(clack-clack)
"Haizzz..."
The bone-chilling cold - literally, in my case. It wasn't that I was shivering, nor was it the human way of interpreting it - it was the dampness coming from the catacombs, the lingering and strong smell of rotting earth that had stuck with me and penetrated deep into my being.
I wonder, if I had a circulatory system, would it be clogged with centuries of dust? It could be true (false) - I don't know. I just existed, a meticulously arranged set of vertebrae, ribs and skull, waiting patiently for the next great concussion to send the scattered pebbles sliding across my skeletal body.
My days, you might say, pass with an predictable gloom, with the circulation of the sun in the ever-dark sky. I awake - or rather become aware - in this familiar place where I rest, a relatively spacious corner of the wall, nestled among the ruins of a long-forgotten royal structure. This must be the resting place of a king? I think so. It was pompous, vast, judging by the size of his tomb.
"Everything goes on over time and eventually comes to an end" I've been around long enough to realise that no matter how big, thriving and beautiful things are, decay and collapse are inevitable.
Then, as usual, the slow, almost imperceptible shifting of the earth, the cyclical echo of dripping water in the silence of the cave, the rustling of unseen creatures - mostly rats, judging by the size of their droppings. Occasionally I encounter a faint, lost ray of sunshine that pierces the darkness, illuminating for a moment the dust particles dancing in the air. These are the highlights of my life. Great, far-reaching moments define my daily rhythm.
The life of a skeleton, it seems, is devoid of stimulation. Monotonous, to put it mildly. But I am different, I cherish a secret, a truth: I have perception. Not in the usual way, the undead are revived by spirit masters and take orders from them. I can... wake up every day, know... perceive... think... and know... bored.
Look at my brothers, other skeletons scattered around these echoing rooms, not participating in the activities. They are piles of static, inert, dry bones with chests in which the spider and mouse families have nested for generations.
I have a restless mind now, a curiosity that constantly gnaws at my insides. I think about the universe, the meaning of existence, the severe lack of calcium in my bones. My existential crisis is unusual, to say the least.
Monotony is not just a lack of stimulation. It's a lack of fundamental meaning. The skeletons of my brothers, in their unconscious bliss, need no purpose. They just lie still, from day to day. But I am always troubled by this nagging feeling of incompleteness, a void that no amount of dust can fill. I long for more than the cycles of damp and decay. I long for something beyond the silence of this room. I long for a life - a real life.
And so I began to observe. I listened to the whispers that the wind carried through the cracks in the walls. I pieced together conversations, fragments of history about the world outside the catacombs - the world of the living. I realised that it was a world of colours, of emotions, a world full of things I had never known... This outside world, in the truest sense of the word, is something I really want to touch.
But my observations are not always pleasant. Whispers sometimes speak of war, betrayal and suffering, in stark contrast to stories that touch on love, compassion and joy. I don't know why I'm drawn to this contrast - it's terrifying, but very fascinating. It was these whispered stories that sparked something like an 'aspiration' from deep within my empty rib cage. A seed of rebellion, nurtured by tens, no, hundreds of years of boredom, finally began to germinate.
The thought of venturing into this world and experiencing life first hand is both terrifying and exciting. The fear and absurdity of being a sentient skeleton wandering in the midst of human society has not gone away for me. But the prospect of escaping this monotonous existence, of finding that which truly gives meaning to existence which seems meaningless - it is a risky thing indeed. It's a gamble, a desperate leap into the unknown, but one I'm willing to take. My bones ache at the thought of adventure, my empty spaces yearn for something more than eternal darkness.
It was not a sudden, dramatic decision. It's a slow accumulation, a gradual escalation of discontent that culminates in the decisive thought: I have to get out. I have to see what life is like, even if it means taking risks, even if it means losing everything - in my case, a weak, dry body and this mind.
My first step towards this goal was to plan my escape. This involved meticulous observation and the development of cunning strategies (a necessity for a skeleton).
I began by studying the habits of the creatures that frequented the catacombs (i.e. goblins and warriors - although they didn't wear heavy armour). I gradually learned their routes, their models, their vulnerability and their psychology. I carefully observed the changes in the flow of air, the distribution of light and darkness. I identified the weaknesses in the ancient walls, the points of entry and exit that offered the greatest chance of success. Escape for a sentient skeleton requires complete, detailed knowledge and a great deal of patience.
Over time, I have worked out a plan. A rather complicated, if not risky, plan that relies on time, deception and luck. I will wait for the right moment, a consolidation of all the necessary facts that will allow me to slip through the cracks, unnoticed and undetected. This prospect was both thrilling and terrifying, but the mixture of excitement and fear gave me a source of energy, courage - strangely enough.
I've spent countless hours - or rather 'days' - thinking, perfecting my plans, honing my skills and preparing for the challenges ahead. The outside world, from what I can gather from stray whispers, is chaotic, complicated, dangerous, full of pitfalls, but also full of potential. The potential for discovery and development is much greater...
It's a risk, but I can't shake it. My bones, the only companions in my silent life, suddenly felt lighter, more nervous anticipation through the spinal cord of an empty space. The time is coming. I could feel it in my bones, or rather I could clearly feel the euphoria it would bring, more and more exciting.
The world beckons. And I, despite my skeletal limitations, was ready to answer !