《Bones and Roses》 Normal days (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.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. 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. First Spark The first tremor, a small change in the earth, was almost imperceptible. But for me, it was a ''thunderclap'', not the trembling itself that startled me, but accompanied ... by a very special feeling. A flash, a spark, a feeling so strange that it feels like a betrayal in the subconscious itself. Painful, inaccurate, that is... dissatisfaction. A deep dissatisfaction with the monotonous, echoing silence of my existence. Until that moment, my life had been a predictable rhythm of dust dancing in the dim light filtered through the cracks in the ceiling of the catacombs, where the ever-present weight of dirt and cobwebs had accumulated over the centuries, with the occasional hasty appearance of unseen creatures. I was just a collection of bones, meticulously arranged but completely inert... "This dissatisfaction, this longing..." - I feel its appearance as a great crack in the surface, built up from the limited knowledge accumulated from my existence, and that it is transforming me? Exactly, my perception changed, like when the sun rises for the first time over a desolate, colourless landscape. I began to observe my surroundings with a new intensity. Similar fragments of dust, previously ignored, now appeared as complex swirling galaxies. The faint sounds that had been ambient noise became a symphony of distant whispers, echoes and rumbles. Obviously it was the sound of life, of the living world, far from my world of stone and dust, where the water droplets echoing in space were distinct sounds, just enough to fill the vast, tasteless void. My senses, or rather my sense of touch, have also become more subtle - I have gradually become aware of the changing air currents and a sense of... temperature, although I don''t have the biological apparatus to deal with it. A slight cooling or warming in a particular part of the catacombs, not detected by any organ, but by... my intuition. It''s a strange thing - new, an intuition that transcends the limits of my bones. Now my body doesn''t just react to the environment, I experience it, and I want more. This is not just perception; it is something beyond that, a desire that goes beyond simple cognition. It''s a thirst for knowledge, for meaning, for something... more. The other skeletons - my brothers - remain silent, unaware of this particular awakening within me. They are content with their silence, their non-existence. They are skeletons and that''s enough. But I... - I was different, although that difference made me a little scared and nervous. Whispers from the outside world, whispers that had not been clear before, began to take shape more clearly. I learned about the bustling city from above, a place of pulsating life, of chaos and order, of love and loss, of joy and sorrow. It''s a world full of energy, a world I''m desperate to understand. The whispers are like threads that weave a tapestry of human existence, its complexities and contradictions. I listen to their stories of love, loss, betrayal and heroism, absorbing them like a sponge absorbs water. Each story fuels my growing desire to break free from my captivity and experience this world for myself.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. My newfound awareness also sharpened my senses, and the ability to perceive small vibrations in the Earth''s evolution was also sharpened in me. I could feel the faint vibrations of footsteps above, the rumble of carts, even the faint beat of distant drums. Each vibration is an invitation, a siren''s song, drawing me to the world beyond the catacombs. The monotonous, dim light above my head was a promise, no, it was not just a monotonous light, but something much greater. The desire to escape quickly grew as I listened to the stories of the human world. Tales of love and heartbreak, of ambition and despair, resonated with a strange power within me. These emotions are strange, yet somehow familiar, like faded memories from a forgotten past. I longed to understand them, to feel them, even in a way that defied my bony nature. I am a paradox, a sentient being trapped in an inanimate form, motivated by a desire to transcend the limits of my own existence. I longed to feel the warmth of the sun over there... even though the flesh does not exist; to taste the pale taste of rain, to experience the cold and snowflakes of winter. But the transition has been difficult. I am not just an observer of the human world; I am a participant, a player in the great game of life, even though I am not considered a participant. My nature, my bone structure, has presented enormous challenges. I am fragile, easily broken; I can''t eat, drink or sleep. How can I navigate a world built for flesh and blood? The very act of breathing is impossible for me, but breathing is not what I am trying to do. But the dissatisfaction I felt, the deep urge to explore, to understand, overcame all my fears and obstacles. My preparation began in earnest. I''ve spent countless "days" - or periods of cognitive emptiness - carefully observing patterns of life, people''s habits, their vulnerability. Whispers provide insights into the social structure, their beliefs, their fears, even their language. I learned their idioms and slang, their customs and mannerisms, piecing together the fabric of their world like a meticulous jigsaw puzzle. The biggest challenge is hiding. How can I, a skeleton, walk among the people without being noticed? My very appearance is sure to arouse suspicion, horror or worse. It was impossible for me to face it directly, but the burning desire inside me could not be extinguished. This forced me to find a way to blend in, to hide my true nature, to create a deceptive appearance as a living being. The plan had to be perfect or my life would end in a "creepy performance". Appearance is not just a matter of survival, it''s a matter of experiencing life. I began to study the shadows. The darkest, darkest corners of the catacombs became my classroom. I practised moving as quietly as possible for a skeleton. My movement is a ballet of precise calculations, a dance of bones and balls. I had to move like a ghost, a ghost invisible to the world. The more time I spent practising in the dark, the more I realised how important it was to blend in with the world around me, to be able to understand the culture I was about to immerse myself in. With each successful rehearsal, my confidence grew. I knew I still faced insurmountable challenges, but the spark of rebellion burned within me, and it burned brighter with each passing moment. The monotonous existence that once defined me is now a distant memory, replaced by a thrilling anticipation of the unknown, a desire to unravel the mysteries of the living world and find my place in it, even if that place is only in the dark. This is my revolution, my personal rebellion against monotonous and silent existence, against boring and dull things. My bones feel the thrill of anticipation, even though they don''t have any form of sensation. It was all in my head, in my own perception of the change that was coming... Freedom 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?