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In time, the sun will light the world in golden red for the last time. The snow will fall and then refuse to melt, yet still I will wander. Nothing is as it should. Not anymore.
I remember a time when I was a great leader. A king of my people. I felt there was nothing I could not do. I was invincible. Immortal.
There is a saying that I heard as a child. Power Corrupts, and Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely. How true this wisdom is. How foolish was I to not see it?
The following is my story.
I was born a prince of my realm. Even as a child, I knew I was born to lead. I don't know what I would have done had it not been for my younger brother, who looked up to me as though I were a God. He would have done anything for me, and there was very little I would not make him do. In fact, I reveled in seeing how far I could push him.
That was when we were younger. I grew up. I pushed him asside like so-much discarded trash, not seeing what a treasure he was.
My father died when I was just old enough to take the responsibility, though I had believed myself capable of doing so for some time. I was crowned weeks after the burial, in which he was set to sea in a boat, and never seen by the living again.
I had dreams of building the kingdom up from what I saw as a ruin. I wanted to make us powerful again. It was because of this determination that, when it came time for Sauron to grant to us the 9 rings of power, that he chose me to wield one.
There was nothing more beautiful than the ring that I now held in my hand. It was of the brightest gold I had ever seen, the smoothest surface imaginable, except for where a single ruby stone had been set, glimmering like blood in the sunlight. And it was mine.
Perhaps I thought it was so lovely simply because I knew that, within this simple item was the power to rule my people with the strength and will my father had lacked. We could be even greater than we already were.
The only thing in my way were the other eight.
I didn't get far, however, before Sauron returned again- with his own ring of power. I had seen it only once, but I knew that I needed it. With it, nothing would be able to stop me from taking over all of Middle Earth. Perhaps even all of the world.
The others had noticed too, and that meant competition- but who could stand against me? To begin, I joined with Sauron, offering him my great armies of men to do with as he pleased. It is easy to say that, looking back, I believe the Ring had already taken me.
But in my greed I did not see it. Oh, what a curse it is to be human! We fought along side orcs and goblins and other great creatures of darkness. The other eight had also added their strength to Sauron's forces, but they wanted nothing more than what I did- the One Ring, as it had come to be known.
Yet it was not to be so easy. There was resistance. The lower kingdoms of men, those that had not been gifted with rings (namely, that of Gondor), allied themselves with the elves, and together, they marched into war.
A war they could not possibly win.
I underestimated them. Things were going badly, for us, anyway. Which is why I was most happy to see Sauron appear on the field. The enemy quailed before him- it was glorious! I was even privileged enough to witness the death of Gondor's king. Ahh, the pleasure I received from that cannot be challenged.
Then his blasted son had to show up, and commit the one act I had so wanted to do myself- he picked up the shattered remains of his father's sword and tore the ring from it's maker's hand. Dammit!
He took the ring, and shortly there after, it was lost to me. To us. I have been hunting for it ever since, caught between the living and the dead. I do not breath. I do not eat, or drink. I do not sleep.
Sleep is the hardest thing to live without. It would be so easy to just lay down and rest, but such an action is beyond me. I no longer even have eyes to close. I am a wraith. A nazgul. I am the eternity of darkness, the depth of shadow and the purity of fear. Forever.
Well, that was certainly an interesting couple of entries! I'm suprising myself with the sort of things I've started to come up with for this exercise. I guess that's the point, isn't it? Genius idea, really, and so simple!
I realize I've taken to using a similar theme in my entries, making them all run together as the same piece of literature. It seems to be the only way I can write anything resembling a 'short' story. So, basically, I'm developing flash-fiction skills. I'm quite proud of myself for this, yes, quite proud… I know; small things amuse small minds.
I am alone in my quest, my mission, my destiny. My only companions are but ghosts of memories drifting through my mind. Half-remembered advice, words I was foolish to ignore. I speak to them occasionally, but my mind is so full of dreams that I care little they don't respond.
In the darker parts of my heart, I realize that this quest has taken my soul. It has consumed me, destroyed me. I am far from knowing who it was I was before I found the diary, the portal into the past, the window to the location where
Bookshops are the most amazing things, especially this one. I'd entered on a bit of a whim. I was already late, but something about the dusty, cracked window had called out to me. Inside, near the back of the room, I picked up a random book, faded as its cover was. Inside was row upon row of neat, hand-written lines.
