I walk within this sea of mist- I breathe in the whispers from the shadows lips, I drink from the fountain in the middle of my mind and search once more for those left behind. It is not often such a task can be completed, the phantoms are easily seen- but to bring them back to reality requires a journey, one in which you must let go- I am uncertain that preparation will ever be completed. It is said that such feelings will fade, time is the great destroyer whilst only being a concept we’ve invented. Such mortal creatures create rulers for their lives in hopes their predictions will be just right, so that when the hour is at hand, theirs will be empty- and in their head a warm peace. I wish it were so easy to become that familiar with those I choose to seek. I wish I could become one, so that they could instead search for me.
My feet continue ahead of myself- my body lacking, sighing, porous. Inside of my mind I hear them whispering again, this time of the land before death had begun- one so empty that their whispers chill my heart. There is something to be achieved, that much I was certain of, there at least was something to be done, to be had, to be won. Victory does not come cheap to losers like us, victory comes at a price higher than the soul of the winners you seek to destroy. That is the unfortunate truth of the matter, or at least it is what I have witnessed. If we all play the same game, if there is only one spot to win, we all act with superior command, with sharp whit, straining not to be like those around us, striving to be just enough, striving to hear the defeated screams of our enemies, or striding towards our own defeat in self-pitied squalor. There is little for those left behind, nothing for those who give up, pure emptiness for those who have lost, and the terrible knowledge of victory for those who have won. The game was rigged from the start, we were all losers taught to destroy one another for the sake of someone else’s hopeful vision. Those visions forced upon us, which we foolishly cling to, are what will inevitably be our downfall, for they are also our own. As much as we wish to be our own people, so too do we wish foolish ideas be ours, and we make it so in the mind of our eyes so that complacency is a natural reaction to utter incompetency. This is why I seek answers from those I am familiar with, it is why I must become familiar with all I wish to learn from. It is why I stride through the rotting forests of dead minds, through that sea of mist, from those shadowy lips, and that familiar fountain.
As little as their was left behind in the hearts of those who were, I sense the weight of their deceived nature and beyond all, it is that which is the most crushing to me. The fact that their faces spell the folly of all humanity, the wasteful nature of their collective deaths invented through the necessity of our collective frailty. We leave behind so little in the mind of the comforted dead, but so much in the lives of those who continue to live, an impossibly complicated compounding of corrosive coroners can be credited with constructing such a depressingly destructive force. Something which builds upon itself twice as much as it is, and those constructed do the same until that peak is reached and that wedge is driven directly through the hearts of those who are wishing that death would come swift, for we all will invariably unless it is forced upon us. It is within the nature of the familiar to tell us the truth.
Become familiar with the strangers death to learn the truth of humans success, to learn the ups and downs of life, and to see through the eyes of wastefulness, breathe success, drink your failure.