Erratic Scribbles

Empty Salvation

Perhaps, maybe his salvation lay in the chaos of many things and possibilities, instead of just one. Every day he woke to search the answers that might rest his soul, with a weight on his back that had no form and was invisible to all but him. Or so he liked to think.

Life was never the same after that one day when he decided to kill the monster he deemed was holding him back. As the growls grew silent, his apathy showed through his pale face. His restless eyes became dim with darkness and a blank stare looked right through what was in-front of him. The least of what was killed that night was the monster, and in the bloodbath, another monster grew in it’s place.

One for the other, he imagined. It was better than nothing cause at least the new one he could train, perhaps even subdue. Even he knew he was lying, even though he wanted to believe it he knew. Life was cruel to give him a voice that told him right from wrong at an early age. But he would rarely comprehend why something was like it was, why something was right even if fit may appear wrong, or why, even in the chaos of all things, it all fit.

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He knew life was temporary. Once, he welcomed that thought hesitantly, keeping it out the door and asking to knock before it’s time. Today, that was no longer the case.

Perhaps, maybe, his thoughts would etch themselves on stone and amber, to deliver what he wanted to say. Perhaps he would be understood thousands of years later or in a time when it’s irrelevant, but he wanted to try. Of all things he was scared of, it was his brief time in the world that let him know that he was alone. His ability to see how big everything was and the ambition to drive things even further, it lead him to a life where he thought he could do more but achieves little. In the pursuit of understanding the world, he forgot to build himself up in a way where he would be understood.

Maybe none of it mattered. Maybe it’s all just ramblings on paper. Paper that don’t even exist.

There was however, always a chance for things to be miraculous. And that he knew, so he strewn the world with his ramblings in places where one day, with a thousand generations gone, perhaps he would know whether he was right to chase after his life, after what he thought was his soul.

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Erratic Scribbles

Determination.

He was a fundamentally broken person. Nothing seemed to faze him. Not the darkness the world had or the passing beauty it seemed to posses.

He seemed like a tree, still and flowing with the wind. But yet, unlike a tree, he seemed to not embrace what was around him. He didn’t even reject it. He just stood still, right there, within all the chaos that surrounded him, unfazed and undeterred, continuing his existence like a symbol of an empty canvas.

As his shell stood there, his soul un-captivated, drifted asunder around him with the wind. With songs, wild emotions, darkness and light, it mixed in the air around him, creating an aura of awe that never really quite fell on the perspective of those around him. A silent scream lit up the world that he lived in, the void around him engulf with black fire, killing everything his vision laid eyes upon. Yet, in the real world, no one noticed him.

He stopped leaning towards the wall and lifted himself up. “Proper posture” he said as he put the cigarette within his lips, a habit more than an addiction. Unconcerned with the consequences of what lay ahead, he moved on, a mountain dragging behind him. Amidst the crowd he walked, with flames rife around him, burning, eating whatever the world had to offer. Chains clanked as he put on his headphones, oblivious to him, he dragged his feet with the mountain that followed him. “Dig down”, he repeated to himself, as the music started and the lyrics were spoken.

 

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His goal, seemed alien. Not the will to survive, not greed, not ambition, not greatness. He sought change. The void in his eyes seemed to give him life, the same life it seemed to take away. The eerie semblance to the darkness he had inside of him gave way to a vision of the future. Not that of prediction, but that of the ability to change what he saw.

And so he dragged on forward, amidst the crowd, willingly within the chaos of the world, unmoved, unfaltered, and uninterested.