The Rider

Note: this is for the art-inspired challenge of Raymond G. Taylor.

Part I – Kenopsia

“the eerie atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but now abandoned”

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The Rider sits alone.

And he feels so alone right now.

As he stares off into the void, the rider understands somewhere deep inside that he is truly all alone here, whatever here is supposed to be.

This place was still his home.

The light was very dim, settling into a dull brown shade that seemed to sink into his soul. No clouds or real sky around him as he tried to find a way forward. It was almost impossible to see ahead of him, behind him, or the very ground that he was riding on.

Well, at least he did not have to set his feet on it.

He was the rider who found his own way through…this.

It was a perfect relationship.

As the journey continued, he felt the bones beneath him shift, separate, reattach, and then come apart again, with every single gallop and step. The only thing that bothered him was not knowing the name of this particular creature. There was never any real talk or discussion about what to call this thing that had carried him for centuries. There were no tags or labels to make it clear that it was even supposed to be ridden by him. But, there had been no difficulties on this journey. There were no surprises that upset the pair of them.

Until today…

That feeling of loneliness… It just would not leave him alone. It was like he felt hunger that would not be satisfied by any meal he could name. That was a strange feeling to have, since he did not eat, but it was one that he knew from those others on his way. They were the ones who were not here.

They were the figures he missed.

They spoke of “last meals” and “dying wishes” as though there were something special about them. Strange, once again, to consider that he could take any knowledge from them. Why would they impart such wisdom to a skinny rider and his bone machine?

And suddenly, he knew how to take care of that unsettling feeling.

There would be more of them.

From the top of his head, he felt that the change was going to be subtle and then…uncontrollable. More of the faces and images from his past came back to him. There were the ones who were crying, screaming, moaning and laughing in his face. There were others who simply disbelieved that they could meet him on this plain. And some who did not even have a face. Not one eye on him…

They would be back.

He felt the bones of the rider under him reform and separate as they continued to move.

Good boy…

It would not be fair of him to give up on finding another one if that left his rider just meandering from one dull place to place. The beast was still strong, still willing to carry him on his back, and still willing…to take on new passengers.

Yes, he would have to do this for the beast.

The air was cleaner and sharper as he massaged the flanks of the beast. There would be a happy ending to this and he would not feel lonely anymore. And he would begin to start right now.

Footnote to this intro:

I have contributed a lot of pieces to this page, but this challenge is a real challenge for me. My intention is to write a book about Death encountering various figures throughout history. I will limit it to a list of twelve well-known names (arts, science, literature, etc.) and have an interesting term at the beginning at each chapter related to the subject. It will be my own particular ideas about what these people mean to Death and their world. And it is just fantasy (I will not be dealing with the straight truth with my work).

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