Soul Decay E-Book

Simon Schelp

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 83

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

A Journey Between Love, Loss, and the Unknown After losing everything—his wife, his unborn child, and his will to live—a man takes a fateful step into the void, only to awaken in a place between life and death. In this shadowed forest, where time stretches and bends, he is haunted by whispers of the past and the scent of lavender, a bittersweet reminder of the love he lost. Guided by Cassiel, a mysterious and weary soul who has wandered these woods for centuries, the man is forced to confront the choices that led him here. But when fragments of Andrea—his wife—appear on the other side of a glowing boundary of moonlight, hope flickers. Is she waiting for him, or is it a cruel trick of this in-between world? As he wrestles with guilt, longing, and the unbearable pull of the unknown, he must decide: risk everything to cross the light or find the strength to let go. Soul Decay is a gripping and emotional exploration of love, loss, and redemption—a story that will linger in your heart long after the final page

Leseprobe

For Andrea

Prologue Part 1: Together

"What about Sophie?" Her voice was soft, filled with hope as she spoke the name. She lay beside me, her head resting on my chest, and I could feel her breath gently brushing against my skin.

I smiled and placed my hand on her rounded belly. "We still have time," I replied, stroking her belly gently. "There's no need to rush."

She sighed, and I could hear the uncertainty in her breath. "But... what if we don't have any more time?" Her voice sounded so vulnerable, as if she sensed something we couldn't see.

"Shhh..." I whispered softly, as I placed a finger on her lips to calm her. "We have plenty of time..."

She closed her eyes, and for a moment everything seemed to stand still. We were in our own little world, protected from everything that lurked out there. Just the two of us, the heartbeat in my chest, and the faint beating of the life growing within her.

Prologue Part 2: Time

Time - what a deceptive concept. It always seemed to us like an endless river, meandering undisturbed through the landscapes of life. Unshakeable, eternal. Currently, when you're in the middle of it, it seems as stretchy as rubber, tough and flexible, as if you could simply pull it apart and store all the precious moments in it. But then there are these other moments - the ones where time suddenly disintegrates, contracts like a taut band that suddenly snaps and takes everything with it. Those moments when time cuts through the illusions of security and permanence like a sharp knife.

"We still have plenty of time," I had often said. It was almost a mantra, a soothing phrase that I repeated over and over again to calm the burning fear within me - the transience of life. How often had we relied on it? Held on to it as if it were an unshakeable truth, to wake up again tomorrow. We had made plans, as if we could store time like a commodity, as if it were something we could control, something that would never pass. But the truth - this bitter truth - is that we can never control it. It is only a fleeting illusion, an invention we have created to protect ourselves from reality. The reality that everything we hold dear can be snatched away at any moment. Life is a temporary state.

My father was the optimist of the family. He firmly believed that life still had many surprises in store for us. "There's still a lot coming our way in life," he used to say, and every time I smiled at his unbroken confidence. For him, the future was always full of possibilities, full of adventures. But then came the diagnosis. Lung cancer. So unexpected, so merciless. It only took a few weeks for the cancer to consume him. It was as if someone had compressed time, and the endless future he had envisioned shrank to a few days.

I often think of his words. "Only life ends - not the future." These words have burned themselves into my memory, like brand marks that cannot be erased. But when he received the diagnosis, everything changed. There was no more "future". No dreams, no plans. Only the here and now, every second condensed into several precious moments. Every breath, every moment became a valuable, almost sacred event because he knew he only had a few left. "Live every day as if it were your last," a saying for a wall decal, for a cup - a motto that we take on every day, but do we really do it?

And now? After all this? Now I stand here, on the edge of the abyss. Below me, the sharp cliff, like a blade jutting into nothingness. The wind, cold and wild, tugs at me as if it wants to pull me into the depths. Everything inside me feels heavy, as if the darkness within me were lead, pulling me down. The thoughts in my head are swirling, and the thought of simply jumping to escape it all - the pain, the memories, the agonizing self-doubt - seems so tempting - so damn tempting.

