A hope in hell

For the hundredth time since I regained it, I reach into the pouch and I touch the sand. I sift it through my fingers. Feel each grain of it, inexhaustible. Endless. Like myself, like the few others of my kind. Endless. Tonight I feel alone. I have always been solitary, but here on the nightward shores of dream, loneliness washes over me in waves, lapping and pulling at my spirit. I sprinkle sand into the waters of night. The grains burn as they fall, reminding me of another in times long passed away. I watched him even then as he fell, his face undefeated, his eyes still proud. It is time for me to walk the abyss. Time to reclaim my own. I must talk to the Morningstar.

I do not have high hopes for the meeting.

A Hope in Hell

Es, con diferencia, mi número favorito de Preludios y Nocturnos


1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Keroak said,

    La verdad es que es flipante. Yo lo leí en castellano, pero mucho mejor en inglés.

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