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Eternal Redemption by Paul A. Wunderlich



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Author: Paul A. Wunderlich

Publisher: Amazon Digital Services LLC

Genres:

Publish Date: January 26, 2014

ISBN-10: B00I5DZRIO

Pages: 50

File Type: epub,mobi,lrf,lit,htmlz,pdb,azw

Language: English

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Book Preface

TIME IS THE SOOTHER OF SINS FOR SOME, but for others, it’s the delinquent that pillages peace and delivers the ever-pounding drums of guilt, remorse, and desolation.

It had been many millennia since he last saw her, breathed her in, felt her. Her memory was a silhouette—vague and distorted, lost within a maze of memories, dreams, hopes and long-forgotten passions that stirred beneath a veil of remembrance.

If only he could breathe her scent, touch her, be with her once again, then perhaps his broken heart would finally let his soul-shattering emotions set sail. He had held on to them for much too long. The company of eternal depression was mauling him from within.

He once thought those emotions would be washed away with the sands of time. How wrong he was, oh how very wrong he was.

An ill mind acts in accordance with its forsaken nature, but is inhibited from the capacity to predict the long-term effects of an erred volition. And now, the toll of his deeds was mangling him deeply from within, consuming him with eternal decay.

His eyes moved, swayed along the horizon dotted with clouds the shape of soft sheep and astringent war vessels sailing in unanimity. It was as though a family of albino elephants and snow-capped, walking trees were wandering the heavens, mindlessly nurturing the essence of nothingness.

The mountains were distant and their mammoth presence exuded a blue hue. His eyes, captured by a single thread of light, held a solitary emotion. He had always wondered why mountains seemed so blue, peaceful, and harmonically silent from afar.

He wondered how structures created from a silent, internal war between opposing forces could inspire such awe and admiration. A constant pushing enslaved them, making them unable to move willfully for eternity. Too late down the road did he learn this lesson—that immensity and grandiosity could lead to imprisonment.

Eternal life turned out to be his damnation. Death is so misconstrued; death is liberating, the limit of a prolonged and fruitful life. Without death there are no limits, and without limits, there is the endless pursuit of madness.

Memories waxed and waned, ebbing on the shores of remembrance. The quiet moment in which brooding gave him peace of mind was stripped away from him as one of his loyal subjects approached him with hesitance.

“My lord, the last of our foes has fallen, crushed by your skillful necromancy. Now the whole of their army follows you, to kill and eat the living upon your command. We destroyed half their army and then you summoned those obliterated back from the dead to create an army of their own, smashing their remaining ranks with it. Genius, my lord! A grandiose plan indeed!”

As the voice of his minion became intrusive, the King’s his head whipped toward his subject, casting on him a glance both fierce and despondent.

His soldier immediately stopped talking and stepped back, fearful of being decapitated on the spot, as many of his brothers-in-arms had been for interrupting the great King while in thought.

The soldier was a high-ranking captain whose excitement was palpable, erupting viscerally from the pores of his skin. And the magnetic look of his eyes—he was clearly ecstatic, yet bewildered to find his King completely unsatisfied by such a devastating conquest. Nevertheless, the soldier grew anxious at seeing his King scrutinize him like a cat would regard a pest it is too bored to kill.

“We have effectively defeated our enemies,” he continued, his pride growing as he recounted the story of the glorious battle he had feverishly fought. “We prevail. We have won—you have won! You are the only heir to the throne. You are the one true King. Almighty, standing atop the world—you are undisputed, my lord! Were it not for your powers, all that we have gained would have been impossible. You should be proud. You’ve achieved what no other man has even dreamed of; true power is held by only you, my lord. Such pure conquests are unheard of…you are truly magnificent.”

The captain was nervous, as he felt that he had overextended himself. He lost his bravado and cast his eyes downward, submitting to his King’s overpowering stare.

“Leave me,” was all that the King managed to say to his subject, dismissing him with a short yet violent flick of his hand. The captain ran off, shaken by the terror of being punished on the spot.

The King observed the soldier meld into an ocean of military waves. The mass of warriors marched as a single entity, all moving at the same cadence, mindlessly following orders as they chanted the sonic boom of victory.

He felt envious of them. How much he would love to feel that very same sensation of not having to think nor orchestrate, but to simply and mechanically follow orders—then, perhaps, he could blame others for his ill actions, share the weight of his perils, of the rash decisions he made based on his insatiable desire to accomplish grandiosity.

He regretted having fed the wrong wolf, the beast within now gutting him from the inside-out. If only his enemies knew how crumbled, how terribly weak he was, mangled by ages of remembering an event that marked him for eternity. If only his followers, his minions, his generals, his captains, his conquered slaves, the bodies he brought back from the dead knew about how the great King Deathenor was but a cripple, a soul eternally longing for anything but what he had. If only the world could see him for what he truly was: a man who towered like a mountain, governing over the seas, tall and proud, was but decaying in remorse and self-disgust. He alone knew about his inner chaos, and it was enough to crush him.


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