| twerboart | Дата: Понедельник, 27.05.2013, 01:00 | Сообщение # 1 |
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| It was so hard to care.He was weak, tired, and even if he lived, the things he still had to do seemed impossible.No one could blame him if he quit, could they?No one would even know.And so he drifted, the ash caking his blood-soaked gambeson and hands, enclosing him like a shroud, preparing him almost gently for the moment his heart finally stopped.In the darkness behind his eyes little sparks appeared and died, each dimmer than the last, until only one remained, fading.In it he saw the face of a young woman, tiny as with distance, and from somewhere heard a vast chorale of despair and terror that seemed to fill the universe.He saw his father on a burning throne, his face blank, as if he didn't realize what was happening to him.The wavering colors expanded, pushing the murk away, and the woman appeared again as his father faded.He knew her features, her curling black hair, but he couldn't remember her name.
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He noticed she was holding something up for him to see; a little doll that looked like him, but couldn't be him, because it was stronger, smarter, better than he was, made in the image of a man incapable of giving in or giving up.She kissed the doll lightly on the head and then looked at him expectantly.
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And so, beginning to weep, he cracked his dust-caked lips and summoned the air that remained in his lungs.The other man was hardly visible, a darker patch in the ash.He thought he saw a sort of orange flash out in the gray, a sphere that appeared, expanded, passed through him, and then went on beyond his sight.But it might have been the agony, taking him away.Yet the light remained, the images continued.
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