The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the pain.
It was intense, yet somehow dulled--he felt the sting of his cuts, the dull throb of his broken bones, yet they were somewhat dimmed in their intensity. Blood poured profusely from his numerous wounds, creating rivulets of crimson streaming down his deep black coat, creating puddles of red in the stark white snow.
Snow. The second thing he noticed was the snow.
He was cold. Very, very cold. The chill reached into his bones, dimming the pain of his wounds yet still stinging his exposed skin. He could feel the biting cold of the snow leeching out his remaining body heat, leaving him tired, worn out, unfeeling.
At least the pain was fading. He was thankful for that--small pleasures, at least. He noticed that the blood stopped pooling and the cold stopped burning, yet he still felt the pain and the chill. He refused to try moving himself--he could tell from the sharp throbbing in his left leg that his bones were shattered, and his arms were faring no better. He resigned himself to lying in the cold snow, looking up at the blue sky framed by the tall, grey mountains that stretched up high into the sky.
It was then that he began to hear the whispers.
They started off subtle; silent words that sounded like the whipping wind that roared in his ears, voices that seemed
hesitant, withdrawn from speaking to him. Slowly, they picked up in intensity, turning into a dull roar of sweet nothings and silent pleas to move on, to embrace the end. They were numerous; a cacophony of voices and whispers talking into his ear, pulling him further into the abyss.
He sat like that for ages. The voices would come, and then go whenever they pleased. Talking into his ear, then leaving him to the pain of his wounds and the chill of the snow. When they whispered, he felt safe, warm, unhurt. Their absence was torturous for him, leaving him screaming in silent agony as he stared into the ever changing sky, praying for relief.
#
Many days have passed, and still he lay dying in the snow. He’s faded in and out from darkness, seeing the shattered moon high above, its heavenly glow enthralling to the bleeding man. It stayed in the sky for ages; it was his comfort, his escape from the call of the voices.
They still talked into his ear, now even more aggressive; gone were their deals, their sweet pleas and honeyed words. They demanded him to fall from grace with great abandon, screaming in his mind for hours on end before leaving him with silent tears trailing down his face.
So he lay there, thinking to himself, Why, he thought, Why?
The words died on his tongue as the voices returned, his pleas for mercy going unheeded by the voices.
#
Hours more have passed, and the voices have ceased. The pain was dulling again, the cold leeching out what little was left of his heat. He did what he could to focus out the chill in his bones; he stared up at the shattered moon and the resolute mountains, painted by the heavenly glow that shined brightly on the land. He could see a sparse copse of trees off to his left, covered by a faint smattering of snow; to his right lay the mountains, capped with glowing white snow.
And the moon—oh, how beautiful it was. It was shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, all shining with a marvelous glow; a crescent chunk floated lazily through the sky, trailed by the shattered remnants of the once-glorious moon. The
formation stretched across the atmosphere, shining brighter than any star.
He stared up towards the moon, finding solace in its beauty. For hours he sat like this, entranced, finally accepting the sweet embrace of death.
Slowly he faded into the black. Phasing in and out of sweet sleep, he began to notice a flurry of shadows on the edge of his vision, with one large blob of darkness hovering overhead, blocking his view of the moon. He cursed the shadow, and assuming it was the voices--the beings in his ears playing tricks on him--struggled against it. He felt a spear of pain and heard a muffled voice before a pair of meaty hands grabbed him and moved him.
The pain in his leg was unbearable now; so much so that the world, now shifting before his eyes, faded into black.