I suppose this needs some explaining. I’ve had this idea in my head of a sort of fantasy world that I could never name for a while. Since I can’t write very well and orderly, I’m doing it out of chronological order and see where it takes me. I have a very bad habit of discontinuing fics so I’m hoping with this new method I wouldn’t be distracted or discouraged. So far, I have no idea where this is going, and with only two prominent characters. Hopefully there would be more. And that this isn’t too squicky for pg-13. I don’t believe so…

Title: The Death of Gareth Bradburn
Author: ruinedkuria
Warnings: squickish?, death. This story has not been proof-read/whatever, so feel free to point out any corrections.

The thing about being immortal is that in times such as these you do not die, you merely suffer through death. You suffer through living. You suffer through the rebirth. You suffer through the agony but without the terror that would normally drive mortal men to mad desperation. The terrible burning sun could beat on down forever scorching fields dry and his aching muscles would continue. Like a well made machine, he mused, that bodies could take such abus—that bodies could take such maltreatment and go on.

At first the pain was terrible. He remembered it like a mortal wound. Like dying and his parts still ached at the memory. All he could think about was the pain. The sand burning his feet raw, the sun burning his skin raw, and the sand that rubbed into every crevice. With each caress of the wind, it was a flame that lit his whole body afire.

It was nothing that stretched on for miles on. No plant life, no animals, only the stretch, the sand, the winds, and the sun. He had tried digging for water. By then, his throat was parched but not bloodied and he dug with the canteen. He had lost the dish somewhere along the way. For two days he dug but no moisture to be found. The best option was to continue walking. He did not have the strength or the tools needed for water and the desert was the most barren land he could ever imagine.

Soon it felt like the fire was in his very bones. His blood had thicken, taking a syrupy texture, and turned dark but his heart still beat, however slowly.

No worries. There would be pain but he had to get there before…before…He had forgotten.

He knew the moment his heart stopped. There was a silence one never could get used to even in a hundred deaths. Part of his mind called out for mama and papa, recalled them when everything was still golden. Part called for his sister, young overlapping with old. He saw her death. He was there. “Gareth,” they said with gentle voices and he could almost feel their gentle hands as they reached for him. Aaron, his mind called out and their names echoed back as one and he shivered slightly before he gave his last shuddering breath.

In retrospect, he was glad the old man found him as he did. Had he not, the tribe would have buried him as they would their people, given to the birds and his newly cleaned bones tossed onto the beginnings of a burial mound.

He would have to wait, anywhere from a handful of years to a decade for rain. Then he would grow back bit by bit under the crushing weight of the sand. And that would be another hell all on its own. He knew he should shudder at that thought but he was far too worn and far too grateful for anything but a stupid grin.

To be continued?

As for critiques, give it to me. Comments are cool too.
Also, is his name too odd? I just kinda searched up names and picked at random. Couldn’t really think of any good names.