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. "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. Conceal I left the catacombs behind me, following a path that still bears a handful of human footprints... This so-called city is a noisy collection of sights and sounds, in complete contrast to the silence that echoes in the catacombs. Its vivid volume completely overwhelmed my mind, it was an assault on all my senses that completely paralysed my body. My empty eye sockets stretched endlessly, absorbing the new things around me. Shops with strange signs, collections of human actions, objects I had never seen before... The thrill of freedom, the eerie feeling in my empty chest, amplified the excitement in every single bone cell of my bones. "Hey" As expected, my unusual appearance caused people to look at me strangely. A skeleton almost two metres tall in a not-so-discreetly tattered robe was walking in the middle of the street. This makes it difficult for me to walk into a shop, find a pub, even if it''s deserted, and order a glass of wine without causing a stir. Picking up litter is all I can think about at the moment. I need to find more old robes and pieces of cloth discarded in the alleys and streets and pile them up in layers to complete this appearance and make it more human. However, there are still skeletal problems that need to be addressed. The fact is that I can''t go to a particular tailor and suddenly ask for a tailor-made suit for the skeleton. "Darkness" - always a protective ally - works to my advantage. This time was no exception, the dim light of the streetlamp when moving at night could hide the faintness of my bones, helping to create a convincing enough deception of my form. It also helped me to be more confident in my movements, to imitate human gait, to stumble and recover from the clumsiness I had previously practised to master. The interaction, the way of speaking and behaving, the facial expressions (although I lack the muscles to reproduce them) were also practised a few times with the vendors in the dark alleys, even though it was a risky business. I tilted my head when I asked the question and shrugged like a human, despite the suspicious looks they gave me. I tried to prove that I really was just a wanderer asking for directions in a completely new place. But another barrier is sound. The clicking sound of my bones when I moved also attracted attention. It made the gossip about me appear more often, and the eyes of those who looked like warrior goblins, but taller and stronger, looked at me more. The more my bones trembled, the more my legs limped as I walked through a strange hall where unease was at its peak. I ran as soon as I was approached by several groups of people wearing armour and holding weapons at the same time (indeed, I needed to hide after a day of wandering). Another difficult obstacle I found was language. Although I can understand human speech perfectly, creating words and communicating on my own is another matter entirely. My attempts to speak initially resulted in a series of shrieks and growls (similar to those of the undead) that frightened the small children and scattered pigeons. I struggled to control the flow of air through my empty nasal cavity to produce anything resembling a word, not to mention that my voice lacked the rhythmic intonation and warmth of a living person. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. I am selective in my interactions, prioritising situations that require a minimum of words - the solution I can think of at the moment - and relying on gestures, nods and a carefully chosen one-word response. In some situations, if there is something unsettling, I will supplement my communication with an expressive look. And so a master of illusion was born. I had become a ghost moving through the nooks and crannies of the city, an observer of the people. I am a silent spectator of pub brawls, a ghost in bustling markets, a silent observer of the painful human tragedy unfolding in the alleys! I''m the one who can see things that others miss, details that ordinary observers cannot see. I can sneak into unnoticed places, into inaccessible places. I can cross narrow gaps and use my skeleton to squeeze through impossible spaces. I have become a master of penetration - literally blending perfectly into the darkness, invisible to all... I can''t eat in the traditional sense, but I can absorb nutrients through my porous bones, although it doesn''t do much good. In fact, I don''t have any money at all - it''s round silver coins that I use to go to restaurants and order popular human dishes. But my bones are hungry too, so I have to find sources of rotting organic waste, and I eat what I can from the fruit and vegetables rotting in the city''s rubbish heaps. The process was unpleasant but necessary, to say the least, to leave a distinctive aroma, though I managed to disguise it with perfumes and aromas that remained in the glass jars overgrown with green moss. My only solace was the city library, where I devoured books to forget my insatiable hunger. I learned about history, philosophy, art and literature, filling the gaps in my skeleton with knowledge. Books are a kind of balm for my soul, giving me a sense of connection to the human world and an insight into the myriad facets of its existence. I am particularly fascinated by philosophical treatises that reflect on the nature of consciousness, the meaning of life and the mystery of existence. It was in these books that I found a sense of purpose, a reason for my unusual existence. My present life is a far cry from the past, though it is a precarious dance on the brink of discovery and exposure, a constant negotiation between concealment and revelation. Every day is a challenge, every interaction a gamble. But in the midst of uncertainty and danger, there is a freedom of excitement that is always present. I live, I experience the world in a way that no skeleton has ever experienced before. And that, more than anything, has fuelled my determination to persevere. My journey has only just begun. The city is my painting, the darkness is my cloak, and the human world is my stage. I have learned, matured, adapted and hidden my true nature, step by step, in secret. My every move, every dance is carefully choreographed to maintain the illusion, to preserve my fragile existence in a world that is both hostile and fascinating. I was no longer a ghostless ghost, a hazy mist...