The Corporate: Part 6 of 8
#7 of Writing
sixth installment of the Corporate. Part 7 will be updated AFTER the 23rd to let the weekdays catch up.
The Winter Chronicles
December of 2013
The Corporate: Part 6 of 8
He was dressed in white, the man. His robes stretched all the way to his ankles where they lapped to a non-existent wind. His beard was similar in that it was snow white, and lowered itself past his chest to end in a rounded off tip. And there was something about this man that radiated purity.
The man stepped forward, towards Harold. Harold, tried to stand, only to be forced back down to his knees by some unknown force. The man had reached him, and now stood before him. He towered over Harold. Harold presumed he was maybe seven feet high, which was a shot in the dark at best. Gazing up at him, Harold now felt an extraordinary peace that seemed to come involuntarily and somewhat abruptly.
The man extended his hand, and Harold was compelled to take hold. Taking his hand, Harold was lifted off of this feet, and floated up to eye level with him. Below him, the floor dissipated into a vast blackness. Looking around him, Harold was in Limbo. A fear sparked inside him. Was this Hell? Harold let out a soft whimper at the thought. But the man pressed his finger to his lip as if to shush Harold.
Floating there, the man seemed to allow Harold to attain his his bearings. After some time had passed, the calming sensation Harold had felt returned to him. But it seemed to be less from the man's presence this time and more of Harold acceptance of the situation. Fate was something Harold had never trusted nor comprehended. But now, in the presence of this strange being in this even more strange place, it became difficult to deny the hard reality of it all.
Then, with his free hand, the man took hold of Harold's chin and directed his attention back towards himself. Harold gazed into the man's eyes. They were pale and colorless, yet radiated a calming sensation. Focusing more into them, images began flashing in his mind, as if projected by the man whose eyes he stared into. Each and every one of these images were of a small child. A young boy whom Harold recognized to be himself.