I have lost my way before, it's true. I have retreated into the distance, pulling back from the world in pursuit of shelter from the storm. But this... this perversion of existence I am now facing... I could not have imagined it. Before I had more questions then answers, and I yearned for those answers and the clarity I thought they would bring. But now... now there are no answers at all. Worse, I fear the answers so intensely that I no longer seek them.
After so long of feeling lost, without purpose, without shelter... I feel like I have to redefine those words to incorporate this new reality. It's been days here in this void, stumbling through the darkness. I know not what this place is or why I'm here. I have no map, nor compass or path to guide me. Even the stars are denied to me. The fog that surrounds me does not discriminate between earth and sky.
The air is cold and colder still... by now the chill echoes in my bones, as if the very air is trying to assault me. With each shiver I can feel the bones vibrate. It's a cold that penetrates so deep it seems impossible to ever expel. With each additional day I can feel it sapping the life out of me.
And oh the darkness! Nothing but darkness for days on end... I begin to wonder if my eyes have lost the ability to discern the colors and shades. How can I remember the light when all I see is darkness? Memory is a fickle beast, and the longer I stay here the faster it fades, as if forgetfulness is an infection spreading and amassing in my soul. Personality is but a mere concept - and a laughable one at that - when the memories and emotions are stripped away.
I have become a mere essence, drained of humanity, devoid of emotion... as colorless as the world around me. I struggle to understand what is happening, how this world has changed me to be just as empty and transparent as it. More then that, I struggle to understand why. I never wanted this, though I must admit in some sense I knew it was coming. I knew that I was going the wrong direction. But, as before, answers are not to be found, and my desperate search only yields more questions, more doubts, more fears. Yet I continue my inquisition, even as it offers nothing in return. I have to know. I must know. Despite my fears. Even if I don't like the answers. Even if...
In my struggle, I keep coming back to the same question: to recall how I got here. For surely, if I know my origin then I can decipher my destination? One minute I was running, running… and then my mind slipped away, like a leaf in an autumn breeze. Everything I had done to try to correct my direction had blown up in my face, but still somehow I had thought that I would find a way. And I kept telling myself that, with each passing day, with each passing failure, with each passing warning sign I told myself that somehow, some way, things would get better. But really, I was just echoing the voices around me, the voices of people who also didn't understand where this path was going... or worse, they knew where it was going, but refused to acknowledge that fact. Because every story has to have a happy ending, the hero has to prevail. But I see now that this denial only accelerated the journey. I needed someone to hit the emergency brakes at a time when no one was willing to acknowledge that the train was about to derail.
So now I am here. One of things few things I know for sure is that the most immediate reason for my predicament is denial. My denial, that the shadows were an asylum, that the darkness could be contained somehow... that somehow, someway, things were going to get better even when nothing was going right. My insistence grew out of that common need that we all embrace: the need to believe that things will get better.
But regardless, now I here I stand. Those others, the things they did or didn't do, the denial, the bandaid solutions, the abandonment, the demonization, the slipping away into the shadows... I have to find a way out of here and there's only one person who can help me now... and that is myself. And the truth is... the hard truth, is that in this fight I am better off alone. Because as little as I understand about what is happening, the others understand much less.
Yet I cannot say that I have any idea of how to even begin. There is a strangeness about this place that cannot but make one uneasy. The wind is never still, but merely varies in its violence. In its calmer extremes it is easy to hear the whisperings of numerous voices, but the words are nonsensical and disjointed. At times the tone reeks of conspiracy, violence or even rage, but at others it veers into persecution and flights of panic. It is like nothing I have ever known before. It is my one constant companion, one that I would gladly be rid of.
The sky is constantly weeping, and at first one might think it snow. But in catching a flake or two no moisture cools your palm. The flakes are dry, and disintegrate readily into a chalky substance that could only be ashes... cold dead ashes that carry the faint scent of recent combustion. And the ground is completely covered in them, as if death itself surrounds you.
Distant flashes of light echo all around me, and through the haze I can make out what I could only call echoes... visions that are deeply familiar, some that I recognize and some that I do not... and many I would rather not ever be reminded of. This place... I fear I have already been here too long. For I am learning the subtle ways of the Night. It has the ability to mislead. To trick and deceive, and thus you must always be on guard... watching the night.
Eventually, after an eternity of plodding (though earnestly the timing I know not, but only the impression), a flash of lightning erupted, and in that moment, in the distance, one thing finally became clear: a hilltop, upon which sat what appeared to be ruins. Nothing else could be seen but desolation, and the light was gone just as quickly as it had come.
My course of action suddenly obvious, and my weariness of this place by now acute, a sudden vigor embraced me and within a small flame erupted, defiant against the cold deadness of my surroundings.
I set forth, jogging at first and then breaking into a run. Somehow the darkness seemed to realize my aim, and around me the native forces whipped up into a crescendo of a witheringly cold and brutal wind and loud screams and exclamations. Faster and faster I ran, but these dark forces magnified further... the air so thick with ashes and so cold, that my lungs cried out... the ground so loose and uneven that I barely kept my feet...
I fought collapse with every step, but the reaction of the world only pushed me to press on harder and harder. It was defiance for the sake of defiance, a kind of senseless purpose that, though inane, was the only motivation I could generate in this place.
And then, just like the lightning, it was over as quickly as it began. I collapsed upon the precipice, as the wind died away and the air began to clear. A light spread slowly, and with it a warmth, but from what source and what power I was not aware.
I was suddenly delirious, the exertion and the journey seeming to hit me all at once. I gasped for air as darkness filled my vision. Just when I thought I was going to black out, my strength rallied.
A voice was speaking, and it was not of the wind. It was calm, sure, slow, and deliberate... everything I was not at the moment. I raised my eyes to see someone standing before me, and though her words washed over me, at first I could not make sense of them, as if she was speaking a foreign language.
She was slightly pale. For the life of me I could not deduce her age. She could have been under 30 or over 50 for all I could tell. Her pale skin bore multiple scars, but the scars only seemed to add rather then detract from her appearance as only well earned scars can. She was almost beautiful, in a worn and faded way. She had a constant but serene gaze that seemed to know me well somehow, though I was certain I did not know her. She did not smile nor did she frown. She did not seem threatening nor welcoming. Her shoulder length hair was pulled back in a ratty pony tail. Her clothes were little more then rags, grey and ill fitting, with a frayed skirt and top.
But the thing that struck me, that captivated me, that I could not ignore, was her eyes. For days I had trudged through the darkness, with nothing but shades of grey to greet me. Not a single shade that was not gray, and that remained true... except for her eyes. They were a pale blue, but as weak as the color was, against the greyness it seemed shattering and powerful. She looked down upon me as if she had been expecting me for an eternity, and I knew not who she was or what answers she might bring.
Yet I couldn't help but sense that I had reached my destination.
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