Bahamut ZERO
01-21-2004, 07:42 PM
And wrote this... It's the beginnings of an idea I've got, and I was wondering what people thought... Yeah, anyways, have a read...
�What is the point of living? What is the point of me continuing to breathe? Why do I continue to exist? These questions have plagued me for the long years that I have walked alone. For countless miles, and endless centuries, I have walked across the length and breadth of this land, and all I see is death, decay and ruin.
The world had once been beautiful, covered with wonders that would�ve made even the greatest treasures that mankind once believed in seem pale. Rich in life, sensations that made every single sense tingle. Now it was all gone. Lost in memory. Forever banished from the knowledge of the Universe, which still now weeps for the loss.
Yet I still live. I see even though there is nothing worth looking at, I still hear, but only the howls of the wind as it whips about me, I still smell, but only the bitter sulphur in the air, and I can still taste, but only a dank bitterness that nothing can ever take away. How I have lived and breathed so long, I wish I knew. Is this my penance for my crimes? Am I paying for my actions?
My feet tire of this endless walking � trying to find a destination that does not exist. My whole body is covered in scars from falls, from scrapes, from brushes with death, and yet it heals each time. Rheumatic joints and stinging sores remind me of my mortality despite my long years. Death will find me when the time is right.
Being alone� Alone in this empty world, alone in this dreary place. I wish for the warmth of someone to hug up to, I wish for the sound of another�s laughter, I wish for the taste of cold, sweet beer, and I wish to see something other than myself walk these lands. Deep down in my heart, I know that my wishes will not come true.
All I can do is walk. Find my destination. Wherever it may be. My life will not end until I find whatever it is I am meant to be seeking. I will walk through the grey landscapes of ash and dust, I will feel the searing heat of the atmosphere beat against my body, and I will bear the burden of loneliness until I can no longer walk, and then I will crawl onward until I find what it is I should find.
Or until it finds me��
Was thinking of a journal entry to begin a story... Well, maybe just me waffling... I'll see what I can work it to.
�What is the point of living? What is the point of me continuing to breathe? Why do I continue to exist? These questions have plagued me for the long years that I have walked alone. For countless miles, and endless centuries, I have walked across the length and breadth of this land, and all I see is death, decay and ruin.
The world had once been beautiful, covered with wonders that would�ve made even the greatest treasures that mankind once believed in seem pale. Rich in life, sensations that made every single sense tingle. Now it was all gone. Lost in memory. Forever banished from the knowledge of the Universe, which still now weeps for the loss.
Yet I still live. I see even though there is nothing worth looking at, I still hear, but only the howls of the wind as it whips about me, I still smell, but only the bitter sulphur in the air, and I can still taste, but only a dank bitterness that nothing can ever take away. How I have lived and breathed so long, I wish I knew. Is this my penance for my crimes? Am I paying for my actions?
My feet tire of this endless walking � trying to find a destination that does not exist. My whole body is covered in scars from falls, from scrapes, from brushes with death, and yet it heals each time. Rheumatic joints and stinging sores remind me of my mortality despite my long years. Death will find me when the time is right.
Being alone� Alone in this empty world, alone in this dreary place. I wish for the warmth of someone to hug up to, I wish for the sound of another�s laughter, I wish for the taste of cold, sweet beer, and I wish to see something other than myself walk these lands. Deep down in my heart, I know that my wishes will not come true.
All I can do is walk. Find my destination. Wherever it may be. My life will not end until I find whatever it is I am meant to be seeking. I will walk through the grey landscapes of ash and dust, I will feel the searing heat of the atmosphere beat against my body, and I will bear the burden of loneliness until I can no longer walk, and then I will crawl onward until I find what it is I should find.
Or until it finds me��
Was thinking of a journal entry to begin a story... Well, maybe just me waffling... I'll see what I can work it to.