The second the shadow bites down, I know it's over. I go limp, certainly not by my own desire, and feel a warm glow encompass my body. I try to protest, but to no avail. I can't move at all. Time freezes. The world goes silent.
The shadow begins to change form before my eyes, shifting from a monster into a man, dark in features, wearing a long black cloak, holding me gently in his arms. He strokes my limbs and cradles me like a child, and I feel a mist close over my body where his fingers fall, a warmth seeping into my bones, as the figure begins to murmur in my ear. It's some kind of lullaby, vaguely familiar, but sung in a language I can't identify, and the words lull me gently into a peaceful resignation.
Buried deep within the words are pictures, images of my life. I see my mother, long dead, holding out her arms to welcome me. I see my wife, lost to the shadows before the migration, and my son, stillborn nearly a decade ago, now half-grown. As the shadow sings, I am overcome by the joy of seeing those I loved once more, in this, my final hour.
The voice gets softer and softer as I begin to lose consciousness, until finally, as he approaches the last few lines, it becomes inaudible. I sink down into the silence, embracing the darkness that approaches, and disappear into it.
YOU ARE READING
Beneath the Shadowlanders
Science FictionWe knew something wasn't right from the moment we awoke. It was like something was missing - a part of our very souls - and we couldn't sense the deficiency, no matter how hard we tried. A hundred million eyes adjusted to the dark all at once, all s...
