vivekthoopal
Journal of All
A tantalizing voice breaks my reverie “How quaint. An observer of life’s mystical play! You are who I seek.”
Her beauty is intoxicating.
I smile “You flatter me.”
“I need writers for a journal.” She holds up a sheaf of papers
“The subject?”
“Anything ...everything.”
I am amused, “That could take an eternity.”
“That is my wish.” She says seriously
“Who might you be?”
“I am Arkayla, the reader. Your story I shall own.” She whispers. Her lips lightly brush my face, sending an exquisite shiver through me. Unwisely I brush aside the strong sense of foreboding that fills me as she hands me a quill and holds opens a page.
Even as I bring her quill to the sheaf, my palms are sucked into the journal and she smiles in serene triumph. I frantically attempt to break free but the journal incredibly sucks my body into its paper cage. My hearts throbs violently in sheer panic, as I batter my prison in vain. Suddenly my hand, of its own volition, begins to write my deepest thoughts, fears and desires on the paper walls in an uncontrolled frenzy. I am writing my life from within the journal and as one page is filled a new one takes its place. I cannot stop the flood of words being carved into the journal out of my very being.
How long have I been writing, I know not. Days and years have lost all meaning and time has ceased to exist.
An eternity has passed before a girl, her face strained with pain and sorrow, appears. “I cannot remain for long. You have to stop.”
“Who are you?” I query helplessly.
“The journal.”
“What have you done to me?” I cry
“Arkayla uses...controls me. She feeds on souls, pieces of which, you surrender with every word. Once all is written, you will exist no more.”
“How can I stop?”
“The quill .... Noooo!” She screams as hands materialise through the walls and grab her. The pain in the girl’s eyes bore deep into me. I break the quill away from the walls and in a moment of desperation and plunge it deep into the hands.
A guttural shriek emits and I now lie in a wasteland with the journal in my hands. Arkayla lies besides me, quill embedded in her hand. Pulling out the quill she lunges at me, insanity etched on her face. The journal flips open and fear transforms her features. The quill touches the sheaf, a gust blows and even as she vanishes, words appear in the journal. `I feed on souls...’
I hear the girl’s voice calm and strong, “Destroy me.” I remain silent.
“Do not let me be abused again “, she pleads. My years of horror diminish against the sorrow in her voice. Nothing is left to be said.
I hear Arkayla shriek as the book burns, but I feel nothing. Then thousands of apparitions float away leaving behind an aura of pure ecstasy.
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A tantalizing voice breaks my reverie “How quaint. An observer of life’s mystical play! You are who I seek.”
Her beauty is intoxicating.
I smile “You flatter me.”
“I need writers for a journal.” She holds up a sheaf of papers
“The subject?”
“Anything ...everything.”
I am amused, “That could take an eternity.”
“That is my wish.” She says seriously
“Who might you be?”
“I am Arkayla, the reader. Your story I shall own.” She whispers. Her lips lightly brush my face, sending an exquisite shiver through me. Unwisely I brush aside the strong sense of foreboding that fills me as she hands me a quill and holds opens a page.
Even as I bring her quill to the sheaf, my palms are sucked into the journal and she smiles in serene triumph. I frantically attempt to break free but the journal incredibly sucks my body into its paper cage. My hearts throbs violently in sheer panic, as I batter my prison in vain. Suddenly my hand, of its own volition, begins to write my deepest thoughts, fears and desires on the paper walls in an uncontrolled frenzy. I am writing my life from within the journal and as one page is filled a new one takes its place. I cannot stop the flood of words being carved into the journal out of my very being.
How long have I been writing, I know not. Days and years have lost all meaning and time has ceased to exist.
An eternity has passed before a girl, her face strained with pain and sorrow, appears. “I cannot remain for long. You have to stop.”
“Who are you?” I query helplessly.
“The journal.”
“What have you done to me?” I cry
“Arkayla uses...controls me. She feeds on souls, pieces of which, you surrender with every word. Once all is written, you will exist no more.”
“How can I stop?”
“The quill .... Noooo!” She screams as hands materialise through the walls and grab her. The pain in the girl’s eyes bore deep into me. I break the quill away from the walls and in a moment of desperation and plunge it deep into the hands.
A guttural shriek emits and I now lie in a wasteland with the journal in my hands. Arkayla lies besides me, quill embedded in her hand. Pulling out the quill she lunges at me, insanity etched on her face. The journal flips open and fear transforms her features. The quill touches the sheaf, a gust blows and even as she vanishes, words appear in the journal. `I feed on souls...’
I hear the girl’s voice calm and strong, “Destroy me.” I remain silent.
“Do not let me be abused again “, she pleads. My years of horror diminish against the sorrow in her voice. Nothing is left to be said.
I hear Arkayla shriek as the book burns, but I feel nothing. Then thousands of apparitions float away leaving behind an aura of pure ecstasy.
Poll Rate this entry