by -trkstr-

Created on: June 28, 2008

A fortnight had passed since the fateful day of Fortunato's entrapment. I had not told a soul of my dastardly deed. I pondered that no one would understand my reckless actions.

Over the last week, my sleep had gotten restless with the dreams of a demon cunningly and vindictively leading me to a man-sized tomb that I knew was to be my very own. I had not seen this place, but I knew that it was there that I was being led to. The dream told me of the demon's plans, but still I followed.

The demon, clothed in a jester's colorful suit made of satins and silks that was clean except for the rancid smell of spoiled grapes, carried nothing but a spade that looked very much like a mason's. The eyes of a demon, pupils red as the hottest fires, were bloodshot with his purplish fluids. His lips, cracked and oozing seemed to quiver each time his forked tongue moistened them. He was hunched. You could see his dark green clammy skin pushing at his motley, outlining his scaly physique.

My nightmare chimed with echoes of high-pitched bells that had attached themselves to the gruesome demon's headwear. As I had no choice but to follow the demon, my brain boiled with an utter terror that grew exponentially as I trailed his every step, as would a dog, or a shadow.

The terror seemed like it had peaked at the level of total breakdown. My mind should explode with horror with the thoughts of impending and agonizing death, but still expanded. I was consumed with horror and guilt. Death would now be a blessing.

I cringed every time the awful demon turned around and portrayed a smile crusted with dirt and putrid wines. I knew my vivisepulture was imminent, but still I shadowed him.

I would awaken in a pool of my own sweat that stank from the drinking that I had done only hours before. The drinking was labored; trying to force the alcoholic sauce down my throat to drown out the horrid visions that have been saturated to my sleep. Each night in my dream, I got closer to my fate. Closer to the bones, closer to the mortar, closer to the brick. Closer to the shackle that would bind my limb and body to an eternal restricted movement. My ankle would ache as my neck would if hanged till death.

Nightmares chimed with echoes of high-pitched bells that had attached themselves to the gruesome demon's headwear. As I had no choice but to follow the demon, my brain boiled with an utter terror that grew exponentially as I trailed his every step, as would a dog, or a shadow.

Alas, if only death would be that

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