The Final Cadence

by A.R. Marquez about a year ago in fiction

Prologue

The Final Cadence

AUTHOR INTRODUCTION:

I've had this idea for a very long time. It has survived numerous versions and adaptations. Characters have been given life and subsequently written off into the dark abyss of the memory bank. Worlds have been created, history has been written and rewritten. This manuscript has traveled the globe a 1000 times over, suckling from the phalanges and irises of many a reader.

The original concept of the story came about during my senior year of high school. It was to be used for the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of The Future Contest. Sadly I was never able to enter the contest as the word processor I was using at the time succumbed to many an internet malady. Despite that set back, I had previously printed out copies of the manuscript as well as posted the entire entry on my now-defunct Dead Journal (remember those?).

Recently I've decided to revisit this world and paint with new colors. I feel that the latest pieces of this manuscript show huge promise and I am opening myself up for whatever scrutiny is available.

Posted below is the introductory prologue. And although the pieces of this manuscript are by no means in their final form, they carry with them the sinewy blue print of where I will eventually conclude.

As always, thanks for reading.

- A.R. Marquez

Prologue - Long Ago…

She stood next to the edge of forever. Sprawled at her feet were her last moments written in the waves; calling for her and enrapturing her senses to join beyond the timeworn, defeated world she now sauntered.

Not all of them sleep. Some rise again to relish the taste of life. Others rise again without consequence—living the way they once did. And only finding out the hard way that the sleep that consumed them the night before was meant for eternity.

Creeping to the edge of the cliff, a feeling of dread pulsed through her aura, an almost human-like endeavor. The distance below brought on vertigo. Out onto the ocean she gazed, feeling the wind that carried the moisture of the sea. It caressed her face, inviting her to join the aquatic denizens that lived in the darkness.

She closed her eyes, trying to yield this moment—working the dusk into a feverish throttle. The sky was a splash of slate gray and deep blue, with the crashing of the waves making the atmosphere absolute. As she threw her head back, her chin pointed towards the velvety sky, the light of the moon casting through to her perfect features. Her ideal lips parted to reveal the identity she meant to distinguish forever.

The end of her journey was met by the edge of this cliff. Throughout her time, the pain and dismay of this deprecated existent built itself into a malevolent crescendo as the years fell upon each other. She had lost so much. The more she lost, the more life drained her into an insipid pallor. With these final steps she now sauntered, she would regain a little strength to define her last moments in this world.

From her perch, she took notice of the faint blaze in the western sky straight ahead. The dusk was rapidly approaching, diluting the remnants of the sun into the ocean skyline. Shadows began to dissipate and become consumed by the darker stage of twilight.

A glistening, odious scream suddenly escaped her. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, creating a tremor through the cliff-side foxtails. Rain began to fall, bringing a cleansing to everything around her. There was no more time for this self-crafted elegy. Her lamentation was cut short with the dawning of her imminent repose.

She leapt. Falling like that of the morning star out of heaven—anger and sadness entwined to create the perfect recipe for revenge. She fell silently, her white dress cutting through the wind to parachute her to the final cadence of her requiem. Seconds turned into eons as gravity pushed and pulled her gracefully down into infinity.

When the swan-song ended, the wind howled no more. The foxtails danced no more. The waves crashed no more. The sky cried no more. And the beautiful diver lay below on the jagged rocks and oceanic debris, accepting who she was and knowing now as she always had that she could not rid her curse. She screamed once more, louder and with more guttural resonance so that both Heaven and Hell could hear of her displeasure.

She was a vampire.

This Manuscript: © 2018 Legion Media LLC

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A.R. Marquez

Adam Ray Marquez was born and raised in Northern California. 

He writes and publishes Surreal Free Verse poetry, fiction, horror-fiction, and is the Editor-In-Chief at The Dead Walk.

He plays guitar for Held In Scorn.

Instagram = @AtraxMors

See all posts by A.R. Marquez