Beautiful

The city was black and cold. Bricks crumbled, falling out of their once-luxurious walls. Vines climbed up metal support columns, avoiding the shards of glass that were once the windows of banks, shops, and cafes. The shambles of the city were what was left after years of war and neglect. The once-cherished fountains that had mesmerized the masses had run dry. The desolate parks where children had played were now overgrown jungles. It was a fearful, saddening sight. 

There was no beauty left; even the sun washed out the greens and browns of the once-vivid plants. Trees no longer provided shade, but etched out the sun as they sucked the life out of the ground, swallowing nearby flowers in seconds.

Amongst this scarred war zone was a small party. The group walked through the streets. Their clothes were tattered and torn. The leader fearlessly walked in front. His head stayed straight, never looking to either side. A few members seemed just as bold, but on occasion, they would sneak peeks at the buildings, other members, or shadows around them. Each member of the group was scarred and aged. Their bodies barely resembled their original selves. The man closest to the leader was well built. He had a few small scars from battle but was still the picture of manliness. In the dead center was a woman missing her left eye and hand. One man who had been badly injured trailed at the back. 

The group walked down the spacious main street. The sun beamed down on them from high in the sky. The heat was almost unbearable. The buildings still channeled gentle breezes into gusts of hot wind. An unsettling quietness surrounded them.

A scream broke the silence. Not far down a side street stood a man. What could only be described as a skeleton made of tar lay on the ground before him. One arm stretched out above its head. Thin, pointy fingers dug into the soil. There were no legs. The bottom of its body looked to be torn off. Black slime trailed behind the thing as it used its one arm to pull itself ever forward.

The man stood frozen before the thing. His face was soaked with tears. He was dressed in a black suit. He began to mutter to himself, repeating an unintelligible name. As the party got closer, the ooze-covered being began to seep into the dirt, leaving a faint black shadow on the ground.

“Thomas,” the group leader called out. Thomas looked up from the shadow and walked over to the group. His suit caused him to sweat profusely. He took off his jacket and dress shirt to reveal a stained undershirt. Red wine blotches and food stains spotted the white shirt. His face was unshaved and his cleft lip nearly revealed his front teeth.

“It’s been a while,” Thomas said, stretching out his hand in greeting. “I have a house nearby and the sun will be setting soon. Would you like to come to my place?”

“No,” the leader replied as he walked on. “There’s somewhere a bit farther I need to go.”

Not really wanting to go home, Thomas joined the party. As the sun set, the light glistened off a window across the street. The sparkle caught the eye of the woman in the middle of the group. She began to lose her place and soon fell far behind the injured man. Another window reflected the sun into her right eye, blinding her to the world. The group continued on as she went to the glass. She raised her left arm, placing the stump on the window.

The woman in the reflection was beautiful. She had blond hair that was golden in the sunlight. Her left hand was touching the glass with a sparkling diamond bracelet. The woman’s blue eyes stared back at her wretched self. It was as if the woman inside the glass were a fairy tale. The wounded woman placed her right hand against the stump where her left hand once was and dreamed of the beauty she once had. She was lost in the image.

“Margret,” a man called out. “Margret!” The woman refused to turn around. Her feet began to turn to dust, drifting away on the hot breeze. As the last piece of sand disappeared, the woman could be seen on the other side turning from the window. A gentle breeze tussled her skirt. 

The group had stopped. The man who had been closest to the leader ran to the window and began banging on it. His large build and scars were scarcely reflected in the now dingy glass. His shirt caught on a rusty nail and tore. He looked worn and aged. On the arm his shirt once covered was a small black dot. The infection began to spread. It slowly moved down his arm. It looked like veins of crude oil overtaking his otherwise-healthy body. When he went to rub it off, the black ink smeared onto his other hand.

The leader called two names: “David. Thomas.” His voice was monotone and seemed to carry no emotion. 

David returned to the group. He allowed the ink to drip from his hand as he walked. Thomas stood next to the leader confused.

