banshee

I stand on a precipice, waiting to fall. The world stretches ahead and below me; strewn with shadows of the coming dawn. Finally, I feel the time has come. I fall; arms outstretched; eyes wide and stinging with the bitter wind. Earth rushes up to my welcome embrace—ready to accept me in it’s grasp. I laugh at the soil’s eager thirst for blood; a rain it waits impatiently to receive. Yes, the earth rushes up to my open arms. Swiftly, it tumbles upwards; or am I crashing down? It matters not. An instant before it’s greeting stills my heart—death is cheated. If one does not live, how then can one die? I puzzle the mystery to myself. Yet, one feels one can nonetheless; and the feeling is all the worse for one who has partaken of death’s bitter cup for it is a taste not soon forgotten. A wry smile twists my bloodless lips; ice runs through my cold veins. Always cold. Eternally cold.
I soar over boundless plains. Fly over city and field alike. None see me; they do not want to see. None hear me; they will not listen. My throat opens and I give voice to an unearthly scream. “Death comes.” I say. “Death comes swift and sharp; prepare.” This is my work; the work of one damned. One dead who never truly lived. Lady Death’s forerunner—crier of fate. Feared by few. Forgotten by many. Doomed for eternity. Beware my voice; it cannot lie. “Death comes swift and sharp; prepare.” I am many. I am alone. Call me what you may. Phantom; specter; it matters not. I am forever unchanged. I am Banshee—and with me comes Death.