Date: Wed, 22 Feb 1995 01:43:18 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Eternal Life Eternal Life c 1995 N.L. Cleveland He stood alone. Naked. Panting. Exhausted. His head bare to the sun, covered only by his long , dark, matted hair. Unable, unwilling, to run, to stumble, to move, one step further. Swaying, in the heat. His lips cracked, his mouth dry, with thirst. No other living being shared the blasted, desolate heath with him. Not even a bird called out across the empty brown waste. None that he could hear, through the pounding noise of his own heart's blood beating in his ears, or see, through the shimmering , wavering lines that played across his vision, blurring the harsh outlines of the deserted land. Even the dumb animals, touched lightly with divine understanding, spurned him, shunned him as unclean, as the spawn of evil. He fell to his knees, indifferent to the stinging pain that flashed up his legs as the sharp rock cut and bruised his bare skin. It mattered not if he hurt himself by chance, or if he took up another broken shard of stone and hacked again at his own throat with grim and deadly purpose, trying to end his abominable existence. It would heal. It would always heal. His flesh would close, smooth and unscarred. As if the injury had never been. And he would remain. Still alive. Still doomed to wander the earth. Alone. Forever. Driven from home, from family. Cursed, by those he loved. Stoned, by those he called friend, called father, called sister, called brother. Named demon. Changeling. Soulless spawn of hell. He closed his eyes, his hands covering his face, pushing aside the long tangled, salt caked locks of hair, trying to close out the memories. But the dark just brought them back, stronger, more vivid than ever. The hate and fear in their expressions, in their hoarse, maddened shouts. Their utter, total rejection of him, as brother, as kin. As human. Nothing made sense. He was still the same man, still the same person. Still felt love, and grief, and sorrow. Still felt the unutterable loss and pain, the confusion, and anger, that any man would. Any man. Any man...... He raised his face to the searing light of the sun. Stared directly into its white incandescent glow, his eyes wide, unblinking, as the heaven's sacred flame speared through this last window to his soul. Welcoming its brutal touch. Welcoming, reveling in the agony as his vision was consumed in fire, and pain. Trying to burn away the images that haunted his brain, to exorcise his past with the cleansing flames. Feeling the last precious drops of moisture slide down his face. His last, bitter tears. The salty taste creeping into his mouth, like the salt of the endless sea, the vast northern ocean he had seen for the first time, just days ago....... The gray waves raged and foamed far beneath him, their crashing roar shaking the very rocks on which he stood, as he hesitated on the edge of the steep sheer cliff, tasting the salty spray on his lips. Hesitated, fascinated by the power, the awesome surging motion and infinite strength, of the sea. Wavering back and forth, on the brink of what he hoped and prayed would be his death, part of him rejoicing in the promise it offered him of release, of final peace, while part of him, the frightened, human part, wanted still to cling to this pathetic remnant of life. His fingers were already dead, useless stubs, his hands mottled and blue, unable to even wriggle, or twitch, his circulation cut off by the rawhide bonds around his red, puffed and raw wrists, bonds that had swollen and tightened in the recent rains. The rains that had given him his only taste of moisture, lately, in this dry and streamless land. He licked his lips again, in reflexive memory. His arms were numb, blessedly numb at last, still lashed to the heavy wooden yoke that pressed down like the weight of the world, on his blistered and bloody shoulders. Like the weight of his alien strangeness, his difference, his curse, pressed down on his soul. His empty stomach lurched, once. The hunger was gone now, too. Only the thirst, the raging thirst, remained. He'd watched his body as it had shriveled in on itself. As he grew leaner, like a walking ghost, but somehow, somehow, never quite drifting beyond that edge, never quite finding death, as he'd staggered onwards, ever away from his village, from his clan, from his family's lands...no, not *his* family, not *his* family ever again...into this strange unknown territory. Ever west, towards the ocean's shore. And now, he was here. A white gull screamed as it floated on the air, beneath him. Skimming across the choppy surface of the waves that clashed and foamed against the gleaming black rocks. The gull was a beckoning spirit, showing him the way to heaven. Or to hell. It mattered not which way he went, now. He only knew he had to leave this earth. To end this existence. He could imagine no worse. The future