literature

Voice of Ebony Velvet

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Literature Text

No pestilence had ever caused such disillusion, and no contagion had ever affected the souls of men as this. Thus it was that the fangs of the devil himself brought about the destruction of man and his accomplices in the form of two small holes in the pale flesh of humanity. It was a cruel and disturbing obstruction to be plagued with this fate, and to those that had with injustice acquired it died as the second hand ticked right five spaces. Discourteous and unjustifiable is the disease as it clutches you. But death never truly grasped those infected; to agonizingly become immortal was what awaited them.

Since the dawn of time humanity searched for the fountain of life and even tall tale sorcerers used crafted alchemy to try and create the perfect elixir, but to the weary infected soul this drink was poison to their listless lips. It started with one’s ill will, spread to another, and now it is not uncommon to come across a carrier without the realization of it. This pestilence is not visible to those that openly seek it, and to those that casually walk through the night under a daunting moon or in darkness alike it is your impending doom. It coerces you to a damned existence; a black pit that as you reach to climb the wall only to find your fingers slice through the mire revealing your trapped subsistence.

So it was that a young individual sauntered along a bleak cobble stone walkway, listening to his own footsteps ricochet around him while the sound of flowing water that leaked through the streets into the black sewer. Water, along with other contents were always flowing through streets. Every alleyway that angled off the main road vanished into darkness toward their middle, and only a few metal lamps harboring flames were set up at street corners and lanterns hung from buildings signs.

A hauntingly bright harvest moon looked down on the earth from above, mocking humanity and all that scavenged the night. The figure’s head was slightly hung; his eyes were closed though instinctively he knew exactly what was occurring around him, not being dependent on sight alone to help him forward, besides, he knew the landscape perfectly. Frequently the rumble of hooves across the stone clattered and the hum of a carriage followed shortly after strolled past him, even a few word were passed by people buzzing about with their daily business as they hastily scurried into other buildings.

The figure was clad in a dark long coat and underneath was a white plain loose shirt while he wore breeches to complete his costume. The tips and soles of his boots were speckled with dried crusty sludge that wouldn't dare come loose unless he took the time to run them under water and take a rag to them. This man was in no such position he needed to hustle in order to clean his shoes, something he simply didn’t see that was needed. Unlike many of his fellow kind, he had no desire to attain power or any social rank. Organizations were fabricated and soon the strongest ruled ruthlessly over concubines and the desolate. What true gain was there in this ludicrous act, surely this man knew it was folly. Now his eyes cast upward, tracing through the crevices of the moon, and deep into the valleys that created mountainous regions here and there. Its opposite, it seemed, he hadn’t seen in centuries though in all truth it had only been a few days and already the concept of forever going blind to it was driving the young man insane. With a heavy, depression induced sigh he looked back down and continued on his way.

The few days that had allowed the pestilence time to grow had already corrupted the blood and body of the man of only nineteen, forcing him, driving him to these decaying and filthy dark corridors of the night. He had learned the day of his infection what had become of him and nearly every crucial detail was discovered starting from the first second his eyes opened in his dark room. As always he pulled the velveteen curtains from the window of his sleeping quarters and as the morning sun touched his pale skin an intense and furious flame ignited over his unprotected flesh and scorched and destroyed it. Writhing in pain he retreated to the shadows of his room, screaming pitifully as he backed into a corner like an animal in fear of being beaten.

The rest of the day he had hid in a bathroom that was completely enclosed from the source of his pain, the mocking peaceful rays of light. Once his pain was vanished he crept slowly from the darkness to peer into a mutedly lit corridor. Immediately he noticed something queer about his sight; instead of being clouded and forced to squint to see clearly the vase set on an oak wood table he was able to see every miniscule aspect of the rose that lay in it and curiously he went to investigate. Each magenta petal was smoothly positioned growing from the deep green of the budging stem and wrapped around another to protect the hidden golden pollen within the core of the flower; lightly he reached and touched the velvet material of the petals but once his fingers made contact the heat the flower should have still held, even after being plucked from the plant, was gone.

Whipping his hand away the man hastened down the hall heading to the only mirror in the abode. Reaching it only took a second but it took a nanosecond for shock to set in and terror at what he saw, or more like what he didn’t see. Since he was a child looking in a pond, mirror, or any form of reflecting material always had shown him his image mirrored back to him. But now as he looked to the silvery glass he could see nothing but the plaster wall behind him.
“No…no…” were the only words that uttered from his pale lips and he gripped his hair in his hands as his head bowed in frustration, pain and agony. How could this have happened? What had happened the night before to transform him into this abomination? He knew what was infecting him, he knew it well and as he tried to piece together the visions of the previous night he tried to grasp the path, the destiny that was placed before him now. Gently he released himself to place his hand on his neck feeling the two holes that had disturbed his smooth and caused this incompatible existence. The pestilence was now his entire life, future, being and everything he would ever know and understand from then on.
This is a story I have been working on in my creative writing class...YAY! Anyway, it has been taking me forever to get started and you may need a dictionary...I kinda went overboard on the vocabulary *hugs the word thesaurus* This is about my character Genkaku, whose bio you can see in my gallery.
© 2007 - 2024 Tuco
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jdskeleven's avatar
I liked it, but you weren't kidding when you said you went overboard with the thesaurus! The first few paragraphs in particular are a bit hard to get into. It might be a better idea to start off with the part about the main character walking down the street and then move all of the exposition about immortality into the middle.