Reality is the Mind

Are Your Ready To Die?

He kept on running until he neared the village square. He'd been running since he'd awoken around eleven. Now the sun was beginning its descent to the horizon and bathing the town in shades of pink and orange. The skylines of the cottages in town were stark blacks against the setting sun. He was out of breath and in desperate need of rest by the time he fell to his knees on the cobble stone of the square. 

He was surrounded by shops and taverns, but the streets were barren. The women and children who'd been out earlier in the day had gone back home for supper, and the men now were in the taverns. The only people he could see on the streets were drunks and the women in the alleys that would do anything for money.  

He was gasping for air at this point. It was as if the oxygen he needed was refusing to enter and fill his blood vessels and lungs. His body shook from exhaustion and lack of food and water. He smelled the acrid stench of alcohol mixed with something fouler he couldn't quite put his finger on. The streets were dirty from the hustle and bustle of the day. The town was small, and the square was its highlight.

As he sat on his knees facing the ground covered in cobble stone he heard laughter. The sun was now just a memory and the only light was leaking from the gaping windows of the taverns and street lamps. He saw men and a few women laughing and talking through the windows. They drank and chortled together in pure bliss. Tears leaked from his eyes thinking of how happy they were and how dead and empty he felt inside. The hole in his soul grew larger watching them. They had lovers. They had friends and family. They had laughter.  

Suddenly he heard the click of hooves very close to his head. He gazed up to see a great shadowed figure standing over him. It snorted, and he propped up to sit on his knees to gaze up at the mysterious creature. The creature lowered its long neck and he saw it was a white horse. Its coat was caked with dried blood and dirt, and its nostrils flared at him. The muzzle had scars and scratches upon it and one torn nostril.  

He slowly stood and the horse raised its muzzle. He shrank back as he saw its eyes; they were red and devoid of pupils. He backed up a bit at the sight of this but the horse stepped closer. It didn’t act like a horse. It seemed to keep eye contact with him.

He suddenly heard a voice that echoed through his skull, "How can they laugh and be merry when she's dead?" It wasn't his own thought; it was an unfamiliar voice. He looked over the horse's shoulder at the tavern with its bright lights and happy atmosphere.  

"Burn it to the ground," the voice said. He looked at the horse inquisitively and it turned towards the tavern. Could it be?  

He felt as if he was in a trance. He knew what he was doing, but even if he'd wanted to he wouldn't have been able to stop himself. He stalked towards the back of the building where he knew extra gas tanks would be. He picked up one and uncapped it. He began drenching the building in it with a smile painted across his lips. The sun was long gone, but soon there would be a great light.  

By the time he had finished he'd gone around the building twice using three gas tanks. He walked into the, soon to be dust, pub. He slammed the door behind him, and many of the patrons turned to look at him. He smiled wide ear to ear. He inhaled deeply before yelling, “ARE YOU READY TO DIE?” He ran out of the pub and locked the door. He stood back from what would soon be his masterpiece of destruction and reached into his pocket quickly before anyone could attempt to escape. He pulled out a pack of matches and reached in and pulled one out. He gazed and the red tipped piece of wood that would set the place ablaze.  

He struck the match across the box and a flame danced on the tip of the wooden strip. The horse stood just beside him.  

"Do it." He threw the match and everything seemed to slow. The flame flew through the air and hit the building. In that instant, fire spread across the entire structure at such a fast rate. One moment it was in perfect condition and the next it was engulfed in flames. He heard screams ring up to his ears and his smile grew. Women and men alike screamed as their flesh was surely being singed and burned until it bubbled.  

He turned to the horse, but it was already gone.  

Screaming persisted. People trapped in the burning building. He heard no more merry laughter or jokes being made. Just screams. No more drinking or dart throwing. No more loved ones. No more mockery of his poor state.

After several hours of just standing and watching the building burn and smoke he began to laugh. How ironic was it? His life had been torn apart by a murderer and now he'd become one and an arsonist. He laughed and laughed until his sides began to hurt. The laughter ripped out of him like a demon.   

When he couldn't laugh anymore there was only simmering ambers around the charcoal building. He could vaguely make out some body parts, bones and charred blood. The open mouths of once screaming skulls lay on the floor. 

He was shackled by the pleasure that consumed him. They now knew his pain, and soon everyone would. Shamelessly he turned from the scene a twisted smile painting his mouth.