spitting
Apr 15, 2020 17:31:28 GMT -8
Post by daisy on Apr 15, 2020 17:31:28 GMT -8
Once the poison enters your veins, how long do you have? And - she thought, aware of the absurd use of her remaining time - was it then poison, or venom? Did it depend, still, on how it was administered? Because - that was it, of course. That was still what mattered. To be brought down indiscriminately, a victim of progress, was one thing. But if it were bestowed with malice, she was not sure she could countenance her ending. Then - panic settling about her - she was not sure she could countenance anything, beyond her survival. That bestial seed of humanity settled itself between death and nobility, and strangled both in its growth. She ran for the exit. She passed corpse after almost-corpse, and begged forgiveness with every ragged breath, until she forgot they had been alive, and decided none could still be so, as the world collapsed behind her. There was no ceremony, her mind prompted; left behind in its wild horse flight. Everything human - nothing, nothing, the horse trampled underfoot - we had constructed, and thus broken, becoming dead weight and bracken. This undergrowth, fit only to be ridden down, resigned itself to scenery, as she fled the hold.
It all means so much, until it doesn't.
She raced ahead of the collapse, a shred of light fleeing the sun's descent. She crests, she lunges, she dives through the valley as her sisters slip beneath the horizon, and -
A lone, tumbling ray throws its last glance over the land. To witness it is to be illuminated, if only briefly.
She passes the gate.
One last human breathes as all else falls into nothing.
God - for the dead God rises again in all of us here, Nietzsche be damned - God please -