And now I am here.
The Grail is waiting at the end of this road. I can almost feel it in my hands, it's elegantly carved and curving rim cupped within my trembling fingers. Oh! To hold it at last!
I have entered a tunnel. It took me ages to find it, yet here I am. At last, my work has paid off. There is a funny smell to the air. I can hear a distant voice warning me to turn around, the voice of Victor, someone I have long since learned to ignore.
There! I can see it now, resting upon a stone pedestal in the center of a small cavern. There are other treasures, but none matter. I am reminded of Aladdin, as he entered the Cave-of-Wonders and laid his eyes on the magical lamp of the Genie.
There are a few skeletons laying sprawled across the floor, all caught in an everlasting crawl towards the Grail, that holy item that legend speaks of with such awe. I will not be one of them. I will lay my hands upon the golden goblet.
A faint pain shoots through my legs, splintering my kneecaps. Even this is ignored, and I continue on hands-and-knees towards the center of the cave.
I am coughing now, struggling to take in enough breath to continue my forward momentum. I feel my hand clasp around the cup, but it is too late. Too late…
The grass was dry beneath her feet, yet still her footsteps made no sound as she crossed the field. No sounds had been heard here for many, many years, not even the wind dared to sing here anymore. The years were thick with deathly silence.
Will come to death
In the distance, the shattered remains of what was once an impenetrable sanctuary littered the earth, nestled up against the mountainside. Plants had slowly begun to work their way into the stones, forcing them to break into even smaller places, which would then be caught in the tangled jungle of vines.
An image of the splendor of kings, undimmed before the breaking of the world.
Slowly, the woman made her way through the battlefield. The air held a lingering scent of carnage, of the blood that was spilt there so long ago. The hem of her pure-black dress brushed the ground, blending into the dirt and ash as if it were only another part of the earth. Her steps were slow, but they did not hesitate. She moved with the grace of one whom had all the moments of the past and future and very little that needed to be done.
But I will linger, bound to my grief beneath the fading trees,
For a while, she simply wandered, occasionally brushing her pale fingers along the surface of a crumbling stone, across the length of a discarded weapon. But her strides held the determined air of someone who was making their silent way to a long-remembered destination.
At last, she seemed to reach her goal, for she stopped. At her feet lay a row of four small mounds. Still as though she had all the time in the world, her gaze flickered over the four small mounds, 'I've missed you all…'
'I've waited this long. Perhaps I simply wasn't ready to give up on you, somehow hoping that you would somehow return. But you never did, and I have finally lost the will to live without you. If I cannot die of a metaphorical broken-heart, then I will have to physically create one.'
'Take comfort in the fact that I have finally found a path that will take me away from here.'
Slowly, but still without hesitation, she pulled from her many robes a needle-like dagger and forced in into her lonely heart.
There is nothing for me here, only death.
As the life faded form her eyes, her blood marbling the dirt and ash with red, she crawled slowly to the mountainside behind the four mounds and leaned into a small crevice that seemed to have been made just for her. And there, among all those she had truly loved in life, the last of the elves faded from Middle Earth.
The last of those who still remembered the battle that had long ago taken place in that field left the world. No more would her footsteps stir the grass, no more would her voice stir the air. No more…
Well, that was certainly interesting. I've gotten into the habbit of writing flash-fiction in which the POV character ends up dead. I should look into this, it must be a sign of something seriously wrong with my sanity (not that there really is any sanity to begin with…) The point is, these are not the works of a perfectly healthy mind!
I guess I should just be glad that I'm not actually out there living the final moments of any of these characters. There are times when it is better to live through writing. This is one of those times.
Oh, please do not bother to ask me where this comes from, as I honestly have no clue. I really am starting to hope that this isn't a reflection of some inner longing or something, as that would seriously scare me. Maybe I just like the sadness that stirs in me as I read it, and the shivers I get as I wrote it. Is it wrong that I haven't cried about any of this? It all seems so depressing. I should get help.
Hey, I've started to instinctively know when I've reached the limit! That's pretty cool, most interesting.
I cried today. The tears came like acid, burning at my eyes until I believed that, should they ever stop, I would no longer have the ability to see. It's been so long since I just sat down and let out my frustration, hurt and anger that, now I finally have, I can't remember what it was that pushed me over the edge.
