The Only Constant Companion

He walked the shadowy corridors of death. Death is everywhere, death is always looming by our shoulder, sneering, different beliefs have different names and different ways of doing. Some bury themselves in magnificent pyramids, some cover themselves in white shrouds, others burn themselves. Some transcend their bodies, reach the heavens above, others wait in their graves, twisting and turning until the world supposedly breaks, and all souls are recalled to whatever power there may be.

He walked the shadowy corridors of death. Death is everywhere. Death was inside him. It was in his head.

He walked the shadowy corridors of his mind. The walls were creaking and crumbling, decaying. Stones broken, cracked. The corridors of his mind smelled rotten. A creak, footsteps. He could taste a dying cat in the air. Rotten butter. Decaying eggs.

He walked the corridors of his mind, death in tow. Always a constant companion, a reminder, of decay, and life.

A shrill sound echoed through the place. Echoed off the rock walls, sharp cracks forming wherever it bounced. Loud, shrill, shrieking, screaming. Kicking, crying, laughing, screaming.

Death followed him.

He turned around.

Looked death in the face.

Death does not wear a robe, or carry a scythe. You want to know what death looks like? Find yourself a mirror.

The screaming grew louder. The taste of rotting ran through his tongue, came out of his nose. The ground cracked under him. He was falling. Falling into the depths of his own mind.

Falling. Through space. Through time. He was a kid, he was a teen, he was a man, he was old, he was dying, he was born. He was all of these things at the same time. He was dying, he was alive. He was falling, sharp shark teeth were chewing on him. Chewing him up. Every time the teeth came down, he was cut into thousands of pieces, every time they went up, he was whole again. He was on fire, skin melting off his body, like putty. He was cold and freezing, shivering, arms locked around him.

He was falling, death was lounging comfortably in the air next to him, staring at him with gaunt eyes, dark circles under them. Big eyes, wide, expansive, expressive. Beautiful even, haunting.

Life was coming full circle. And he was falling. Endlessly. He was also not falling. Burning, freezing, flying, dying.

Shock waves were splashing through his system. Every nerve on fire, on high alert, burning, melting down. Confused. His fingers, the tips were as if lightning were being drawn to them, through them, into him. He would convulse every now and then, as if having a seizure. He opened his eyes. They were open before. Now they were open more. He could see a clear screen all around him. A floor. Hands. His hands. They were too far away. He was inside his head. Burning coming through his nose, burning inside his head. His face flat on the floor.

He was falling. He was dying. He was walking through the corridors of his mind, death beside him.