I have seen many strange things in my life time, though recent events make me wonder. I wonder a great many things, whether my life and the lives of those around me were really so tragic before hand. I wonder whether humanity really is the most wretched life form on planet Earth. But above all I wonder very much about the definition of the word “Strange”. For what I have bared witness to over these last few days is something which bears repeating. Continue reading “The Mountain (Pt. 1)”
Troy wandered aimlessly as he stared at the sights around him. To the left of him, men were building while the younger ones watched. The weaker ones helped where they could, passing supplies and feeding thoughts of encouragement to the leaders of their populous. The ground on which he walked looked like the base of any other road, yet it held more significance than any dared to admit. To the right Troy saw scenes of the same persuasion, the healthy busy at work, though less numerous on this side the people seemed more at home. Among everything wrong with this path Troy saw the one thing he felt was right, strands of life thriving on the path of a now flourishing community. On this side there was more joy, more hope, but even less progress. As he walked he observed, particularly the free people and their various daily routines. They seemed so simple minded, so happy with so little, Troy couldn’t help but envy them as he noticed. Nothing they did mattered, yet for them it was enough. He hated but had to admit that it wasn’t the same for him, it never could be. The people ignored him as he passed, as did the workers, and he was glad for the ignorance. Right now he wanted nothing more than to see the end of this crazily long stretch of road, or as some might call it the stretch of life. This vestige, despite its shortcomings was the most beautiful thing Troy had ever seen. He knew better than most the significance of life and the rarity of its abundance in this day and age. He held back his teeming emotions of joy as he hobbled forward, soaking in the richness of his new-found locality as he rejected fleeting memories of days long passed. Though his journey was nearing its climax, he planned on appreciating its wonders as best as he could before finding the end. Continue reading “Built to Last”
The length of time I have been here is lost to me. Time itself, like so many other luxuries is now a mystery. Nothing has been the same since I set foot in this desolate place. On a mere whim I found myself here, wanting to see if the rumours were true. All around me growing up I would hear whispers and rumours of a mythical castle far beyond the horizon of my home village on the outskirts of Ayr. The name is one that has always stayed with me, and now it will never leave me, not even for a second as I wade through its ageing depths. They call it Lannish castle. Built long before the time of my great, great grandfathers, this abode is said to have been abandoned for most of its existence.
From the moment he entered he knew something was amiss. Real estate was a tricky business to wade through. Lance knew this going in, but everything taking place now was unprecedented. He wasn’t your typical agent, far from it, the job Lance had taken on was one far darker and much more mysterious; he was a real estate investigator. That meant, put simply, he investigated houses of the recently deceased in the hope of finding the persons next of kin. It wasn’t a job he’d taken much pleasure in but just like any job; someone had to do it. There could be worse jobs, as things stood he was relatively clean. Though the way Lance saw it, there was nothing clean about what he did, sifting through others peoples mess, examining titbits of peoples lives, frozen in time in wait for their owner who’d never return. This kind of job bred depression, but Lance always found a way of dealing with it, one way or another. Some nights it was the drink, on other nights he’d turn to the more illicit. Not that any of that mattered now, what he found himself staring at, the house he found himself within was a far bigger mystery than anything he’d uncovered before.
This is not a story of revenge, but simply one of surrender. I walk through this forest, this quiet stretch of solitude, different from the man of a few minutes previously. Aokigahara, at a time it could be called the most beautiful forest in all of Japan. At the base of Mount Fuji, I find myself in attainment of my lifelong desire for redemption. I ponder thoughtfully as I admire strands of sunlight piercing from above. Behind me lays Hachiro, binder of my chains, beside him rests Hayate, killer of prospect. Ahead sits Kaito, wielder of weaponry. Finally, before me falls Katsuro, the brain in a club of brawn. As I sheath my katana laced with crimson justice, I admire the weight of my triumph. These men deserve no sympathy, however much they wished to end me, they had their chance a few weeks previously. Instead they let me live, the gravest mistake they ever made. This forest, it may be a well known site for ubasute, but I think they forget the basic concept. You abandon people of no real use, what’s foolish is leaving people in their prime, the young and healthy. At least one of those criteria rings true for me, unfortunately for them it was the wrong one.
I ignore their cries of agony, I revel in their tears of pain, for this was their calling; their required redemption, this was the day they had coming. However agonized they may find themselves, this is as much my tale as theirs. They have met their bloody redemption at the end of my razor sharp edge, as I finally surrender to the violent visions and desires that have burned within me, ever since that day so long ago. The day they cut down my loved ones, the evening they tortured me, the night they left me for dead in this forest of death. My father would always tell me; a man of decency never seeks revenge. Vengeance is to suffer, reprisal is regression, any man who seeks it has surrendered his very soul. Perhaps there was some truth to his words, for I feel increasingly callous by the second. But I wonder each passing moment if this is due to lack of soul, or freedom from my tortuous quest. My only regret is the fact I’ll never know. In my village they have a saying similar; to seek vengeance is to instil a curse, with each person you slay, hundreds more will fall where they lay. I was never one for tall tales, but I remain prepared should ever come the day.
I have somewhat a love/hate relationship with music. On the one hand, it’s a cosy distraction from the ever intrusive woes of 21st century life. On the other it turns people with all too common interests into the fiercest of enemies. My personal taste is on somewhat of a broad spectrum which is why I’ve always had trouble finding a music community I fully connected with. Continue reading “Music as a force for good”
Kurt Warwick was always bright for his age; it seemed to make life just that much easier. The problem was brains didn’t count for much these days, even brawn wouldn’t be all that helpful, not with the way things were now. It was cold, unbearably so, the streets were lined with snow, this winter seemed never ending. There was something wrong with the city, not just in the obvious ways but in the air, things didn’t feel quite right after “he” disappeared. Kurt shook his head, now wasn’t the time to be reminisce about the past, “he” was gone and was most likely never coming back. This city had gone to hell and there was no way anything would change that now. Continue reading “Rising Hope”