I think it had something to do with the lawn-mower not wanting to start. I guess that's a testimony as to how much I needed this release. Now all I've to do is decide if it helped.
Lost within the river's flow,
Caught beneath its gentle waves.
It's here that dreams are born,
It's here that nightmares die.
Where angels come to cry,
Where demons shed their tears,
And wingless birds can fly.
Restless sleep, mournful calls,
Whistling softly across the land.
It's here where all our hopes are found
It's here where I will come to die
Where the Angels come to cry.
Where demons shed their tears,
And wingless birds can fly.
It's here where I will come to die.
It's here where I will come to cry.
It's here where I will forever lie.
My fingers are numb with cold. Outside, it's either pouring or shining with a clear blue sky. It's been switching between the two all day. It's hard to type, but an odd sense of duty I've developed for this daily ritual is forcing me to bear the cold and keep it up. Maybe I should turn on the heater, but I don't thing that would do me much good. After this, I'll go make myself some hot-chocolate and watch 'the Dead Poets Society' for the 107,484,028 time. Then, if it's not too late I'll drool over Lord of the Rings.
Live. Continue. Exist. Endure. Persist. Prevail. Survive. Abide. Dwell. Lodge. Reside. Stay. Be. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhabit. Occupy. Fare. Manage. Subsist. Alive. Aware. Conscious. Incarnate. Proceed. Carry on. Linger. Last. Remain. Outlast. Outlive. Cope. Occupy. Tolerate. Accept. Actualize. Embody. Manifest. Represent. Characterize. Illustrate. Personify. Symbolize. Tarry. Preserve. Active. Energetic. Vigorous. Vital. Charge. Electrified. Populate. Keep. Alert. Aware. Intent.
The weather still hasn't improoved. It's cold, like the shorter days of winter. The leaves have finally started to fall from the trees, in all their red and yellow glory, though we've already had our first snowfall of the year. Global Warming my ass.
I can look down at my hands and see the network of veins that lays just below my skin. I've not been able to do that since last winter, so it must be colder than I realize. It won't be long now before the ground becomes covered in that fluffy blanket I love so much- until I have to shovel the walk, that is.
Well, life's gone off to the bar again, drinking its way into nothingness, leaving me here to ponder it's meaning. I don't drink, the smell's sickening, but that doesn't stop it from dumping me in the darkness with books such as 'Sophie's World' and 'The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. Well, what do I care? I'd rather not have a life to live than be the drunken conquerors that filter out to taxis and carpools. At least I can think straight at the end of the day, and go to sleep knowing that I won't wake up with a hangover.
It's a long cobbled road to get there, but after a few hours Noitcerroc will loom up into your line of sight. Of course, you won't see the main building right away, for that is farther into the grounds, but you will see a small shack which marks the gate, as well as the endless stone wall that surrounds the complex.
After being stopped and searched for weapons and other harmful items, Gamling and Hama will allow you to enter. For about ten minutes you will travel through empty fields littered with stones and the occasional frail and drooping tree.
If you're lucky, you may even see one of the many horses that are kept on the grounds for recreational reasons, but they tend to avoid the road. Then you will go up and over a small grassy hill and get your first sight of the main buildings.
Not that their all that spectacular, but it is at this point where the truth hits most travellers.This is it, there is no escape. Few that end up at Noitcerrac ever get straightened out enough to leave.
The complex itself is fairly well cared for; its stone walls kept smooth and clean.
The many flower beds that now cover the plains tended to constantly. It looks as though the admistration goes to a great deal of trouble to keep things tidy. They do.
Even the inside (should you manage to ignore the state of most dorms, which are the responsibility of the resindents) is clean; the kitchens sparkle and smell of lemon & herb, the floors clear of all forms of dirt and grime, the classrooms kept airy and bright.
However, the insanely clean halls still cannot disguise the fact that it's a hellhole, and every single street kid there knows it.
Is there any way to know where, exactly, one's mind has wandered off to as one sits at a desk, textbook laid out before them, attempting to absorb even a singe sentence of information from it's many pages? I hate studying, can you tell? It's not even the studying that bothers me, it's that I already seem to know all of the things I'm reading, and that makes for a dull hour or so. Usually I don't make it past 2min, but I've only ever failed spelling tests so I'm thinking I should give up on the studying thing altogether.
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