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He was taught to believe that death exuded nothing but false hope; that a better place existed beyond the world in which he lived. And as he lay dying, his mind ravaged every tale he had ever heard, wondering which plane of existence his soul would enter. If in fact, such things existed. Seeing as how Death stalked his waking conscious, he began to believe otherwise.
Two sconces were aflame, adding to the eerie moonlight.
"When I sleep I swear insanity is smiling its wicked smile from the shadowsó" Tyson jerked suddenly, his brown eyes wide. "Look!" He pointed at the Aidan's corpse in the middle of the cell and fell back, nestling in Death's warmth. "His eyes won't stop blinking!"
"I was trying to ease your pain, but your hysteria is only making things worse."
Tyson ignored his comment and pushed himself upright and stopped short. He placed one hand on the cell wall, digging his fingers in mold and dirt. He placed the other on the floor, steadying the nausea that threatened to overtake him.
He could already taste the vomit in his mouth as his stomach churned. Bile rose in his throat, its bitter taste heavy with acid. He heaved twice and wiped the filth from his lips, burying disgust in himself and his uncompromising situation. Tyson turned away from the mess; a watercolor painting displayed in morbid colors.
He got on his hands and knees, and slowly crawled to the opposite corner. He could tell Death trailed behind by the rancid breath that tickled the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Hysteria has nothing to do with the fact that his eyes are blinking." Tyson slumped against the cell wall. He quickly settled into Death's warm embrace. "I think I can tell when something is caused by madness, but then again, " he inclined his head to stare Death in the eye, "I'm sitting here talking to you." He sighed deeply, closing his eyes to block the sudden sadness.
"I don't know what's real anymore, I mean, I'm not suppose to die."
A scowl slinked along Death's face, "Death is a welcoming release."
"A release from what? Death is damnation." His voice lowered to a whisper, "Death is thievery." Tyson hugged himself. He remembered how death struck unexpectedly; from look of pain that distorted the features of his friends and lovers to every swift blade that pierced flesh and bone. He recalled the cold pallor that would then claim them, and Tyson couldn't help but think that their final resting place was a frigid wasteland.
"Everyone dies," Death said, interrupting his mind's exchange.
"Not me. I'm not suppose to die." Tyson moved away from Death to the adjacent wall. He looked hard at the man for the first time. He could never understand how someone's eyes could leak a horde of internal emotions.
Death's hooded eyes displayed nothing; their empty, frosty gaze mimicked that of Aidan's. "I'm suppose to be immortal." His voice cracked as he began to cry.
"I'm at no liberty to discuss your people's ways, but life is journey that is suppose to prepare you for death's journey." Death's words thickened the air, and Tyson hugged himself even tighter.