There’s a grief that can’t be spoken.
There’s a pain goes on and on.
Empty chairs at empty tables
Now my friends are dead and gone.

Here they talked of revolution.
Here it was they lit the flame.
Here they sang about `tomorrow’
And tomorrow never came.

From the table in the corner
They could see a world reborn
And they rose with voices ringing
I can hear them now!
The very words that they had sung
Became their last communion
On the lonely barricade at dawn.

Oh my friends, my friends forgive me
That I live and you are gone.
There’s a grief that can’t be spoken.
There’s a pain goes on and on.

Phantom faces at the window.
Phantom shadows on the floor.
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more.

Oh my friends, my friends, don’t ask me
What your sacrifice was for
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more

The hill I’ve been walking for so long in one life, the knife I’ve been dancing on in the other… it’s come down to this.

At the top of the hill is a split in the road. One way is the right way, the other way the wrong. I don’t know which way to go… I only know that whichever one I choose, it will be the wrong one. I walk, and walk, and walk. I’ve been walking for so long that walking is meaningless, the view doesn’t matter, the only thing that matters, is that I put another foot in front of me… and I don’t want to do this anymore. A well appears. I move around it. I’m mindless, I just have to keep walking. The well moves. I move again. It moves again. I stop.

The knife is across a chasm. Above me is the sucking void, cold and vicious, winds whistling mournfully of the end of all things; below me nothing but fire, molten rivers of metal and stone, liquefied coal, cinders and ash, volcanic swirls, magma boiling. The blade is up, my feet are bare, and I dance, decorating the knife with my desperation and my pain… it’s all that keeps me alive anymore. I’ve been dancing on that blade for a lifetime… longer. To stop dancing is to fall.

No matter which way I go, I fall. No matter which way I choose, I fail.

I stop dancing.

I stop walking.

I begin to dig in the earth before the well.

The knife, sharp as a sickle, splits my feet, drinking deep of my flesh. Halved, my body falls to either side of the blade, into the chasm below. Free, my spirit leaps for the void. Silence descends. The blade dries, the blood burns to ash, my passing erased. I was never here.

The hole is finally large enough. I crawl in, and I pull the earth over my body. Power drains from my pores. One by one, meridians die, channels close, chakras fade, breath hitches, gasps, ceases… gifts erode.

I am released.

I am done.

I am gone.

There are a few things I will finish this week, a few ends to tidy up. Bargains have been made, and healing must be completed. Then I will rest.

I’m getting married in 24 days. I don’t want power anymore. I don’t want sacrifice anymore. I want a small life. I want a son and a husband. I want my cats. I want a simple cottage and some herbs. I don’t want responsibilities anymore.

I’m tired of walking the knife. It’s time to put it down.


One comment on “Endings

  1. Pingback: On Not Deciding | Nyctophilia Lemon

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