Zaceriados

My eyes darted back and forth beneath the shroud of death I wore. There were three people here, including myself. Always three of us. Less than had once graced the path we trekked along in perhaps centuries. The stones under my boot clad feet echoed ominously, and it was the only thing that seemed to make the place we were in appear real.

Zaceriados was once the name of the now crumbling city I am presently striding through. My mother had once told me about the place I had been alive, it seemed all so long ago. She had explained to me of all the different realms which no one person could ever count, yet co-existed along side others without every becoming known. Zaceriados had been a beautiful city once, filled with music and laughter which never seemed to have and ending, just a constant ebb and flow. Some might say that such things as a constantly serene lifestyle was an extremely far-fetched thing to dream about. Fairy tales were the only place that constant light would banish away all things evil. Light lived in stories. Zaceriados may have been beautiful once, but it was no fairy tale. It turned to ruins in the end.

Click. Click. My boots again. This place has the ability to unnerve the best of people, and the constant grey sky only spreads shivers up spine when I look at it. Odd right? Who knew that a dead person could be so cold? Maybe I just want to believe I’m cold so it seems that I’m still alive. I have walked past that old cathedral before, probably more than a hundred times by now. Who knows. I stopped counting.

We never stop walking here. My companions and I are always moving, constantly trudging around the perimeters of the once great city. Apparently, our role is to protect our home from “others”. There are never any “others” here. Just us three. Always us.

Zaceroados, that once beautiful city on a far away plane, is where I died one day. We, every person here, died. Light was lost to the dark. Our city of multicolored waterfalls, golden skies, and ancient buildings was crushed. I was cursed to become a soul-less creature who was forced to perform one task for all eternity. Walking. Clicking. Shuffling across these stone paths of my once great city.

Zaceriados, once my lively home I wished to flee to, is now the prison I wish most to escape.

Image

http://www.cgsociety.org/stories/2006_04/gothic_choir/wallpaper.jpg

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