songs for the dying

It began with a dream.

On one long, unpleasantly warm night, his shirt sticking to his skin from sweat, he drifted into an uneasy sleep. The moment he closed his eyes, the soft mattress beneath him turned cold and rocky, digging into his back. Startled, his eyes flew open to the sight of unfamiliar trees looming all around him, a wide, blue lake stretched out before him. The sky above was a canvas of colours, painted in marvelous shades of dusk, and looking up took his breath away.

He blinked, and turned again to the lake, drawing closer with careful steps. Beneath the darkening sky, the water seemed to almost glow before him. He knelt by the edge of the lake, where the water began as grass green, and let his gaze track the colours as it merged to dark blue, and became a deep, endless black at its center, its darkest spot. He looked back down, reached out with both hands, palm-down, and slowly lowered them towards the water.

Within an instant, everything went cold. Goosebumps prickled all over his skin, and shivers shot down his spine. He pulled back hastily, wanting to make a run for it, but his whole body was becoming numb; he couldn't quite move his legs, and his arms, uncovered, had lost almost all feeling. Heart racing, he closed his eyes, urging himself to calm down, but the temperature only continued to drop. Even breathing was becoming difficult, and he had to gasp for air, as the forest grew colder and colder, the sky darker, his surroundings more silent than death.

Until:

A soft, musical sound, so faint it was barely audible. It caught his attention, pulled his focus from the rapid descent of numbness onto his body, and back towards the lake. The surface of the water was rippling in time to the music--a hundred songs mixing together in perfect harmony. At one point, he heard a heavenly choir, accompanied by the looming notes of an organ. Further on, there was a violin solo, each note played masterfully. Even further, the elegant ringing of a harpsichord, a string quartet, an orchestra.

He drank it all in; the songs blended so wonderfully, so entrancing, so perfectly grand that he felt he could listen to it for the rest of his life.

But another wave of full-body shivers wrecked him, and he nearly fell over, eyes flying open as he caught himself just in time, elbows braced against the grass. It was then that he saw her, the figure crouched by the other end of the lake, every inch of her pale and colourless. But her eyes---her eyes were a deep, endless black, and when she smiled, it felt like someone had just walked over his grave.

"Come find us," she had said. "We're always here. Come find us."

He jerked awake with a violent start, panting for breath, the bedsheets drenched in sweat. It was a dream, he told himself, but deep down he knew it was more than that.

------

The next day, he knelt by his bed-confined mother, and recounted the dream, describing every detail to the best of his ability. His mother gazed up at him, eyes half-shut, her tired smile never wavering as she listened to his every word. When he reached the end of his story, she reached up, brushed the hair back from his forehead, and said nothing.

He kissed her forehead, and rose to fetch her a glass of water.

Two days after that, his mother stopped breathing. The villagers helped him with the necessary formalities, and many came to pay their respects on behalf of those too close to death to come themselves. At the end of it, they cremated her, and sealed her ashes in the urn he had prepared all those months ago. He made his thanks, set his mother's spirit down the village river, and left for the forest.

------

He walked for days, foraging for food whenever he could, and finding shelter by the tree roots when he needed rest. His mouth had begun to dry, and the all too-familiar coughing fits had begun, hacking at his chest, splitting his throat into two. It was obvious; his body was growing weaker very, very quickly. Soon enough he was spitting blood onto the grass, heaving for breath, but the sight of bright red against green did not alarm him, only reminded him of how little time he had left.

------

Onwards, he walked. The sun filtered in through the leaves, warm on his nape. There was no way of knowing how far he was from his childhood home, no way of knowing how deep into the forest he had gone, not even if he had been making any progress, or if he had only been walking in circles all this time. The passage of time blurred, and he no longer kept track of the days.

He walked and walked, until the moment his legs finally gave out before him. Exhausted, he was barely conscious, and had only enough time to throw out his hands to protect his face before he crashed into the ground. What little energy he thought he had seemed to vanish, and he lay there unmoving. All was silent, soundless, and he was entirely alone.

He let his eyes fall shut.

------

And then it came: the faint notes of a song.

The music stirred him from sleep, and he dragged himself the rest of the way, peeling his eyes open.

Around him, shadowy figures stood amongst the trees, watching. They were waiting, he knew, for his final breath to pass. Until then, they would come no nearer, and he forced his gaze away, towards the lake of his dreams, and the pale woman, as she emerged from the water.

She walked towards him, and once numbness began setting into his bones once more, she crouched before him. Her gaze was calm, her face expressionless, and she reached out with one hand, and pressed her palm against his chest. The touch was so cold it burned, set his teeth chattering; he clenched his jaw as she pushed against him, her fingers sliding past cloth, past skin and bone, and gripped his heart.

The songs were flooding his ears now, and he clung to them. The pale woman pulled back, slowly, and he felt every second drag by, his body becoming heavier and heavier. Finally, once she had withdrawn completely, he looked up, looked at the small black orb in her hand; he looked into her black eyes, the dark abyss that awaited, and felt, for the first time in years, relief.

Once more, he closed his eyes, letting his body go limp.

As he drifted off, the music grew louder, a new song beginning.