War.
Once I was a patriot.
Death drained me of that concept, just as a bullet had emptied me of my vital unguent.
Ichor flowed from where the bullet had perforated my abdomen.
My skin drained of blood to a lemony off white.
The bright light of my eyes faded.
My soul found itself unbound. It remained on earth however. I sat up, rising through my own silent chest.
The sky was mostly clear, give or take a bullet.
Even a novice flier could reach the gates of heaven.
This did not matter, however, for I had held a gun. My pacifism was shattered.
I had not become an angel.
From green stain in my wings, the pomegranate juice color of my eyes.
It was obvious I had manifested as a Peri.
Stranded, unable to enter Elysium until I had performed a redeeming task. I knew this, from the stories told to me by my mother. Gnosis confirmed it.
I sat in the gritty sands of battle for a time; despairing.
Eventually, however, I felt ready to begin.
Red sand, yellow sun, blue sky.
… What a way to die.
When I first flew, it was like the earth had flung itself away from me.
Golden sand dunes curled like waves below. Blurred red and black specks hinted at the cause for my existence. I closed my eyes for a moment; shying from the fractionally nearer sun. A breath, the absence of a vital beat. I looked again.
Persia had faded into the distance.
Its heat and a miasma of rust clung to me a second; before being swept away.
Once I was a patriot.
Death drained me of that concept, just as a bullet had emptied me of my vital unguent.
Ichor flowed from where the bullet had perforated my abdomen.
My skin drained of blood to a lemony off white.
The bright light of my eyes faded.
My soul found itself unbound. It remained on earth however. I sat up, rising through my own silent chest.
The sky was mostly clear, give or take a bullet.
Even a novice flier could reach the gates of heaven.
This did not matter, however, for I had held a gun. My pacifism was shattered.
I had not become an angel.
From green stain in my wings, the pomegranate juice color of my eyes.
It was obvious I had manifested as a Peri.
Stranded, unable to enter Elysium until I had performed a redeeming task. I knew this, from the stories told to me by my mother. Gnosis confirmed it.
I sat in the gritty sands of battle for a time; despairing.
Eventually, however, I felt ready to begin.
Red sand, yellow sun, blue sky.
… What a way to die.
When I first flew, it was like the earth had flung itself away from me.
Golden sand dunes curled like waves below. Blurred red and black specks hinted at the cause for my existence. I closed my eyes for a moment; shying from the fractionally nearer sun. A breath, the absence of a vital beat. I looked again.
Persia had faded into the distance.
Its heat and a miasma of rust clung to me a second; before being swept away.
The indomitable Krokhasis Mountains blurred below me.
Crisp fragments of snow in the air rushed by; it looked like rain for all its velocity; relative to mine.
I passed countries and provinces, too quick to name any or even observe the marks of mankind.
Now I was over open water.
The sea looked solid; like a continuous obsidian valley.
Crags and spires of water hurtled themselves at each other, briny foam scattered like snow.
Greenish light whispered beneath the waves; the oceans own magma.
Another breath ; one that carried a wisp of oxygen thousands of miles.
Having exhausted what amounted to post-mortem adrenaline, I slowed.
I swooped to a nearby coast; which seemed starkly flat in comparison to everything before it.
It was country side.
Grey, green and beige fields were stitched together with charcoal roads like the earths own quilt.
I glided in directionless rain and emetic smog.
In the distance I saw a settlement, the source of the smoke.
A silhouette of copper skin; emerald wings. Me.
Somehow managed to revel in being deceased.
The thermal was weak. But I could fly.
The mist was thick and temperate like Ash-e Anar. Yet I could see.
I flew low, letting my hand brush against the treetops, causing dew to fall.
To soon, I discovered I was visible to mortals.
A cloud of lead pellets neared me; one imbedded itself in my shoulder, and so I fell.
All too familiar pain.
"Good shot old bean!" I heard someone say before losing consciousness.
Crisp fragments of snow in the air rushed by; it looked like rain for all its velocity; relative to mine.
I passed countries and provinces, too quick to name any or even observe the marks of mankind.
Now I was over open water.
The sea looked solid; like a continuous obsidian valley.
Crags and spires of water hurtled themselves at each other, briny foam scattered like snow.
Greenish light whispered beneath the waves; the oceans own magma.
Another breath ; one that carried a wisp of oxygen thousands of miles.
Having exhausted what amounted to post-mortem adrenaline, I slowed.
I swooped to a nearby coast; which seemed starkly flat in comparison to everything before it.
It was country side.
Grey, green and beige fields were stitched together with charcoal roads like the earths own quilt.
I glided in directionless rain and emetic smog.
In the distance I saw a settlement, the source of the smoke.
A silhouette of copper skin; emerald wings. Me.
Somehow managed to revel in being deceased.
The thermal was weak. But I could fly.
The mist was thick and temperate like Ash-e Anar. Yet I could see.
I flew low, letting my hand brush against the treetops, causing dew to fall.
To soon, I discovered I was visible to mortals.
A cloud of lead pellets neared me; one imbedded itself in my shoulder, and so I fell.
All too familiar pain.
"Good shot old bean!" I heard someone say before losing consciousness.