I could assign an exact time and place of death, of this hope and that dream, of this idea that used to matter.
Fortunate, are the ones who do not die in this way, but are extinguished by the end of the natural body.
In the spans of time and space understood by these ideals and loves, it could be said that in this way, they lived forever.
But long after all the things that matter die, the world is filled with corpses.
These walking dead have no purpose, but wander aimlessly, awaiting the passing of their natural body.
Their life was brief and then they suffered a long illness, from their deathbed they watched everything they love die, and be taken away. They had no will or strength to make things any different.
At what point did they pass, from something weak which could still be revived, to something gone forever?
Sometimes, we know the time and place of death. Other times, it is a mystery.
The dead too, brought back sometimes. The weak, the hopeless, the indifferent, find something in them again.
Who did the necromancer bring back to life?
Was it that the maiden never died, but only slept, and does she rub her pretty eyes awakened by a kiss or spell, barely aware of the time?
Or does the returned dead have a different soul. Is its passion different, hungry, predatory, which sucks life from other beings to fill its endless unfillable void of bottomless death, a zombie feasting on life to prolong its undead state?
Fortunate, are the ones who do not die in this way, but are extinguished by the end of the natural body.
In the spans of time and space understood by these ideals and loves, it could be said that in this way, they lived forever.
But long after all the things that matter die, the world is filled with corpses.
These walking dead have no purpose, but wander aimlessly, awaiting the passing of their natural body.
Their life was brief and then they suffered a long illness, from their deathbed they watched everything they love die, and be taken away. They had no will or strength to make things any different.
At what point did they pass, from something weak which could still be revived, to something gone forever?
Sometimes, we know the time and place of death. Other times, it is a mystery.
The dead too, brought back sometimes. The weak, the hopeless, the indifferent, find something in them again.
Who did the necromancer bring back to life?
Was it that the maiden never died, but only slept, and does she rub her pretty eyes awakened by a kiss or spell, barely aware of the time?
Or does the returned dead have a different soul. Is its passion different, hungry, predatory, which sucks life from other beings to fill its endless unfillable void of bottomless death, a zombie feasting on life to prolong its undead state?
