Finally. It is myturn.
Hovering thirty thousand meters above the
earth, I stood silently in the shower of the rising dawn light, which immersed
my unfurled wings, lent me warmth, and led my spirits towards a great unknown.
Vast clouds of nebulous emotions stirred my mind into utter chaos. I closed my
eyes, and fell into a state of tranquil weariness.
Could it have been only a few years ago?
My prided sword, drenched in the golden blood
of my foe, fell. Its serrated edges opening a gash on my fingers as it tumbled
into the crimson stretch of humanity.
The world transformed into a maelstrom. And it
was all my fault.
The azure sky merged with the clouds, which in
turn blurred into the darkness. The only colour I could see was my iridescent
blood—the sacred blood born from unity and sacrifice— slowly exuding from the wounds of battle. I felt my cheeks lift
into a slight, rigid smile.
It is time.
As I slowly shut my eyes from the perpetual
shades of grey, glazed images of those whom I loved, of those whom I hated, of
those who died and lived, unfurled in front of my eyes. I surrendered my
falling body to the rush of the winds, which first caressed, then grated
against my skin as the temporary power of immortality slowly vanished.