The leader turned to Thomas and spoke. His voice had deepened and his tone was stern. “Kiss his arm.” Thomas stepped back and looked into the leader’s face. The leader’s eyes were red and seemed deeper than the ocean. They pierced Thomas’s soul. The fear grew inside Thomas. 

He reluctantly placed his lips to David’s wound. As he held his stance, the black lines began to recede and vanish. The color returned to David’s skin and the black ooze dripped like water from his hand onto the cracked surface. It flowed into an invisible drain. The shadows had begun to grow around the city and to swallow up the day’s sun. The dark of night encircled the party. They lit their torches off of the ember the leader had kept with himself day and night.

The injured man in the back stumbled. A silent woman, who recently appeared next to him, placed her arm in his and held him up. His left leg had become weak and overgrown by a thick green fungus. He stretched out his left arm to reach for something to hold him up, but there was nothing there. He was looking for an imaginary support. The man suddenly aged violently as he fell to one knee. The woman next to him tried desperately to pull him up to no avail. The man cried out in pain. The growth seemed to have reached a nerve.

The leader of the group stepped in once more. He walked over to the crippled man and knelt beside him. He had unsheathed a machete from his belt and handed it to the crippled man. The sharp edge was thin, but well-made and maintained. The man attempted to shave off the growth, but it only came back thicker and higher up his leg. It had overtaken the man’s leg. After frantically trying this method over and over again, he looked up at the leader. Tears were running down his face.

Their eyes met and the leader spoke. “Quickly, Steven.” 

The leader placed his hand on Steven’s shoulder. Steven raised the blade above his head. His hand shook uncontrollably. Pausing for barely a second, he brought the knife down quickly, driving it into his thigh. Despite the pain, he continued to chop at his leg. The bone fought him and the bleeding was fierce, but it could not kill him. The final swing of the machete severed the limb from the body and somehow cauterized the wound.

Steven’s leg became one with the ground, growing thistles and thorns. Vines sprouted from the decaying mass and grasped onto chunks of asphalt in search of something to strangle. The leader helped Steven to stand and David placed Steven’s arm around his shoulder to help him walk. In the confusion, the woman had disappeared. The faint scent of her perfume lingered. 

As dusk gave way to night, small torches began to dot the city. The buildings disappeared into the black night sky. The halo from the orange fires was all that could be seen on this cloudy, moonless night. 

The group marched forward. An orange glow drifted up an alley towards the group. The light leaned to one side and lit a small barrel. As the faint light grew brighter, a woman could be seen. She walked with a slight limp, but her pace was consistent and strong. As she met the group, a smile came across her face. Her arms seemed weak. David offered to hold the torch for her, but she refused. 

The leader placed his hand on her head and whispered a name into her ear. He walked past her, leaving the group behind. Unsure of what was happening, the party stood dumbfounded as the leader became more and more distant. Finally making up their minds, the group rushed towards his moving light, leaving the woman behind. Her light flickered slightly but continued to glow, staying in sight. The woman walked back the way she had come with her torch held seemingly higher than before. The group traveled on, stopping for nothing. 

The leader reached a rusted iron gate leading to the crumbled foundation of a once glorious mansion. One gate hung from its hinges while the other lay surrounded by grass and weeds on the ground. The leader placed his torch into the round handle on the hanging gate.

A thin, slimy shadow rose out of the ground. Its long fingers wrapped around the leader’s leg. The figure’s head leaned all the way back, having no support. The black oozed off the being, revealing a beautiful creature. Its head had shifted to a normal position. Eyes like crystals looked about the group, scanning for something. Its feathers shined brilliantly. Its beauty was unimaginable, captivating, and enchanting. 

Without warning, the creature dug its now talon-like claws into the leader’s chest. A bright smile of glee came across the beast’s face. Blood dripped from hidden fangs. As it removed the leader’s heart, a searing bright white light came forth. The light was blinding and unstoppable. It quickly opened up into the world. Flowing like water out of a cup. The light had no boundaries. It etched out everything, not a drop of color was left. Everything was white like a room painted: floor, ceiling, walls, all bright white.