This story is mildly related to “Left Behind” and “Beyond Limbo”, serving as a possible story in my personal lore. Please read those too if you have the time.

Specks of dust hugged the varnished wood of a shelf, basking themselves in the warmth of the sunrise. A gentle breeze disturbed them, and in their collective array, the dust rose into the air. As they were, they settled back upon the shelf, awaiting the next wind to carry them elsewhere. In this dance, a lone cluster of dust, disturbed, tumbled off the shelf in search of peace.

Upon the film of residue climbed a red form. It was dressed in red and golden armor, with exposed glowing bones and fearsome shapes emanating fire across its attire. Magnificence echoed the dust below it once it stood up, as if the specks had violated its royal ground. The figure shined in the bright sun upon the shelf, illuminating in royal beauty, only its eyes being dark. Its eyes were once a bright blue, but shined no longer. Morose feelings clouded its mind and dulled its eyes.

After several moments, the figure stepped forward near the ledge of the shelf. The dust beneath its feet stirred no longer, and the sunlight did not reach the edge where it stood.

When the red figure was younger, it stood on this exact ledge. Each day, a god-being had picked it off the shelf and gave it life. Exciting adventures and clashes with villainy filled its everyday life. At the end of the day, it was returned to the shelf, waiting patiently for the sun to rise again. The prospect of returning to the fray was one that was always awaited by the red figure, who loved its god-being as much as the god-being breathed life into it.

A single day began no different than the other. The red figure stood diligently in its spot on the shelf for its god-being as the sun rose. Light streamed through the blinds behind the shelf, signaling the new day.

The light kept on shining.

And shining.

And shining.

The light waned.

And it was dark time.

No more light.

This puzzled the red figure greatly. Where was the god-being? It had stood in the same exact spot always, no disparities ever occurring. It was quiet in the night, and loneliness breached the air in accordance with the dark. Nonetheless, it soldiered on waiting.

Its god-being did not return on the next day, nor the weeks after, and the figure comforted itself in an embrace of dust. Many lights shined and waned, the shelf covered itself in residue, the air grew musty, but the figure’s resolve stayed the same. Sometimes, the red figure climbed down the shelf and wandered about in search of the life it was given. No god-being remained to hold it in their warmth to spark life, and the only thing that remained was the unconditional morning glow that hugged it gently.

In this isolation, the red figure grew warm to the sunlight, keeping its resolve high as it continued waiting. However, even the infinite orange care of the sun had lessened, and days became colder with blue.

The figure finally felt eternal ■■■■■■■■■ to the chill of the day, as the world beyond the blinds locked itself in white. As winter set in, so did the realization that no-one would come back for the red figure. It was exiled to nowhere, and left in unknown. There, it craved an answer, closure, an end to its patience.

Its foot teetered on the ledge of the shelf. The sunny days had returned, but not the blissful hope the figure once had. The other foot dragged itself in companionship to the other. The red figure’s head stooped downwards, and its eyes looked over the ledge.

The wind came back, and urged the dust to unsettle. They dutifully performed their dance again, and rested back on the shelf. Satisfied, the breeze drew further. Over the peak, the blue eyes spotted the dust cluster.

The mass beneath was once alone, but finally found peace.