A Tear For The Dead

[Rikochet]

Μια ιστορία που είχα γράψει για την 3η άσκηση του εργαστηρίου, μεταφρασμένη στα αγγλικά.

 

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A Tear For The Dead

 

The mist prevents me from seeing further on. The only thing I see is the grave in front of me, and the trees that surround the clearing. I remember the warnings my parents gave me, concerning the dead:

 

“Never go near their resting places. Never try to contact them. Never disturb their eternal sleep.” I transgressed all three of them.

 

I have gone far from our farm, more than ever before, and I think I have violated the –intelligible- borders of my village. I understand that what I’m about to do can prove fatal, but I don’t care.

 

My parents are very afraid for me, because I’m their only daughter and these are dark times.

 

The trees scare me, as they loom threatening above me, like anonymous watchers. A sudden gust of wind makes the branches creak, and myself shiver. Soon, the whole forest is singing its sorrowful tune.

 

I think the time is appropriate.

 

I crouch and grab a stone buried under the dry leaves that are covering most of the forest’s ground.

 

I am ready to throw the stone to the grave, when a sound behind me catches my attention. I see my older brother running towards me, his face distorted by panic.

 

I am so concentrated that I can’t hear what he’s screaming, but from the movement of his lips, I understand: “NO! NEVER DISTURB THEM!”. I don’t pay any attention. I throw the stone to the grave, hear the sound it’s making as it hits the cold marble.

 

My brother hugs me protectively, and throws me to the ground.

 

Dry leaves break under our weight.

 

The ground is shaking.

 

It awakes.

 

*

This nightmare is tormenting me since this incident happened, twenty years ago. At the time when I disobeyed my parents. At the time when I secretly left my home. At the time when, awakening the spirit, I condemned my village to eternal darkness.

 

I was too craven to go back, to warn them. What good would come of it? The inevitable would come. At least, I survived.

 

I never looked back once. My brother and I fled in haste and went into the mists. Fool of us! -- we thought we were going to be safe. Alas, from then, our lives would never be the same again.

 

I can't recall how long we where traveling, but, one day, leaving the mists behind, we came upon a tower.

 

Tired and hungry, and despite our fear, we entered. The tower was deserted, but everything was arranged, clean, and the most strange of all: in our measures. As if someone knew we were going to arrive, he had arranged beds, kindled the hearth, cooked food.

 

Defeating our doubts, we accepted the hospitality: We ate, we drank, we slept in the convenient beds. The same on the next day. And the day after that.

 

This kept on for a long time, how much I can't remember, and we started to become familiar with our new home.

 

We no longer were interested in returning.

 

One morning, I awoke and found my brother dead in his bed. And the worst of all is that I felt no sorrow, I didn't mourn for the loss.

 

On the contrary, I felt curiosity for his dead body, and the way the human body was functioning.

 

A large library caught my attention then, in the upper floors of the tower, filled with relevant books. In a small period of time, and despite the fact that until then I didn't know how to read, I finished them all.

 

Except one, the bigger.

 

Reading them, I learned everything about the human body; its organs, its interior and its operations.

 

I saw them for real, in my brother's carcass.

 

When I felt ready, I opened the last book, with the strange carvings on its cover and the skull etched in it.

 

It was the most difficult to read, as I often searched in the library's dictionary to discover the meaning of difficult to understand clauses.

 

The book described how to infuse life to something long dead, how to make it move again, to do its predefined functions, without being completely alive.

 

The book taught me the art of necromancy, but it eliminated any good emotion left in me.

 

Again, my brother's carcass proved useful.

 

After many and -sometimes- painful attempts, I had an undead servant by my side.

 

I understood that if I stayed longer there, I wouldn't make any progress in my art, so I abandoned the tower along with my servant and the book.

 

After roaming for many days, I arrived in my village – in the remains of my village, that is. In the beginning I didn't recognize it – abandoned houses, and no living being left in it wasn't exactly the picture my village gave.

 

Rottenness.

 

The presence of recent dead was very intense here. Searching, I discovered the remains of what was my house.

 

I don't know what evil took control of me, then, for I did something terrible: With a ritual that lasted a dozen hours, I raised the dead bodies of all the citizens of the village.

 

Even those of my parents.

 

When I retook control of myself, I wept sorrowfully.

 

I quickly fled away.

 

The undead followed me, for the bond between us was more than strong.

 

I escaped them, finally, when I embarked on a ship and left for another continent. There, I tried to begin a new life. I found a man, I fell in love with him. He was a poet, and his poems gave birth to extremely intense emotions in me.

 

We lived together, we were happy.

 

I thought I had escaped my past.

 

After some time, I fell gravely ill. Edgar left in the night, looking for a doctor.

 

I knew it wasn't an ordinary illness, but I didn't want him to know.

 

I was completely alone, when They came, an “army” of undead creatures in my bedroom. Among the faces I saw my father, my mother, my brother. Even the spirit I had awoken. They took me with them.

 

Edgar never discovered where I had gone.

 

Eternally I seek rest, with them by my side, but I know I will never find it. Never.

 

Noone will drop a tear for us, the living-dead.

[heiron]

Μου εκανε εντυπωση που δεν ποσταρε κανεις να σχολιασει.Ισως το σχολιασαν στο εργαστηρι.

Λοιπον,περα απο καποια μικρα λαθακια στα αγγλικα(δεν τα σχολιαζω-δε χαλασε ο κοσμος νομιζω-εκτος αν το θες βεβαια) πιστευω οτι ειναι ενα ωραιο κειμενο.Καπου εχω διαβασει κατι παρομοιο και θα ηθελα να πεις αν επηρρεστηκες απο καπου.

Ωραια ειναι και η "αλληγορια" με τα φαντασματα που τον κατατρεχουν.Αλλα,γιατι ο αδερφος της δεν την ακολουθησε οπως οι αλλοι;Και στο τελος,τι;Εγινε κι αυτη ζομπι;Πως;Περιμενα κατι περισσοτερο στο τελος απο το να τον βρουν και να τον παρουν μαζι τους...

[Nihilio]

H άποψη μου είχε γραφεί στο εργαστήρι. Συνολικά ήταν μια ωραία ιστορία. Η αγγλική μετάφραση όμως φαίνεται ότι είναι μετάφραση. Καλύτερα να είχε γίνει re-write σε άλλη γλώσσα για πιο φυσικό αποτέλεσμα.