The Herald

The desert sand winds howl as they tear apart the cloak that envelops my body. Blood streams from the hands and arms that desperately try to hold whatever is left to protect my frail body. Although I’m neither old nor young, weak nor strong, my physical body feels as though it has aged for millennia, gone through years of pain and suffering…and maybe I have. I’m not one to decide on whether what I’ve experienced all these years is considered to be torture. And yet somehow I have gathered enough of my will to carry on, with only the quixotic dreams of a youth to serve as my inspiration and drive.
I’ve lived my life, but before I can be at peace and lie down to rest, I must finish the task that started the journey that never lets me rest. I bring my hands to my chest, clenching tightly at my shirt as if to soothe the pain in his heart and my soul. But I know that within me there is a void—I’m living like a corpse, without a heart or soul, or even the ability to feel. You can say everything I had is lost, but even so, there is something I have to gain. 
         I arrive at the tower, holding the note in my hand. My fist clenches as I read what’s written on the paper. Now that I look back at the time when it was written, I can only see how foolish I was back then. To think that a piece of paper could make a difference. That it could mean anything more than the worth of its material. Now I realize what true meaning is.
         I open my fist to look at the crumpled up piece of paper. My palm stretches forth offering the paper to the wind. It takes it willingly from me and lets the paper dance around me as if it’s freed from its imprisonment from being in my possession. And as I stare at the paper fly across my face, never to return to my sight again, I tug at my chest and recall everything from the beginning up until now. 
         A tall door stands before me. I don’t bother to knock or even wonder what will happen once I open the door. My hands reach out without hesitation, almost releasing the cloak that protects me from the excitement that I can’t contain within myself. And with all the strength that I had, the door swung open.
         The first thing I see is a face that I recognize instantly. But she doesn’t recognize me. Her face is frozen with fear. Eyes bulged, mouth hanging, her body too tense to move.
I try to move closer to her but she screams at me to stay back.
I say that I’ve been to hell and back. I tell her that rest cannot be given to me until I have given her what I wasn’t able to before.
         I remove my hood and pull away my clothing so that I can stand naked, undaunted of what she will think of my appearance because the journey that I traveled was not for myself, but for her. I remove my dagger from the sheath hanging around my waist, staring at my own reflection off of the blade. And for the first time, I gaze at what I have become. My hands are nothing but bone with the strands of dangling flesh still attached. Nothing but my body is fully intact. I bring my hand to my face and feel the scars and hollows that devastated what was once my face.
I drop my dagger and inch closer to her, my faithful legs, still not giving into all the pain, sorrow, and emptiness that my body carries. I proudly show her what I have become and let her witness that etched across my chest were the words, “I love you.”