The Echoeing Darkness

“ I am,” I thought to myself. My eyes scan the cell for a hint of light, but they find none. In the dungeons of Hanorean Keep, there are four levels. The first is for petty thieves who will soon be out. The second level is for those charged with manslaughter and embezzlement. The third level is for traitors, rapists and murders…but the fourth level…is called the dark level. It is basically solitary confinement, with soundproof walls. A guard brings a thin gruel once a day. In the pitch black darkness, you cannot see or hear. The smell of my bodily excrement cloaks the air in reeking odours, especially in the furthest corner. Stale is how the air and food taste. If someone kills me in my sleep, not a soul would ever know.1

I recall how I earned this lifetime of darkness. I believe it started when I killed the King’s heir, the Queen’s illegitimate child. That was no loss, the King and his ‘bastard’ heir are both dead. The boy king had tortured my twin brother in a way that would cause me to be sent to the darkest level of Hanorean Keep, where I presently reside. Anyways, for his crime of regicide, as the present king had gone insane, my brother was tortured to the brink of death, then allowed to heal after which the cycle began anew. This cycle would probably have continued even to this day, although I know not whether it be years or merely months since the murder of the bastard King’s death, for time has no meaning here. If I ever am released from here, the first thing I will do is inquire about him. Silent laughter tickled my throat even as I contemplate the unlikelihood of my release. 2

I can still imagine those seven foolish girls and egoistical knights of the royal court, who followed the bastard king and shouted, “praise the king!” 3

I would yell “King, what King, that’s a whores spawn!” for the Queen is indisputably a whore. Saying this brought forth a gurgle of laughter, which quickly subsided. My lips hurt, like I had licked them, then kissed a frozen pole.4

Lost as I was in my musings of the past, I fail to notice the sounds, the screeches and clangs. I had not heard anything but my own voice for a day… eternity. Sounds did not exist in my dark tomb. Yet suddenly I heard a thud; the door flew open. I scream, the bright light burning my eyes like the blazing Helios of Greek myths. Living in darkness for so long, I feel like someone twice my size had tackled me, torn as I am between in my joy of seeing light and fear of the fate that awaits me. My head seems to spin like a planet on its axis. A kaleidoscope of colors swirl in my head, then grew darker, as if to mark a transition from the Elysian fields to the depths of Hades. Then, everything is awash in darkness.5

My dreams seem like not nightmares, but nor are they pleasant....they're like life itself, a conglomeration of the goods and ills the world has to offer....but wait! they morph into...into an Apocalypse, which shatters me to the the core. Blood. Fire. Beasts....and bodies...enumerable bodies, of those who I once knew... all gone beyond the ninth gate. Wait. A spastic movement in the corner of my left eye focuses my attention on the center of the....courtyard?! Suddenly I realize something; my tomb did not open by itself, as entertaining that concept may be. Everything in this world has a purpose and all organic and inorganic specimens of this planet are connected in a eternal chain of being. Then the dream became reality! My brother adrift in a sea of blood. A whip rains blows down upon the keystone of my existence, my other half, even as I describe it; every lash scars both me and my brother, in unison, despite him being the only one actually struck. Our unanimous screams filled the air. Seeing lashes landed upon his back filling my own skin splitting. Ravished by near unbearable pain, I focus on my surroundings. An execution in the coliseum, full of the catcalls and jeers of the small folk. “Ahhhh” I roared in the oblivion of pain. The torture stops for a minute. I see my brother, pooled in blood, lying on the floor of the coliseum beside me. 6

Then I saw her. Standing a few meters away was the Queen. Her face the purest alabaster, blemish free and smooth as silk. Her nose was strong and proud, jutting out at an odd angle. Faintly crimson lips, freshly pierced flesh, directed a hideous grimace in my direction, stark against alabaster skin. Thick silver blond hair falls past her waist, like a river flowing down her back. Her shapely body is cloaked in a dress of ambiguity, which commonplace as it is, is notable; the manner in which the silk clings wantonly to her curves, drawing the eyes of men as if she were naked. I inwardly scoff at the vanity, her imitation of Narcissus only garnering disgust from deep within my soul. Then I met her gaze. Stormy grey eyes clashed with my own in the ancient battle of conquest, seeking domination. Neither of us are willing to surrender, so we stare unblinkingly for what seems like hours. Time becomes a term without meaning. The Queen. Me. Fate. Fate is the victor, for once our threads are cut, little can be done. My brother is to watch me die, suffer my pain. They hope to keep him alive for another year or so, to maximize the results. Suddenly the Queen's teeth clench in a scowl.7

Her lips part, and she bellows “she killed my son! Kill her!” At the edge of my perception, guards’ jerk my brother to his feet, then seat him on the nearby plush red front row seat. So close he can see every indentation, every drop of blood, bead of sweat on my brow, whilst he is nearly deafened by my throes and hear every scream. The guard raised his whip, “craaack!” a scream ripped through my throat and my body withered in pain. “ssss!” the whip lashed me again directly on top of the first one. “Craaack! shht! Craaack!” I lost count of the times I had been hit. My eyesight began to go blurry; my body lay in a pool of my own blood and excrement. My senses were fading, and I know death draws near. I become oblivious to all but my brother, whose horrified gaze scanned my body. I force my self to smile, even as I weep.8

“Brother, do not remember my suffering! Life is slipping away, I won’t last another lash!” Tears began to flow freely down my brothers cheeks. 9

“Sister, I will join you one day!” I saw the look on the Queen’s face, the slight movement. Then she clenched a dagger in her hand. She threw, even as the lash impacted against my back, his neck was bit by her own dagger. Even as the dagger embedded itself into his flesh, she, her majesty became aware; aware of her own impeding doom. She should have known, as our once surrogate mother, that if we began anything, we would always finish it, no matter the consequences. Without my brother's calming influence, such as it had been, there would be no way to stop me should chose to kill her. My only reason for obeying her commands had become no longer significant. I was her plaything no longer.