© MMXX A.N.E.
I once heard a murmur echoing from elder underground ruins.
“Dite, te rogo qui infernales partes tenes…”, followed by a sharp hiss of moaning.
So I stalked through the night, down a withered stairwell, overgrown by moss and blue scorpion grass.
Following a pitch black hallway, I suddenly find myself close to a ceremonial site, taking place in a domelike pantheon and so I hide in the dark.
In a queue, twelve haggard figures, clad in black robes, their faces veiled in darkness, are silently standing.
Each of them holds a red candle in their hands. They are waiting in front of a deep well-like hole in the ground.
When the first-in-row’s candle had burned down, it’d murmur: “Dite, te rogo qui infernales partes tenes…”, ripping its veil violently off, dropping its robes – revealing the palest body of wiry physiques, shimmering reddish in the others’ candlelight. It would then take one step forward, making that moaning hiss and drop into the hole.
Instantly, the next figure would eagerly step into its place. Candle burnt down, veil ripped off, robes dropped, slogan recited and whoosh! Gone.
I was intrigued, watching the other ten repeating the spectacle. After the last one had fallen, it was complete darkness. Total silence. Total funeral.
So I light a match. In its shimmer I hesitantly walk to the hole in the ground. What is this? I lean a little over the edge, as to find out if, just maybe, corpses are lying piled up in that hole.
Out of nowhere, a feeble voice screams thundering, so that it echoes all over the place and my veins:
“Viator! Te occide!”
I am so frightened, I trip, slip and fall head over into the hole.
And until this day, until this minute I have been falling. I’m falling, I’m falling and I am still falling. All around me is just pitch black darkness and total chaos.
And an eerie voice keeps on calling my name.