Day 90 - 10,000 Salvation

 10,000 Salvation 

Matthew Ryan Fischer 

 

Sand, scratched against his forehead. An ocean, the taste of salt as his head dipped below water. Blood, dripping down, the knife-point piercing skin. The flame, flickering, burning. The beats repeated, the tune sounded the same, but time ticked by and the window-dressings were new.

Once upon a time he had hope. But that was a million lifetimes ago. He was now a victim of old patterns. He couldn’t help himself. Always expecting to feel what he felt. Always expecting this time to matter, to stick. If he could die, maybe it would. At least it would be absolute and he’d know. But until that day there were only question marks.

He could remember the river, the arrows in his legs and back, the sickness in his stomach and the raw taste in his mouth as he crawled towards the water’s edge. Muscles failing, slipping out of consciousness, his fingers touched flowing water. Reinvigorated, he felt a moment of hope, if only he could take a sip of water, then perhaps his body could heal. He pulled himself forward and dipped his head into the water and drank deep.

The scars on his body had faded from time, but the memory of the moment stayed frozen in his mind. The act began a long routine of seeking redemption through ritual purification.

He had watched empires and traveled through desolate lands. Faiths changed and rulers came and went. Worlds crumbled. He survived. A million times he survived and was redeemed. He was sure he would survive a million more as long as it took. He could grow old, but it would never be the end, not until the final act had finished.

Water had been plentiful. Water had been scarce. There were always other ways of preserving the act, with or without traditional sacrament. For every sin there had to be atonement. For every life lived, he needed redemption to have another. Ten thousand or more, and it would continue. He was afraid to find out what might happen if he failed in his patterns. Like the portrait that ate sin, once destroyed, Dorian found himself instant victim to all deeds done. He was sure if he too missed his rites then a million and one sins would all come flooding back to torture him forever.

How long could he live? How long would it last? Until the last drop of water was gone and the earth returned to dust? The thought of infinity was frightening and impossible to fathom. But at one time the thought of a thousand or two thousand had been just as intimidating.

The world would turn. He would last as long as he could. The loop, never-ending.