MORGUE CANDLELIGHT: DEMISE, A night that has no terminus. The ebony crows cawing in the moonlight. The branches creak while an animal with ebony fur, an ebony feline, ambulates. A gloomy atmosphere that was not congenial at all. In the tenebrosity t...
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The night embraced the stars, they were remotely visible unless you made an effort to optically discern them. The crows in the nearby forest cawed and flew. One of them sat at Poe's window, optically canvassing him as he let out minuscule tears that he endeavored to cover.
Woebegoneness.
The ink pen made its strokes on a piece of brown paper, it looked homogeneous to recycled paper. The forms of kineticism of the pen were gradual and smooth, no rush to culminate. It was as if the pen wanted this to last a sempiternity.
A drop of clear, salty liquid falls onto the paper.
"Karl... I don't know if I can keep doing this. It hurts me to recollect all this..." He whispers.
The raccoon optically canvasses him with pity and, as a way of comforting him, Karl nudges him gently. He didn't know what to do either, this made him as doleful as it did his friend.
"I know, Karl... I know this is hard for you additionally. B...But we have to get over this, right?" His endeavors to maintain composure were virtually ridiculously futile.
The clock in his room drove him crazy, it drove him crazy... That characteristic noise of its clockwise moving made his condition worse.
TICK... TICK... TICK... TICK...
The crow outside his window commenced pecking at the glass in an attempt to get inside.
"I... don't understand how this went wrong, Karl... I've been like this for months and I still don't understand why this had to happend," His voice was brittle, reinforced by an erroneous composure that would be transitory until it broke into pieces and a river of salty tears commenced to flow from his ocular perceivers.
Poe leans back in his chair and puts his pen aside to give a deep but ragged sigh as he mutely lets his tears fall. If he was going to cry, at least it wouldn't be on that manuscript.
You had died a few months ago in a car contingency one day after meeting Poe again.
Your death affected him greatly and he inculpated himself for your death. Every day that feeling came to mind and once again he immersed himself in his tears.
From the day you died, he dedicated himself to inditing papers after papers about a continuation with you and him if the contingency had not happend. Everything was indited in his imagination to endeavor to alleviate the stinging pain in his heart. He felt like millions of needles were being inserted into his heart and then pulled out again, letting the blood flow into him.
The vigorous wind hits the window, but the crow still did not depart.
He brings his hands to his face and runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh. He didn't ken what else to do. It's been months since he indited his version of what he genuinely wanted to transpire in lieu of your death.
Karl gets off Poe's shoulders and jumps over the table to prehend the quill and shows it to Edgar. His auditory perceivers were scarcely lowered.
He glimpses at Karl. "No... Karl, I don't think I can continue today..."
He wipes his tears with his sleeve and gets up from his chair, sobbing marginally.
"I'll go rest later..."
His heart was still beating at a much more expeditious rate than he was customarily used to.
Poe heads towards the window where the crow was. The bird's eyes seemed to perforate his soul and judge him even more than he incriminated himself. When he opens the window, the ebony-feathered bird does not enter, but instead persistently optically canvasses him for a few seconds afore imitating a human's words. The crow's voice made him freeze once again.
"She is dead," Pronounce the crow.
Poe swallows and watches the bird afore utilizing his hand to make a kineticism akin to when utilizing a fan. The bird takes flight, but within a second returns to the window.
"Go away," Poe verbally expressed. The crow didn't left.
There is silence for a few seconds.
"She is dead," Verbalizes again the crow.
It was more than clear that the crow did not ken those words on his own. He had probably been flying near Poe's dormitory in the desperate moments in his room while reiterating perpetually again "She's dead... She died in front of my eyes and there's nothing I could do."
"She is dead."
Little by little he felt that he would lose his mind if he aurally perceived anything more cognate to her death. He couldn't stop thinking that everything was his fault, that he brought that deplorable fortuity that made her die in front of his eyes, and the helplessness that perpetuates to give him for not having been able to at least sacrifice himself.
It's your fault.
She died because of you.
Everything is your fault.
You couldn't do anything to preserve her.
You are a deplorable husband.
You deserve to die.
Things like that swam in his noetic conceptions and didn't seem to optate to depart. They were like leeches imbibing the blood of a human. His noetic conceptions wanted to torment him until he becomes mad and little by minute, outworn himself.
"She is dead," Caws the crow.
He affright the crow one last time afore closing the window and obviating air and leaves from entering the dormitory. His breathing was still eccentric, labored and confounded. He no longer kenned what else to do with his life.
What was he going to do now if you were no longer by his side?
Why did all this have to affect him in such a way?
TICK... TICK... TICK... TICK... TICK...
"Karl... I don't know what to do with my life. Would it be worth it if... if I attempted to kill myself? Or is it better to isolate myself from everyone?" He mutters.
Karl screeched disapprovingly at Poe. He didn't optate to be solitary.
Edgar approaches Karl and takes him into his arms, holding him gently and lovingly, relucting to let him go. "You're right, Karl... Maybe it's not worth... dying now. I'll try to get over this... I promise not to isolate you from today onwards."
Or you didn't ken precisely what was going to happend...
Was Poe authentically attempting to get over this?
What if Poe died additionally?
The clock perpetuated to make its maddening noise. Getting worse... Getting worse until... CLOCK, the clock runs out of battery just at the exact moment it marks one in the morning.
An echoing silence appears and leaves Poe wondering what to do.
