If only this wasn’t goodbye. No one can be certain of what comes next. I suppose thats where faith comes in.

If only this was ‘until next time’. Is it selfish to wish for more clarity in the matter? How can someone leave behind who they are, or at least everyone and thing they have used to identify themselves with? Would that person still have an identity? Damn, this might be getting a little too deep.

When the cancer diagnosis came back I think I had a blissfully ignorant stance on things. How could I not get better? I was in the prime of my life, had everything going for me. It’s crazy that I didnt know how naive and egotistical i was. But hey, Im trying to paint a picture and let’s set the record straight from the beginning, I was no saint. Hell, I am no saint.

What I do know is that when love disappears, sorrow, sadness, anguish and despair are all that follows. Where does the love I have spread go when all who loved me are suffering? Why must pain spread so far? Will the love I’ve received travel with me into the vast unknown or am I destined to travel alone, in hopes that I’ll see you again one day?

If only this wasn’t goodbye, just until next time.

As dawn came and beams of sunlight flooded down the village its residents woke like any other day, yet this one would be very different. On this day the blacksmiths forge would not billow the thick black smoke the towns people had grown accustomed to, neither would the baker have his doors open to supply his goods. The sheep in the field would be left in their pen, not roaming the forest line they usually fed on. As the boy and his mother exited their cottage they noticed more people had gone missing. The more villagers that went missing the more anxious the remaining few grew. What horrendous event plagued this village was a mystery to its residents as more and more of them disappeared each night. No one had any idea where the towns people where vanishing to as there was no revealing evidence to uncover. They were just gone. No trace left beside the job or task that would be left undone. Now that over half of the village was missing the mother worried if her or her son would be next. The fear of what might happen to one of them clouded her thoughts ridding her unable to complete her designated tasks along with the extras she had to complete to keep society afloat in the small community. As the day progressed and dusk began to settle, the mother wondered what precautions she could take, if any, to keep her boy safe. As she readied him for bed and laid in her own an uneasy feeling grew in her chest. After some time passed she heard her son’s breathing change, relieved he was asleep. Wondering if she would also find rest soon she felt the anxiety she had squelched begin to grow again. She turned her head and peered towards the window of their modest abode and just as she felt her eyes grow heavy she felt a loud, booming drone sound, almost like the battle cry from a horn of an oncoming army but deeper. As the light bleeding in through the window turned red and the deep drone persisted she began to cry as her house began to shake. She took one last look at her sleeping child as everything in view turned white and all sound ceased to exist.

Day after day Arther grew more irritated as he couldn’t muster the guts to finish his novel. After basing the book vaguely on his childhood and early adulthood he couldn’t bring himself to finish the story. He tried to keep the core elements of his experiences in the book while changing minor details to keep the reader interested but now that the story had reached the climax he began to regret intertwining the tale he told so closely with his life. He needed to come up with a climax and resolution in the final chapters but the thought of ending the book the way his life turned out revolted him. Who would want to read a book about a man who failed to live up to the goals he had made, was cheated on and left by his one and only love, had no relationship with either of his children, was disowned by his family for his addiction problem, (more accurately it was ‘a failure to properly cope with his life crumbling apart’ problem), and now couldn’t even imagine a life interesting enough to finish his book with. Overcome with remorse he concluded he was being too hard on himself, that he should try to relax, have a drink, turn in early and finish the novel another day. Besides, he had his whole life to finish the story.

As the wind whipped up swirls of dust, he covered his face with his wrappings as he begrudgingly persisted. After walking for days with no sign of water his will grew weak. Having been exiled to this ever changing wasteland of sand he began to realize the weight of his actions, regretting his egotistical ways. “If only I hadn’t tried showing off back at the city, mouthing off to the imperial guard. I should have known better. After what had happened to my brother I should have known the guards didnt take insubordination lightly.” The fine particles burn my eyes. The gusts exasperating the already present pain on my skin. “How much longer until i find rest? What rest will i find? A cool oasis blanketed in shade or a deep, final exhausted breath surrendering the last of my will to survive? If only I had kept my mouth shut. What could mother be thinking? Does she even know what happened or does she assume that Im dead? I might as well be. Why should I even continue? What’s left worth living for? My only desire is to have been able to do more in my life, to stand out, make a change. But if this is what i get for trying to stand out then whats the point? Perphaps Im destined to be doomed. Born to die. Alive just to suffer. If only my death had more meaning, like his. Dear brother, how i long to be in your presence once more.”

As he came to, he couldn't hear a thing but a deafening ringing. Straining his head to the left he could only make out a silhouette amidst the cloud of debris that hadn't quite settled. A cold wave of fear and dread ran down his body as he turned quickly to put as much space between him and this entity which was still unknown. As he tried shuffling to his feet a searing pain enveloped him. He looked down to see the bone below his right knee broken through the skin. As the blood drained from his face he felt an unsettling hand on the back of his neck, almost seeming to pass through him. In the same instant his head exploded in a fiery haze, throbbing with every beat of his heart. “Is this the end?” he wondered in agony; vision blurred from the unrelenting torment in his head. In mere moments he heard a strange noise fill the room as the being answered his unvoiced concern, “My son, I wish for your sake it was,” and just as soon as he had come to his senses, he felt the room close in as consciousness left him.

As the strange man sheltered from the heavy rain under his umbrella, he unwaveringly crept through the walls of falling water as he assessed his current state. He felt the burn on his hands as the skin of his fingernails slowly peeled back and they would only get worse the longer he remained in this place. As he was entranced by the rapid decomposing state of his body a butterfly landed on his hand, likely also seeking safety from the all-encompassing storm. Still not fully understanding the conditions of the body he inhabited, he determined the only choice he had was to get back to the graveyard where he was told his body belonged. As much as this place intrigued him he began to miss the cold ache of the worms that called the cavity where his brain once was home. As he crossed Slant Street back towards West Park Cemetary, he noticed his legs growing stiffer. Across the street he could see the disturbed grave that he called home but feared he wouldn't make it back. His fears were only validated as he stepped on the curb at the end of the crosswalk only to watch his knee separate from the lower part of his leg and contact the cement. Upon contact he could feel his hip pop from the socket as he slid back into the street, directly into the ever-growing stream the rain had created, rushing towards the storm drain. He glanced backwards and saw the hooded figure which had brought him here earlier that morning standing across the street, seemingly unmoved by the fact that this creation he had raised from the ground only hours before was bound to return in mere moments. As the rushing water began to break apart the strange man's limbs, he was only a foot away from the storm drain now. For how short his visit back to this place was he was relieved as his body was swept under the street. Returning to the dark was satisfying though it wasn't what he was used to, not as cozy as the soil surrounding his rotting flesh. Regardless, once his body was fully broken apart as it washed through the sewers of Dive City, he could feel the familiar relieving sigh as the forever slumber he was taken from returned to him once more.