Bones and Roses

For centuries I remained as I am, an anonymous skeleton without even a normal life!

I was no more remarkable than the other skeletons in the vast catacomb. My days are an endless repetition of long motes of dust dancing in the faint sunlight. The cold damp that clings to me has become part of my bones, the faint, eerie whispers that I believe belong to forgotten souls have become part of my life. It is a life without feeling, without anything but the sombre rhythm of my own non-existence.

Consciousness, a ray of consciousness, an inexplicable light is perhaps the only difference. It gave me a longing, a longing for something more than the ghostly silence of this damp underground existence.

My desire manifested itself in small ways at first. A slight tilt of my skull as a ray of sunlight pierced a crack in the ceiling, a subtle shift in thought as a particularly melodious sound echoed through the room. These are subtle shifts, imperceptible to my brothers, but they are the first catalysts for profound changes within me. From that moment on, my mind began to observe, to truly see the world around me, no longer as a monotonous collection of rocks, dust and darkness, but as a tapestry of intricate textures of sound and colourful stories.

In time, I learned to listen to the sounds of the world above - the rumble of carts, the laughter from afar, the quiet whispers that carried secrets. I heard the wind, the rustling of leaves and the summer rain. These sounds painted vivid pictures in my mind, in stark contrast to the monotonous hum of the underworld.

Humans - they are the source of my fascination, a mystery to which I long to find the answer. I don't know how long I've been drawn to the crevices of the catacombs, where the wind sweeps away the streams of light that drift through the dusty rooms, revealing glimpses of their lives. I witnessed their frenzied energy, their outbursts, their moments of contemplative silence, their laughter and their tears. I have seen their humanity, their cruelty and kindness, their ability to create and destroy, to love and to hate. I see their essence in all its chaotic glory.

And then my passion turned into a burning desire, a need that cannot be expressed in words about this mysterious race. I want to experience the same joys and sorrows as they do. I want to feel the warmth of the sun on their skin (practically impossible). I longed to taste the sweetness of succulent fruit in summer, to breathe fresh air with living creatures. This is no longer just a monotonous curiosity; it's an existential imperative, a desperate grasp of what it means to live in a meaningless world.

But escaping the underworld is no easy task. The skeletons of my brothers, though not sentient, have a strange, almost instinctive sense of their position. They are bound to the catacombs, their very existence intertwined with the rocks beneath their feet. They have hesitated and refused to understand my desires; they don't understand my longing for true liberation. Perhaps they have accumulated too many sets of "brutal" human actions in their minds, so they are afraid?

"Afraid?"

"Yes" - I was afraid too, but the desire for freedom burning in my bones did not allow me to stop!

...

Before me was a place filled with skeletons controlled by black magic. Unlike my immobile brothers, they are dangerous with rusty swords in their hands and a powerful set of sentient abilities.

But everything was prepared beforehand - I observed their model. I know their daily habits, their predictable reactions. I have identified weaknesses in their perceptions, moments of inattention, gaps in their vigilance. I studied the complex system of tunnels and corridors, memorising a detailed map of every turn, every hidden niche. I searched the paths where few skeletons had passed, the forgotten corners, where the darkness sank deepest, and the most mysterious silences. I learned to blend into the darkness, to become one with the very fabric of the underworld.

It can be said that everything in my plan is closely connected with deception, a 'clever' trick to overcome the limitations in my bones and joints. I must disguise myself, hide my true identity, in order to present myself to the human world, which is not so different. This thought came to me during one of my secret observations. I saw a discarded robe, a tattered suit of dark wool, lying near a collapsed part of the wall. This old garment made me explode like a fire in the middle of the night, giving a wonderful spark to my escape plan.

But getting to the cloak was a seemingly impossible task. I had to move through a crowd of skeletons of my colleagues. They were silent, undisturbed, but exuded a murderous aura. The sword and the red light in their eye sockets were constantly wavering, ready to pounce at the slightest disturbance.

To avoid attracting attention and to preserve my life, I had to time my movements perfectly, using the subtle changes in the spectral flow to avoid detection. I tiptoed and moved with each beat, following the path I had drawn beforehand. This 'performance' of mine was like a delicate dance, a silent ballet, a perfect combination of bone and darkness.

I sighed as I touched the rough fabric of the robe. Scratching it with my skeletal fingers, a sense of wonder and excitement washed over me. I had won it and put it on immediately. I'm special now - a part of the human that has truly 'risen in' me.

But the robe is just the beginning. I really need more than just hiding. I need a personality of my own, a role to play, a false identity to protect me from prying eyes. Before this journey, I have spent countless weeks studying of human life, absorbing the nuances of their language, customs and behaviour. I have learnt and practised their gait, posture and gestures.

I practised imitating their movements, whether in dark, silent rooms or in the dim light of the dust. The shape of my skeleton had mastered this movement with a frightening degree of grace and flexibility. I even learned to imitate their facial expressions, although my empty eye sockets made this impossible.

The understanding of humanity provided the next important component of my plan: I needed a reliable plot. I couldn't just appear out of nowhere. I needed a source, a logical explanation for my presence. Perhaps I would choose to be a traveller, a wanderer, a mysterious stranger with a dark past, inspired by the stories and legends whispered by human spirits I had observed on the edge of the underworld...

Tonight, the fateful night I chose for my escape, was a dark and stormy night. It was the ideal cover for my covert operation. The pouring rain hid the sound of my movements, the wind blew through the tunnels, creating a buzzing sound that drowned out any unusual noises. I move faster, no longer as stealthy as a ghost. The whispering, the wind in the storm grew stronger and stronger, causing my cloak to fly like a shroud. My shadow slowly rose on the wet ground, slowly appearing in the night, the cold rain sweeping the dust from my bones. The air and steam immediately filled my empty eye sockets. It was a strange but exhilarating feeling, invigorating in a way I had never experienced before.

"I'm..."

The thrill of freedom was constantly rushing through my empty chest - an eerie feeling, more indescribable than any other, born of desire, longing, the will to live. And, in a strange way, the storm grew stronger and stronger, rain and wind rushing at me, attacking me like thunderstorm emotions raging and wreaking havoc in my skeleton.