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Echoes from the Ashes

Author since 2013 14Stories 13 Followers
Echoes from the Ashes

The air was thick and heavy, permeated with the scent of burning flesh. I was trapped in my own body, or what was left of it, swallowed by an overwhelming sense of despair. My skin, once fair and smooth, was now nothing more than ash and char. Yet I was still here, trapped in this surreal existence, a consciousness without a body.

Hours had passed since the last embers in the crematorium had cooled. I was no longer physically present, my remains were swept away and deposited in a ceramic urn, to be taken by a grieving family member. They believed I was gone, but my consciousness persisted in this ethereal plane, suspended in a state of eternal torment.

Each moment was an eternity. Each second was an agony I couldn’t describe. I could still feel the blistering heat, licking at my skin, gnawing at my insides. I could still hear the crackle of the flames, see the world through an inferno’s haze. Each molecule of my being felt like it was aflame, and the pain was unbearable.

I wasn’t alone in my torment. There were others. Others like me who remained even after their physical forms had ceased to exist. We were caught in the same fiery torment, tethered to an existence of unbearable pain. Their once comforting voices had now become the harbingers of a horrifying reality. They told me, with a profound sadness, that I would grow accustomed to the pain.

This existence, a limbo of unending torment, was beyond human comprehension. Yet here I was, a consciousness engulfed in flames, a captive to the everlasting pain.

The others who shared this space with me were of all ages and from all walks of life. Each had their own tales of their transition into this torment. Despite our diverse backgrounds, we were bound by our common plight. They spoke in hushed tones of acceptance, a chilling resignation to the cruel twist of fate that kept us here.

They’d all said I would get used to the pain, that it would become a part of me, an appendage of my non-physical self. “The pain will stop bothering you,” they reassured, their voices echoing through the fiery abyss.

I was consumed by an overwhelming sense of horror at the thought of this becoming my normal. The prospect of growing numb to this pain, to the ceaseless fire gnawing at the remnants of my existence was a more profound terror than the pain itself.

The weight of my existence seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. My consciousness drifted in the midst of the ever-present flames, burning yet not consumed, trapped in a purgatory of pain and regret. Time had lost its meaning, morphed into a monstrous, unending spiral of suffering.

The others had all grown silent now, resigned to their fate. I could hear their whispers of acceptance, echoes of their lost lives and forgotten dreams. My heart ached, or what was left of it, at the grim reality of my existence. I was nothing more than a consciousness on fire, a spectral ember smouldering in the ever-blazing flames.

“I’ll get used to it,” I echoed into the abyss. The words felt hollow, a mocking echo of the promise of relief that would never come. I was trapped here, in this hellish limbo, a phantom forever burning but never consumed, an existence that had become a horrifying paradox of life and death.

My screams mingled with the others’, a chorus of the damned echoing through the ether. Yet, the world outside remained oblivious to our torment, and we were left alone to burn in our shared purgatory, lost souls in a world of relentless, burning agony.

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"...fear is a luxury..."

- Niklas Niklas Alparós-Lilah from Purgatory Diaries

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Red_Speedrun avatar
5 days ago

Nice Pasta! Make Some More!

23 days ago

Really creative idea! Love it