Category: Writer in Residence — Published:
This text was written and first read by Martin O’Brien for his performance Overture For The End (An Ashen Place) on 22 July 2023.
Content Warning
Please note that this text and images contain nudity, sexual content, BDSM practices and a discussion of death.
1.
Silence throughout the cold cold land. A solitary figure moves slowly, crawling. Unable to walk, from exhaustion. His face looks as though he has crawled straight out of hell. Ash falls from the sky. High up on a hill stands a crone. She watches him move slowly. She sees everything, nothing escapes her view. Her eyes are set on the figure. He moves as if he is alive, but he resembles a corpse more than a man. Skeletal vultures circle his head, and bull sharks swim in the nearby river. The ground is charred, piles of ash lay around. This is a land of decay. No colour in this place, no beauty in this place. Trees stand upside down, roots reaching up to the skies. Insects crawl backwards in this place and the rats sit devouring their own bodies. No plants grow, and rocks crumble into dust. The wind bellows through the ashen wasteland and in this wind, the cries of the dead can clearly be heard. Ghosts walk the plane, cursed to repeat the same movements over and over again. Great cracks run along the ground, as if an earthquake had taken place and rumbles can be felt deep under the earth.
As he crawls, the man, perhaps the only thing that still breathes the air in this place repats a prayer to death ‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’ He continues moving, as if his life depends on it. He is never still. Even in moments of rest, he lays on his back, but his limbs convulse and from his throat emanates the sounds of choking. Despite this, he is determined to continue breathing, and he repeats the prayer: ‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’ The crone hears his prayer from high above. Her eyes intensely set on his cadaverous body. Her cane in one hand, holding her upright. She is unaffected by the elements. Her dark veil barely even moves in the wind.
The crone opens her mouth wide, and an unearthly sound emanates. Like nothing that has been heard before. A wail, and with that, mountains begin to crumble and rivers begin to evaporate. It is as if the earth has stopped spinning. The corpse-like breathing man stops still for the first time. He looks up to the crone and notices her presence. The unearthly sound signals someone is about to die. He continues his prayer: The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’
2.
The ground opens and a funeral procession, organised by a masochist from hell, marches out. A bed of nails, designed for the corpse, is carried at its head. Mourners walk behind weeping for all eternity. Their tears never stop falling. Strange unholy acolytes chant to a cruel deity. ‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’ Trumpets are sounded as the procession marches on. Animals stop as it passes them. Creatures join the back and the procession grows. It heads towards the hill. A ghostly watcher watches on. It records everything, as if its eyes were cameras. The crone now lays as if dead at the top. The breather hears the sounds of the procession and knows it has come for him. He continues his prayer: ‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’
Something draws the breather to the top of the hill. He kneels by the feet of the crone and the procession follows him. The strange acolytes thrash him whips and suck the breath from him. The mourners weep even harder and the breather begins to feel as if he is drowning. The crone lays, as if a dead queen. The prayer can be heard echoing through the land. Ghostly voices repeat it outloud. Even the animals seem to understand it: ‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’
3.
‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’
With this, a great whirlwind of ash sweeps through the land. The strange, unholy acolytes scream out and fall to their knees. Water gushes from the mouth of the breather, enough to create an ocean. A ghastly priest stands on a rock, about to deliver a sermon. The watcher watches. The crone rises from her grave and points towards a crucifix which stands above everything.‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’
The funeral procession marches towards the great cross. The breather is carried on a bed of nails, drowning in the rivers of fluids emanating from his mouth. The mourners weep as the priest hammers nails into the breathers’ hands and feet. The crone carves her initials into his buttocks, and he is hoisted high into the air. The masochist from hell, who organized this ghastly affair, laughs from beyond the grave. The breather wails in agony as he is crucified for all to see. The acolytes keep chanting: ‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’
But the breather does not die. His body decays and his breathing slows. It does not end though. The image of him high on the cross continues to be. All the time, he continues his prayer to death itself: ‘The force of the grave is strong. We kneel in deep veneration. May we resist the allure of decay. Keep breathing.’
