Agnos Agapao

[Ådam]

Please read the Plot before reading or posting.

Deep within a castle's hallway, no, perhaps at the end of a hallway of a mansion, no, an empty void, a simple abode maybe? A faint voice speaks, echoing through time, fading as it reaches farther into the darkness.

All the little things,
They say
All the small changes no one notices...

These things make up my day
From the smallest smile to the first word
The world is full of beautiful things,
The colours in the night sky,
The touch of a loved one...

Why don't we notice until these things are gone?
Flames dance in front of the lost ones eyes,
Never to see,
Just to burn away
They must notice the change in wind, the smell around them.
How they must treasure all the little things,
What's around them.

...

Should one place doubts in love?
Should I?

A green meadow, enshrouded by darkness...

A grey tombstone...

Above a cliff...

A man unmoving, his brown coat, folded

... floating casually through the air

in his arms...

His ruffled, his eyes, blackened with hue.

A flower's petal drops in darkness.

Dawn approached, the light fighting for its time to shine on the earth. Just as darkness was without mercy in the eve of days, light, with its warmth, came upon the earth once more to take back what the dark has pried from its possession. The darkness fought well, but was subdued by the light--- revealing the man.

It was a painting.

A signature, carefully and beautifully etched lie on the bottom right corner.

Andze'ilo Madrigal de Purivar

The world had not changed since his time. A world unmoving, cruel, and with no love. Earth had been, since Eve had eaten that which was forbidden, a cruel world. It had been full of lies. Yet, man lived and has moved on. A passing of one man meant nothing. To those he loved, a tear would be shed. And as time passes, he will be forgotten.

A cruel world.

The light had finally reached the eyelids. The cold night finally gave in to the day's warmth--- as it always did. It was always welcome. The Eyes slowly opened, revealing deep brown-colored eyes. The eyes were trembling, teary and unsure of something, its lashes, completely wet and waining down to the skin. A movement, a reaction to the sun, the bed creaked. Its wooden structure giving an eerie sound. The weight was too much for it as it gave a cracked sound to the bed-ridden being. Realizing it, the man, half-naked, slowly pulled himself up to a crossleg and began to sigh. His hair was white, silver if you will, his skin pale and bombarded with that which the young despise and call as, the old skin. His skin had deteriorated through the years as did his body. He is 89 now... and very weak.

The rays were directly in hitting his face, his right eye covered with a shadow made by the curtain on the window. He didn't mind...

He looked down, a few strands of hair in his bangs falling to his eyes, covering them. He was looking at it. The mark. Proof of what he was and how so unique he is. A mark that lay 2 inches below the center of his palm. IThe mark is as little as a tiny ant but clearly visible since compared to the color of his pale skin, the mark was brown. It simply looked like a spot but truth be told, that "spot" was made underneathe his skin. A blood clot that hardened and refused to heal when he was younger. The healing never did take place, making skin grow above it, suspending it. And if looked upon closely, the spot looked more like a star.

A mark of the fated.

Everyone has these marks actually but everyone has a different shape, not one has a definite shape, save his. He looked through the window, opening and adjusting his eyes to the scenery which he has woken up to since he had moved here 50 years ago. A village in the outskirts of a new city in a newly established country near southern France. He didn't know the dialect, nor did he try to learn. He merely would sit out in the porch and look up, as if saying something to someone. His lips would even move, which brings people to know him a one very strange man. Other than that, his social skills were literally dead.

Today, he merely sat there, listening to the nearby pond. Its water bobbing on the shore lazily as his eyes did as it lazily closed themselves again.

The abyss. His destination, his destiny, his salvation.

Originally Posted by Ådam

Agnos Agapao is ancient Greek which means Pure Love.
My Last Breath - [2.92 MB]
The above link directs you to a song which I personally composed and made. Copyright and ownership belong to me so feel free to download. The Download expires within 7 days or through a maximum of 30 downloads. SO if iit happens, tell me if you want it, I'll be glad to upload it. Comments, if any are appreciated.