April 18th, 04

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When it finally left him he felt drained of life – his breath rattled in sunken lungs, miniscule yet innumerable cracks spreading through every wasted bone, nerves shorted out, skin burnt to a blackened crisp, brain ceasing to function. As his soul began to break the ties with his body, he felt her hand again, even through the dead nerve endings in his chest.

She was pulling him back. He felt her trying to heal him, to give his body back to him, but it was broken beyond repair. He felt her desperation, her pity, her pain. He tried to comfort her, to tell her to pull away, and, disheartened, she began to.

He felt his soul begin to lift; he could see ahead, into the mist, into the unknown. He was suddenly afraid. He pleaded to her presence: do not let me leave. Do not let me go. She tried to calm him, but he could not be calmed. He begged, he sobbed, do not let me go.

She yielded.

He felt himself being pulled back into his dead body, but it was no longer his. It was just a pile of clay and fluid, and he was not bound in it.

Slowly, it began to change. What was once soft became harder, as it grew, it morphed, and as it did so he felt life returning to it – his life. Flesh became wood, skin became bark, blood became sap. Limbs began to sprout from it – from him, as he grew taller, stronger. His feet disappeared into the earth, twisting, growing, beginning to seek nutrients in the rich soil. Leaves sprouted from his limbs and branches, turning face up to catch the morning sun.

It was done. He thanked her, slowly; but everything was slower now. He felt her smile, felt her nod, felt her slip away.

He laughed – a long, slow rumble… as it started to rain.

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