Death is a prison
Baethor opened his umber-eyes to find himself encased in bars of steel.
'Why am I not dead..'
His thoughts betraying his lack of enthusiasm for life. He never enjoyed his life to begin with, always living the same banal style he was used to. Once he contracted cancer, he was almost excited for his life to be over. He loved his family, He loved the few friends he had, however the burden of his own mind and his existence weighed too heavily on himself to even enjoy the smallest of conveniences. To be fair, the pain his loved ones would go through was the only reason he didn't commit suicide.
The only time he felt that weight lifted off of his shoulders, was moments before his death. Knowing it was coming, saying his good-byes, he was ready to embrace the ever looming darkness everyone else was scared of.
A single word came to mind.
A powerful word that rose from the bottom of his heart expressing his deep desire to go back to his not-so-eternal slumber and peace.
A word which expressed his complete distaste and the absolute abhorrent nature of finding himself alive.
A word that escaped with a sigh.
"Fuck"
He sat up from a rather comfortable bed. The same energy one would have after working an over-night shift and being awoken to a call from the boss asking you to come in the next morning, and despite the lack of desire you agree anyway due to your inability to say 'no'.
In this situation, however, there was no boss. Just the same mundane job of breathing, eating, sleeping and working.
His dark-brown eyes having all of the energy of a sloth, gazed lethargically around the room, noting the lack-of-detail and originality. They cliche grey tile-floors made of stone. The steel bars firmly rooted in the ground. A small toilet, sectioned off with a moderately sized partition. A small sink, which seemed to also function as a drinking-spout, and desk which had a single book sitting on-top of it labelled "Things you should know".
That book, might just be the salvation to his ignorance, despite it's lack of thickness and seemingly quick-readability.
With a firm 'Nope' he laid back on the bed and rolled his back to the book. His eyes shutting while finding the same peace he was so rudely pulled away from.
A snore drifting softly through the cell, a peaceful snore. A snore ignorant of it being heard by something much greater, who was watching the entire proceedings.
In a small study a fireplace burned, gently illuminating the beautiful dark-wood chairs and bear-skinned rug on the floor with its warm red tone. Two chairs whose best description would be, aristocratic, sat facing the fireplace with a small crystal screen between them. An existence whose fur was softly shifting between shades of red and grey sat in one of the chairs, gazing at all of the new-comers he had been given.
Peace reigned over his face, and a self satisfied smile hung upon his lips. Until, an abnormality showed itself.
"Why did he fall back asleep?" Voicing his confusion, the muzzle of the Coyote opened revealing such a deep and honey-filled tone . He stood up from his chair, surprisingly walking on two legs. His hurried pacing around the study couldn't hide the elegance in every step.
"He likes books. His last life he couldn't stop reading novels, and rarely found himself without one." The Coyote stopped and drummed his amber colored claws against the back of his chair. "Maybe it wasn't big enough?" With this resolve he nodded his head and went back to sitting in his chair, awaiting the newly arrived to awake from his slumber.
Yet when Baethor woke up and saw the much larger book on the desk, he rolled back over and fell asleep.
"Larger?" The coyote thought.
Once again Baethor woke up, saw the books girth and rolled over.
"Maybe he needs more books?"
Baethor awoke to a stack of books and returned to a slumber much more peaceful than before.
"More?!"
Despite his best efforts, and much to his shagrin. Baethor kept sleeping and ignoring everything on the desk.
This game continued. Baethor versus Coyote. Every time he awoke he found many kinds of books piled on the desk. Sometimes they'd look like dictionaries, other days they'd look like comic books. Until finally, the cycle was broken and hope arose in the Coyotes heart.
Baethor awoke, rubbed his eyes and slowly stood from the bed.
"Yes!" The coyote watched with eagerness in his eyes. Bringing his head closer to the crystal screen, watching the copper-skinned youths every move.
Baethor took a couple of steps toward the desk... A bright gleam found itself within the Coyotes eager eyes.
"Open it... Open it... Open it.." He whispered on unabated breathed. Excitement rising with each step.
Disappontment filled the observers eyes as Baethor used the toilet and promptly resumed his slumber, after washing his hands of course. The Coyotes excitement dissipated, along with his hope. Slouching against the back of the chair, he had a think of a way to correct this lazy humans behaviour.
Almost instantly grace and elegance filled his posture as he stood. Each stride he took towards the door, a pair of wings sprouted and grew larger on his back. Golden Jewelry found itself on his wrist, and his perked ears decorated with rows of golden earrings. His wings wrapped around himself and a white robe decorated with golden laces and images fitting his form and a hood covered his face.
Baethor had a strange dream, his first dream, in a long time, more of a nightmare if he was honest with himself. In this nightmare, he found himself as different animals. Each time he'd joyously live and die. Yet, with every death he came back with a new form... He found a new life. New struggles. New hopes and dreams. Never peace.
"I really hate nightmares..." He whispered to himself before rolling back over and trying again.
Lately he had developed a habit of checking on the desk before sleep. This time the grey steel desk had no a single book on it. No sign, clue, or piece of dust was on its surface. He shrugged and was about to close his eyes when hurried footsteps echoed caught his attention.
This was a reminder to himself, that everything around him was perfectly silent. The only sounds in the room were sounds he made himself, as if he was the only thing that existed. The silence accented the footsteps, which grew louder like imperial trumpets to a king. Until finally, they stopped.
"Hello Mr. Baethor, I'm glad I finally have your attention. Normally I wouldn't have to lower myself to greet a new arrival yet, here I am, due to your distastefully lethargic nature. I am pleased to see you find our accommodations so welcoming and comfortable. However, you have two days until your first fight, and we cannot have you losing face for me or my Lord."
Baethor stared at the hooded figure with the sleep still in his eyes. A muzzle protruding from it's shadow and preaching to him with a voice so deep it almost soothed him back to sleep. Then a sudden realization struck him.
One so powerful he awoke from his stupor, yet his eyes remained still and laden with bags beneath them.
"Is that a fucking Coyote?"
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
RomanMarch
RomanMarch I get bouts of depression pretty often. This is just a story to help me fight it off. I'll be trying my best to stay consistent but to be honest my mental state can get the best of me and I'll lay in bed and stare at the ceiling.
That being said, I have no plans for this to go premium and this is just a hobby to help me.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone