Prologue: Dear Jibreel
704 Words
Sometime in the 15th century, for the lovers of the moon
Somewhere on one side of the Jordan River
The slow, irregular droplets fell upon the moist soil. The rusty shackles wouldn't let her move, and she wouldn't even if she could for she knew her restraints were different from an iron ball. She lived her whole life shackled with ridiculous constraints that she could never get rid of.
She was a prisoner, but now her cell only became smaller.
She spent her whole life bleeding, and now her blood finally gushed onto her skin to colour its boring brownness.
The silence deafened her, but her greatest fear was the endless darkness around her.
Ever since she was a child, she could never stand the blackness and nothingness. Staring into the abyss terrified her as she knew it was staring back at her. The only difference between her and the abyss is that she could not see the abyss, but "he" could see her. Not only see. He could touch, speak, laugh and stare, and it terrified her. The idea of staring at something she could not see made her lose her mind, which is why a blackout was her worst enemy for as long as she could remember.
Maybe part of her did not like the nihilism hiding behind an eternal loop of the graveyard of colours. She knew from the few science classes she took that whenever black resided, only death lived. As ironic as the delicious oxymoron sounded, she knew it was a fact; death is but life. Terrifyingly captivating, she embraced death a very long time ago. She knew it would come to her eventually since she wouldn't let go of her dream.
She knew her death wouldn't be a comfortable one.
"We were hoping you would cooperate with us," a harsh voice spoke, "Are you absolutely certain that you do not wish to work with us. Art is but another way to guide people. It is powerful. Do not be stubborn and join our cause. People are stupid. Do not awaken their dormant minds. Let them sleep. Let us enslave them for the greater good."
She slowly lifted her head to stare into the dead eyes of the warden. "Just… another… sheep."
She gasped, feeling electricity run through her blood and every cell in her body. She knew the end was near, and it was all a matter of time. The clock was ticking, and time started slowing down. Her world blackening, her days of torture were coming to an end; however, before the blackness consumed her completely, it came to a halt.
"Are you absolutely certain of your decision?" the voice spoke again. "If you are, then make your last wish."
"Letter…" she breathed, "I want to write a final letter."
"To who? Depending on the receiver, we will not allow you to write anything."
She smirked and almost laughed. "Don't worry. The receiver never answered any of my letters for as long as I lived. It will not change this time."
She heard slow footsteps approaching, and how she wished those were the footsteps of the angels visiting her grave for the determinant test! It was not the case, and violent hands forced her to stand and dragged her to a corner in the dirty room.
The sound of the squawking metal reminded her of the cry of a pitch-black raven, black as a starless night sky, a bottomless vacuum and an endless abyss. She couldn't stand the noise. It made her wish she lost her hearing along with her eyesight. The sound finally stopped, and she was pushed down to the floor.
"Write."
She could hear the sound of a gun loading. "You last words? Noone will save you now."
"I have already said my prayers," she smiled, sensing her way on the wooden desk to find a pen. "This letter is for a friend."
"A friend that doesn't reply. Are they dead? Do not worry. You will join them soon."
"No."
She started writing.
"He is not dead."
Dear…
"He is well and alive. He just never answers."
Jibreel…
Silence reigned for the next thirty minutes before a broad grin lighted up her features, and a tear ran down her cheek.
I hope I was able to keep my promise.
A loud gunshot echoed in the silent space.
See you on the other side!
Death.
- Writer
