quiet glade, a sense of weariness creeps upon him stealthily, catching him completely off guard. "I will just rest my eyes for a moment," he says to himself, as he closes his eyes easily. As he slips into his somber slumber, clouds begin to roll across the sky, covering the bright moon with their dark masses, blocking out all light. A feeling akin to that one feels before a tremulous storm fills the clearing. The sudden change in atmosphere causes the man's sleep to become fitful, and he feels himself slipping away.
His subconscious takes control over his body and mind; In his head, the man sees himself going deeper and deeper into his being. He travels through his psyche, delving into the very depths of his own mind. Abruptly he stops, his feet seeming to land upon solid ground. He looks around the place he now finds himself in, taking in all he can see. He finds himself standing in front of what appears to be a massive black object. The form before him didn't seem to be composed of any solid material, the outlines of it moving around with a fluid motion, like that of waves on the open sea. As he observes the object longer he comes to a startling revelation. The dark mass in front of him, this fluid like form, was in fact his immortal soul, a soul that is more like a living picture, reflecting all his actions throughout his long life. Upon looking into his soul, displayed before him like a piece of art, it appears that all he has ever done is evil. No speck of righteousness can be found among the tangle of bloodlust, carnage, and complete rage. His entire being is nothing but the epitome of evil incarnate, and for the first time in his life, he is afraid of what he sees.
The image he is looking upon soon forms into a large portal, revealing a desolate wasteland, with multiple ghostlike creatures reeling above the ground, as if every move is pure torture on their small, contorted bodies. The specters floating on the other side of the door are hideous, and grotesque in appearance. Their gnarled heads hold more terror than a legion of Death Knights, wrinkles spreading along their faces like etches in the bark of a tree who's age rivals that of time itself. A hooked nose covered in every type of blister or boil imaginable protrudes forth from the endless array of deep crevasses. To his shock, instead of trying to hide their appearance, the beings seem to revel in it, flaunting it proudly to all who could see them. Their imp-like bodies are covered in massive, gaping wounds, which seem to constantly leak blood and puss. These wounds, however, do not appear to bother the horrid creatures. In fact, it seems as if they find pleasure in possessing such festering scars, constantly inflicting wounds upon one another with the glee of a child who discovers a new treasure amongst the dirt and debris. The creatures cackle with their insatiable need for pain, and begin tearing at their own flesh when there are no others around to do such for them.
The creatures turn as one to face him, looking upon him with what he can only assume was a look of curiosity. Such a wave of pure ugliness being forced upon him all at once causes him to become violently ill, barely able to keep the contents of his stomach inside his body, and not strewn about the ground. Then, to his surprise, in turn, they all fly to the ground, landing in a long line, and bow to him, touching their heads to the dirt. As they bow, they begin saying something in an archaic, guttural language, which he cannot quite make out. As he listens closer, he begins to pick parts of their chant out, and it suddenly hit him with the force of a club striking one unexpectedly upon the head. "We live only to serve you...father". The sheer audacity of the statement pounding upon his body and mind so brutally he is forced to his knees. Tears flow freely from his tortured eyes as he realizes these creatures are of his creation, each the personified form of all his past misdeeds.
Through watery eyes, he sees behind them an enormous dark shadow begin to form beyond the devlings. Icy fear holds his heart in a vice-like grip, unrelenting in its intense hold upon his being. As the large figure emerges from it's dark shroud, his breath stops in his lungs, his throat constricting with a fear so powerful that he cannot draw a breath. As the enormous creature comes closer and closer to the open portal, his entire body becomes frozen in absolute terror. Finally, all that can be viewed of the land through the portal of his soul is the visceral face of the being. As he kneels there, motionless, lungs burning for breath that he just cannot take, the face simply smiles to him, and in that moment everything evil in the universe rushes into his mind, screaming through his soul at unintelligible rate, filling his entire being down to the core of his existence with a raw, seething, need for absolute carnage upon every living being.
As suddenly as it all began the image simply stops, sending him reeling back through his core and into his consciousness. He jerks up from leaning against the tree, his body covered in a sticky sweat, his skin having a cold, clammy feel to the touch. Trails of tears cover his distraught face as he attempts to shake the image out of his mind. Yet, no matter how hard he tries to shut the vision out, he can still hear the words of the devlings echoing in his mind and soul. "We live only to serve you...father".......
© Copyright 2003 Dante Lonias (mikestevers at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/771297-Preface