Elliot,
Literary: The Comforting Embrace of the Unknown
The moonlight glimpses through the dainty gold curtain in my room, illuminating my Victorian-modeled bed frame. I can’t help but stare at the celestial rock floating in the vast space. I can hear its calls, its whispers– oh-so enticing. The northwestern cold breeze fills the room. I can hear the trees rustling outside the balcony, and I can feel the restlessness spreading through my body–my hands start to shake, and my heart pounds against my chest. The heart monitor beside my bed starts to beep uncontrollably, the curtains undulate frantically, and the chandelier begins to sway intensely. I promised that I’d ignore the light, that I would fight, but the glistening luminosity lured me with its warm and comforting embrace. For the first time in many years, I felt tranquility. For months, I had been getting a whiff of death’s stench and I have been so scared to face it but I am also tired of fighting my disease for so many years that I long and pray for it to come. Now that it's here, I don’t know what to do. It has been sitting at the foot of my bed for a long time, wearing me down with its comforting gaze, and eyes of sorrow. I am about to give in. I stretch my arms into oblivion, worried that it would break its promises of peace. I step into the light and my heart stops beating. I want to send my apologies to those I will disappoint with my failed promise. But this is a place to call home. There is luxury, pleasure, satisfaction, exhilaration. I’ve never felt so alive, so human, in this place, where everybody is scared to go.
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