What can you believe in when the world has left it’s shadow on your heart? Where do you turn when the very earth beneath your feet holds no ground? Ghosts of the past haunt your very existence, for nothing you ever do will change that which once was or will again be. Life is just fighting the tide and hoping that if you can’t there will be an ocean of others like you waiting at the other end.
The ocean sighs and Gerald sighs with it. The last time he was out at sea was so long ago he had forgotten the unease it set off in his stomach, the way his head seemed to move in tandem with the boat as it rocked on the unsteady waters, and the fear and respect that the vast blue ignited within him, hell, demanded from him.
There is no love in these words written down in books from ancient worlds.
There is no peace, no understanding, no compromise.
There are laws, there are rules, there are justifications for hate and destruction.
The words in these books are words of madmen and politicians.
Leaders and those who wish to be.
These words are not words of some lost entity.
They are words of man and his need to control…
Sometimes I swear I can see the fabric of the Universe around me.
The very essence of what we are just stagnating before my eyes.
It’s not pleasant.
There’s a certain romanization of the philosophical
but the place where it comes from is nothing but an abyss.
When you see it
When you let yourself explore the darkness just beyond this world you sink.
Use the following line in a poem: “The game is done.”
[What does it matter now?
The damage has taken its toll.
Everything you sold me…
Was a lie,
Outright and bold.
I know now you were playing
just a twisted little game
you cared nothing for my emotions
just a pawn to keep you entertained.
Well now the game is done,
I no longer wish to play.
I hope you grow to regret it
And change your nasty ways.]
[“Otemp vs Lyon!” Dalek’s voice fills the hall.
Denemeer has already run through the recruits, the only ones left to fight the older soldiers, Lyon the first one of the five she has to go against.
She gets to her feet and grips the hilt of her sword. She enters the crudely drawn circle and nods her head to the boy before her. He’s much bigger than her, his chest broad and his arms so big she doesn’t know how he can even move them. No matter; sword fighting isn’t about strength.
“Draw your weapons!” Dalek watches them, his face unreadable.
Denemeer lifts her sword, Lyon does the same.
“Take out your opponent!”
Lyon is faster than he looks, he’s at her before she gets the chance to even think, his massive arms brining his sword down on hers with such force she nearly gets knocked off her feet. She digs her heels into the ground, her sword is being pressed down, the wooden blade almost touching the tip of her nose.
“What’s a matter, can’t handle the pressure, princess?” he spits the last word out like an insult, his smirk driving home what he meant.
Something in Denemeer snaps. She’s tired of being a princess. She’s tired of hearing the word used to keep her from doing the things she knows she’s capable of. With one push she gets her blade high enough to maneuver underneath Lyon’s uplifted arm. He swings around but she’s already got her blade raised, already on him with a barrage of hits that drive him back, but he refuses to step out of the circle. She feels more rage than she’s ever felt before, a horrendous yell escapes her as she strikes him harder, faster, pushes him back with the sheer amount of blows, his movements too slow to counter them all, she lands a few on his arms, blood being drawn.
Lyon trips over his own feet as he tries to back away from her and falls onto his back in the dirt. Denemeer brings her sword down one more time, Lyon brings his arms up to block her attack, but she stops just short of him.
She’s breathing heavily, the silence from the others is deafening.
“What’s a matter, can’t handle the pressure?” her voice isn’t her own, there’s something about it that frightens her, a hint of other tones in it that she doesn’t recognize.]