I close my eyes, trying to lose myself at this moment. The wind caresses my face, and suddenly, it brings a familiar scent with it. A soft, sweet scent that catapults me back in time, when everything was still right. For a precious moment, I am with her again. With Andrea. My heart contracts painfully as I feel her nearness. It's almost as if she were here, beside me, her hand in mine, her smile bright and warm like a ray of sunshine.

A scent - her scent - envelops me, and for a brief moment it feels as if time has cracked, as if she had never left.

But she's not here. She will never be here again.

The abyss beneath my feet waits, and the wind whispers words to me that sound like promises. In the distance, the sea roars softly, as if calling to me, and deep within me, a storm rages that refuses to calm down. What should I do? Go on living, even though everything inside me died that day? Or just jump, accept the fall and leave everything behind? The abyss looks so tempting, so final.

But then there's this scent - the scent of Andrea - that holds me back. For a moment, it seemed as if I can feel her, as if she were gently pulling me back, reminding me that there is something else that binds me to this place. A memory, a hope, a promise. The scent is the only thread that holds me, that holds me back, even though everything inside me is screaming for the end. I close my eyes - her face flashes before my inner eye. "I just want to be with you."

She smiles at me, her hand on her belly...

I don't open my eyes - not now. I want to hold onto this moment, want to stay with her, even if it's only in my memory. I don't want to let go, not now. Not yet.

And so I stand there, on the edge of the cliff, between life and death. The night is dark, the world around me still, and yet an endless storm rages within me. The only thing that remains is the silence and a hint of a memory of what I have lost. The memories stay with me and for a fleeting moment I am not alone - I take a step forward, reach for her hand and grasp at emptiness...

The Forest of Doubt

A brief tremor runs through my body. I'm lying on a floor.

It's dark, so dark that I can't tell if my eyes are even open. The night sky above me is black, an endless void that has swallowed even the stars. The ground beneath me is damp, cold, and when I raise my hands, I see only vague outlines – little more than shadows in the shadows. My breath is shallow, and I wonder if I'm even breathing anymore. Am I dead? Or am I still alive? Am I dreaming? Was last night a dream?

The question burns in my mind as I try to organize my thoughts. Nothing seems real. The pain in my chest, the emptiness in my stomach – they are real, and yet they are not. It feels like I'm trapped in a dream, one I can't wake up from. Maybe I've already died. Maybe this is the darkness that awaits at the end.

I'm lying on a floor covered in leaves. A cool wind rustles through the surrounding leaves. The soft rustling sounds like a whisper, as if the trees themselves were speaking to me. I listen, I concentrate on the sounds. There's something else. No, not just the wind. Voices. Whispering voices that creep through the branches and torment my mind. Words I don't understand, but that weigh heavily on my heart, as if they carried the burden of all my guilt.

Guilt. Yes, that's what I feel. Like a stone in my chest. A feeling that suffocates me. Images flash through my mind, memories I try to suppress, but they come back, relentlessly, like the tide. Andrea. Her name shoots through my head and through my heart. My wife. My dead wife.

"Andrea..." I whisper, my voice barely more than a hoarse croak. But the wind picks it up and carries it away, as if the name no longer had any meaning. I feel my legs moving with difficulty. As if every guilt I've ever taken on is now settling in my limbs, pulling me down. But I can't stay here, can't lie here. I have to move, have to get away from this place, from these voices, from this darkness.

With a jerk, I try to stand up, but my legs are like lead. Every muscle in my body screams in pain, but I force myself. My head spins as I stand up, but I ignore it. I have to go. I don't know where, but I can't stay.

Then I hear her. A voice that comes from the darkness, that cuts through the night like a dagger through flesh. I know this voice. Deep inside me, I recognize it, even if I don't want to. It's Andrea. Her soft, familiar voice, whispering my name, as she often did before I fell asleep. But she's dead. She's been dead for months.

My heart beats faster, a cold shiver runs through me. I'm sure it's just a trick of my mind, trying to drive me mad. But her whispering gets louder, more insistent. And it sounds... sad. No, not sad – plaintive.

"Why did you leave me?" whispers the voice. "Why did you leave me alone?"

It hurts. Every syllable cuts deep into me, as if it were exposing the truth within me that I've been trying to bury for weeks. I don't know what to do, but I know I have to go. Away from these voices, away from these thoughts.