The TLP Network

Sharing the Hate, Spreading the Pain: On Goodbyes

by on Jul.17, 2008, under Articles, Sharing the Hate

There are very few moments when you say goodbye to someone you know that it is for the last time. When you know, hold onto that anger. Therein lays the pith. Let it consume you through mental tithing. Ten percent, and no more echoes in the distance. Depose yourself to that goodbye. This is the requiem of despair. Two words some up the evening: No Hope

The funeral mass and dirge I sing with delight. The end of a night spent poorly, but spent nonetheless. Physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. A rage encrusted bloody howl rises internally, and becomes my third wind to get home in the evening. I close my eyes and recharge myself enough to have purpose, and that purpose is to retreat. To Valhalla, I sail on my raft with no hopes on my flag. A warrior’s welcome this is not, and a warrior’s greeting I do not receive. I am not a warrior though. Perhaps the other 90% left from tithing is the stoic and strong 90%, and I removed the weak 10% to replace it with another.

Was it expected? Was it sudden? Who instigated the goodbye? Was it heartfelt? Was it gut wrenching?

Do you feel drained? Do you feel fulfilled? Do you feel empty? Do you feel enriched? Do you feel nauseous?

I feel enraged. Was there any other way? It all comes back to anger; such is the plight of a Necromancer, a heavily misunderstood Necromancer. This piece continues the decimate.

As I said those two words, “goodbye,” I envisioned their life drain from their eyes. I said those words with a piercing glance that penetrated their core, their soul. I used a tone of voice that matched the stare.

I envisioned their eyes rolling ever so slightly into the back of their head before their skin started to melt off and pool onto the ground circling towards the drain. I envisioned their muscle and sinew start to vaporize in a cloud of smoke rising upwards. I envisioned their skeletal remains simply crumbling on the ground becoming a powdery dust. I envisioned their skull rolling away from me before a casual stranger walked by not paying attention. This casual stranger did not pay attention or notice when they stepped onto the skull shattering it into a thousand pieces. Those pieces too, turned into a powdery dust.

This was not mere illusion; this was from the book of Evocation. How do you look at someone the same way after you envision the above? You do not. You treat them indifferently and move on. As I started to walk away I heard my name echoing off in the distance, but I did not look back. Their voice even now sounds unfamiliar to me. There is pain in that voice. As the tumblers and locks of my inner mind reshape themselves, I forget that they existed. They might as well have been another mouse fed to my ball python back at home. Here five minutes ago and food the next. Food for the wolves and predators that lurk in the watering holes as they lay stranded.

I hear my name echo in the distance again, and again I do not look back. I ignore the sound of my name as easily as I ignored the pocket watch vibrating against my leg, and as easily, as I ignored the sight of the Bishop on the chess table glistening in the Crepuscular sun rays.

Perhaps they will call my name three more times and then leave a message. Since I do not recognize them anymore, I will have to let the sound of my name go to voice mail.

When you know it is for the last time, hold onto that anger. That is all I ever ask of an apprentice in training of the dark arts. This can be a great source of power for you.


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