torments of Satan's pits could be no match for the torments of his heart, now. Even the company of demons would be company, of a sort. And death, even if it was nothing but eternal sleep, could be no emptier than what his life had become. One last look, inland, towards the faint smudged line of green, the hills, the highlands from whence he'd come. And to which he would never return. His blinked his eyes, at the sudden stinging pain. No tears would come. None had, for a long while. Then he turned his body, his eyes, back, to the sea. Swept his glance across the wide expanse of horizon that flowed out to the edge of the world. He caught a last breath, and stepped into that horizon, into that infinity. The earth dropping, crumbling and disappearing beneath his feet. Fell, so quickly, shouting his angry defiance at the rushing vertigo, his body turning uncontrollably in the thin, cold air. For a brief, flashing moment. He felt the impact. His bones shattered, as he hit the hungry, tooth edged rocks. The wooden yoke shattered, as well, driving long jagged splinters into his back and arms. A second of intense, overwhelming pain. Pain so deep, so hurtful, that it alone could have killed him, if he were not already dying, already dead. And he smiled, through the pain, as he slipped away. The dark water closing like liquid ice over his head, covering his eyes, his face, filling his broken and bloody mouth. The half seen nymphs of the seas rising among the green waves, taking him to their bosoms, caressing his limp and twisted body, as they bore his soul away. Peace....he had found it, at last.... And then he was back. Freezing. Shivering uncontrollably with the cold. Sputtering, choking, in the spume and sand. Rolling like a piece of flotsam with the indifferent tide, back and forth, on the edge of the pebble covered beach. He rose unsteadily, fell splashing into the lapping water, rose and staggered to the shore, falling again on the edge of the sand. Gasping for breath, vomiting water and mucous. Exhausted, nauseous, he lay prone, his cheek pressed against the rough tiny grains, the sour briny liquid drying in his mouth. His skin puckered and coated with the fine white powder of salt dust. And from above, floating majestically overhead, the moon's cool, round face looking down at him, at his failure. Still alive. Still trapped in this cursed form, this cursed life. The wooden yoke was gone from his shoulders, but the yoke of his fatal gift would be with him always, now, it seemed. Was it all some kind of cosmic joke? Was he a plaything of the gods? A toy, to live and die and live again, forever, for their amusement? Was it humorous, to see him like this? Crawling on the edge of life and death...and praying... crying...screaming out his plea.....his voice cracked and hoarse... begging now, with all his heart.... sobbing without tears, without sound....to the beings, divine or demon, who had made him. Begging to be released. To be released, forever, from this existence. Begging an indifferent universe. To no avail. He lay on the beach, numb with failure, and cold, watching dully as the moon set, her silver glow fading into morning's pale gray and pink light. Thinking of nothing. Thinking of everything that had happened to him, so far, in his life. Trying to puzzle out what had made him so different. What had set him apart. Seeing no pattern, no reason. No sense... He'd climbed the steep edged cliffs, bruising and bloodying his still healing body, tearing his nails and hands. Pushed on by the nagging, rising tide. No longer believing a simple drop would be enough to finish him. Unable to simply sit and drown, or freeze. Laughing at his own weakness. As if it mattered. Wondering since earth and water and air could not release him, if fire could, instead. Wondering if he even had the courage to find out. He'd been wandering the barrens for days, he supposed. Wandering in half a delirium of madness, of loneliness, of grief. He knew he'd tried to dash his own brains out against a rock, had run hard into the solid wall and fallen at is base. Remembered the aching head and total failure of that attempt. Had tried to carve his own throat with a sharp edged pebble, after that. Again to no avail, except to spill his body's moisture on the ground. And he had chewed the poisonous leaf and berries of some plants, as well...only to be wretchingly, violently ill for hours, and still survive. He had no more inspiration. No more will. No more reserves of hope, or faith. No idea why he even existed. And yet he survived. Here, in the sun soaked hills, his body clung to life while his mind and heart commanded it to be still. He could not, would not, go further. Would not continue this mindless journey. He would lie here and wait. Wait for death, death which must ....must.... come, eventually. He would wait until it did. =========================================================================