Alike you, I wish to meet him. The more times I hear his name the more my impatience grows on my mind. He is too known throughout this region for me to give up finding him. Don’t you find him frightful? Yet of course, fascinating. I do. Imagine looking into Kurtz eyes. I’d freeze, not of fear or confusion, but of interest. My journey has become clear to my eyes. It has opened my heart up, how could he become a savage.
‘A savage hero’. Hear it. Wow. That is not a hero that is in fact, a miracle.
I started to feel sick from nerves. I couldn’t swallow properly; it was like there was a heavy, dim bubble stuck in my throat. It did not bring an end to my destiny of finally meeting him. It made my heart pump of pain, like a shot of eternal darkness overwhelmed me. The third station that is where my train of thought changed.
The fowl, gruesome heads carelessly shoved on poles, smiling. Their strange contentment to be killed. As if they had respect for his decisions. No civilisation. No Mercy. Is Kurtz my hero? The disappointment still struggled to prevent my eagerness from meeting the extraordinary. He is not owned by the Natives; he simply, somehow became one. Why? How? I could never kill for such a selfish need.
He did everything right, by doing everything wrong. Who would have every thought a man like Kurtz could fulfil a sense of wrongness? He did not simply ‘adapt’, he made himself a Native. I was in time. In time to know him, meet him. His heart is too dark to pump the pale blood around his body, now. Sleep.
By the time I was able to fulfill my destiny. He is already ironically weak. The jungle fever has made him loose his strength in mind and body. That’s why I chose to seize him back down the river of my steam boat. I wanted to speak with him alone. I needed to. I deserved it. He looked great fully disturbed and confused.
It wasn’t jealousy. It gave me goose bumps talking to him. The tired looking eyes, he struggled to look back at me. He didn’t need to. I already saw straight through him. Kurtz’s light pink eyes with sly red veins, too small to make a difference. They were half shut, filled with guilt. Of course, No one noticed other than I. The sligh eyes of his, watering with powerful, yet discreet fright. He’s like me. No words, no stare, we are one. The flickering light of the candle was close to ending the pale dripping wax. His strict face looked at me with intensity as if he had no mercy, nor pain. He struggled to hide his weakness.
I sat alone with him. His heavy breathing filled the room with warm, comforting air. The last words didn’t surprise me. All that he has been through and yet, he’s still here. He was finally able to look up, right into my eyes. His dry, dark lips slightly opened. I will never forget what he had said, nothing to hope for. Nothing to live for… ‘The horror, the horror’, that’s what it was. His selfishishness was not wanted, but it was needed.
I’m going now. Leaving everything behind. My destined inspiration has fallen to harsh shatters like a broken glass. That moment of dark, sickly surprise when someone so closes but so far away dies. Painter, musician, writer and a promising politician, he’s more than a hero. He is a supernatural being. I adapted to him. I will take his life and live on; I will take what I have learnt and live my life. I won’t forget him.
His intended, so beautiful. She reflected Kurtz’s soul. My first step in her house, I could hear the faint crackling and smell the fire burning away the black coal. As the door swung shut after me, I let through a vicious cold breeze. I was so apprehensive to tell her. I couldn’t find my inner strength to tell the truth. She looked so doubt full, so upset although she refused to look disappointed. I took her hand; she looked up from the floor. I heard a tear splatter softly on the dull floor boards. I responded to her question, I said… his last words were… Your name, darling. Half her lips lifted. Yet her eyes restrained from looking pleased, still half full of tears. Too blood shot. I couldn’t look at her, I struggled. Don’t know why. I left. Left her, I wished her luck and just… went.
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Heart Of Darkness Creative Writing. (2017, Aug 25). Retrieved from https://studymoose.com/heart-of-darkness-creative-writing-essay