Sweet Dreams

Inked With Blood

The wind howled through the cobblestone streets. The shutters fluttered and tapped against the side of my home.

        Tap.
Tap.
Tap.

Leaves whirled in a mini tornado and skidded on the sidewalks. The joyful chorus of sailors singing sea shanties in the bars filled the air.

I hunched over the desk in my office, my hand swirling up and down as I planted a new world on paper. Under the tip of my pen, letters formed into words, words formed into paragraphs, paragraphs became stories, and stories created a mystical world.

I designed a world under my graceful hand with no suffering. No death, no illness, no mourning. The worldly think of those as the end, but I think of them as the beginning. They think I am insane since "a world cannot operate without suffering and destruction. It is merely the cycle of life." They are simply unimaginative. I go beyond the barriers. I am-

A horrible, dry, hacking cough reaches my throat. I dropped my pen; my cough echoed throughout the room. My throat shook like a baby's rattle inside its cage. My lungs tried grasping the nonexistent air. The attack went on for so long that tears filled my vision.

I reached for the glass of water I always kept close to me. My heart galloped like racing stallions' hooves pounding on the dirt.

The cool water soothed my dry throat. The candles wavered in the dark; a halo of light crowned the flames.

Every minute--no! Every second on this hellish Earth, I have lived through this suffering. Since I was a little boy, my heart has ached from the countless attacks God has inflicted on me.

Why, oh God, why? Send Azrael with his mighty blade down on me, slice me to pieces like paper! I will cry tears of joy when the moment comes, for I will have eternal life, and I will watch the Earth burn along with its suffering and death while a pleased smile crosses my face. It will be finished.

My cough is drowned out by the clanging of bronze church bells chiming in a beautiful rhythm in the chilly air of night, marking a new hour.

This time, the rough cough didn't stop. It kept going, and going, and going. I hold my chest, the familiar yet brutal ache of my heart returning to torture me.

Then, a coppery taste settles on my lips. I look down to see specks of blood on the tan pieces of paper before me.

My eyes widened, and my heart beat even faster as if it wasn't going fast enough.

I couldn't help myself. Blood continued to fly out of my mouth in larger amounts until I practically vomited blood. Now my book was inked with blood.

I suddenly felt lightheaded and sick to the stomach. I knew this was it. My prayers were answered, and now I could live a life of peace and no suffering in the grave. This is where I finally rest.

Laying my head on my desk, I close my eyes and patiently wait for Azrael to finish me with the final blow of his sword. I lose consciousness as the Angel of Death transports me to a world I could have never imagined.

The End