Chapter Text
"Rest in peace, Elias Volante."
The 'he' mentioned sat watching, the man who could only yearn to understand the reason behind this event. He saw it coming, yet, the reality of the afterlife was only to be discovered once he gained consciousness.
The man who only found comfort in pain finally got the closure he so desperately sought - but was this resolve what the young boy inside of him truly wanted? The constant pursuit of death had led to this very moment, this moment he thought would be the answer. The truth is, he wanted to escape the anguish of being alive.
Elias' eyes examined the scene, greeted with sullen faces; drenched in tears that fell from the bloodshot eyes of countless heads facing towards a casket. The subtle floral scent of perfume matched the gloomy atmosphere around the room. His eyes set on one particular person, his mother. With his eyebrows furrowed he found his way toward the upset figure, what was it that brought her here? Was it the fact that if she did not happen to attend, her reputation would be tarnished? Would she be labelled as heartless? Or was it simply that she loved her son? He didn’t quite understand.
Her platinum eyes glossed over with tears threatening to fall; causing an ache in Elias' heart. It was clear what he did had a significant impact on people he knew - even those merely acquainted with himself. He didn’t expect people to care - I mean, they certainly didn’t while he was alive, anyway. His initial thought was that somehow people wouldn’t notice, but that wasn’t the brightest idea he’s had. Everybody seemed so nonchalant, so unbothered by his lack of presence that he thought; “Hey, if I were to die, then nobody would notice!” But, much to his dismay, people did in fact notice.
This was not what he wanted. What he wanted was freedom, to be set free from the shackles he was bound to. To not have to hide behind a facade, to put an end to the countless occasions where he would be faced with deceit, where he would be lied to. His misfortune caused chaos, at the downfall of the people who he surrounded himself with. He loved everybody he came in contact with. His compassion for the people who simply partook in any positivity that concerned him were some of the people who he forever admired; who on an uneventful day would improve his spirits just by the thought of their existence. The passion he felt for them stayed without purpose, for all it accomplished was despair.
Elias was unlucky, to say the least. It seemed that being in his presence was enough to deter the surrounding people, no matter how wide his smile was. He listened as the whispering got louder. Louder, but not yet loud enough to drown out the noises of the shuffling as people began to walk away. Why? Why did people leave? Did being near him cause anger? Disgust? I guess that’s why he so desperately craved that eternal slumber.
In no condition would he be enough. He would never feel the fulfilment others felt whenever he was praised, he would live the remainder of his life feeling empty. He knew that soon enough the void would swallow him. The void of bottomless emotion that regardless of any action taken,
would end up leaving Elias in meaningless despair. He, the man who broke down each night, only knew the sweet comfort of sorrow. Being completely content with living was a foreign concept to Elias; a reality that seemed so far away was suddenly within reach. The suffering he lived through had created a mindset - a voice that would develop thoughts of self-depreciation whether it was desired or not.
Disaster was a word used to describe him often. Whenever he’d be doing something embarrassing there would be a witness to see his downfall. How was it that every single time there would be somebody to see him without exception? The shame he felt was unmatched, whether the incident was unimportant or not. He seemed to feel emotions more intensely than others, a simple nervousness could turn into waves of anxiety that would only calm down with time. But oh well, he guessed he was just unlucky.
He felt that the only way out of this ‘hellhole’ was to die of his own accord. If he could end the suffering by doing anything else, it would be his first choice. Unfortunately, seeing as this was the outcome, it was the only option that had presented as worth the effort. Surely the effects of death
would numb the sadness inside of him, right?
He closed his eyes, blinking away a tear that had been threatening to fall for a while.
-
His plan didn’t work out as well as he expected. Upon opening his eyes, he found himself lying flat in an unfamiliar area. He didn’t expect to see the aftermath of his death - but that was just what happened when you passed, he guessed. The tepid ground started to heat his skin, to which he instinctively stood up to cool down. He looked down, he was on some hill. His surroundings were barren, the most interesting element being the trees that were being illuminated from behind. Though, in the distance he spotted a gate. Within the metal bars one building stood out - the tall detailed building looked elegant. From the panelling of the walls to each little marking, it contributed to the whole building. The building was surrounded by statues, seemingly to convey a sense of security. He assumed it was important as it stood above the rest, well, he could see it from afar on a hill! What else was he meant to think?
He looked down at his own body, red indents scattered on his arms from laying on them for a while. He ignored the other marks. He must’ve looked horrible - I mean, dying isn't exactly a pretty experience. He gazed around at the town beneath him once more, eyes squinting to try and turn the blurry shapes into real objects. He knew he should’ve gotten glasses while he was living. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting inside - houses, people, dogs with wings, everything you’d find in a town. Wait, what? His eyes widened, dogs with wings? Somehow, the fact that he still had consciousness didn’t compare to the fact that these flying creatures existed.
Wait, did he have wings? His arms instinctively reached behind him to feel for any sort of added appendage. He didn’t think about it before - probably due to him just waking up, but did anything happen to him physically after death? After a while his roaming hands met a pointed edge, to which he yelped in response to poking himself. He stared at the small bit of blood that began to accumulate on his finger, then wiped it off and reached behind him once again - this time more cautiously - to bring the culprit of his wound to his side.
“Hey.”