-1Author's Note: Wow. How long has it been? A year? Please forgive the absence! Lots of Life has happened to me since then and now. Two more semesters of college and only now I'm writing this next chapter- and not even a whole one at that! You must forgive the "to be continued-ness" of this… It has been a year after all and I must get back into the minds of these characters. There's nothing worse than to write something that should be serious out of character. Hope you enjoy the little bit I've posted. The second bit will be up soon… and as always, the only thing that belongs to me are the words in this particular order.
The Folly of Fate
It is man's utmost folly to believe that he is Fate's employer. That She is a creature who deals in equality. One that fairly compensates for the handicaps She creates. Man will try to outwit Fate and meticulously plan. He will bless her name when things go right- believing he has been awarded for his genius. Yet, there is always that moment- that one faulty second- when one's life becomes a battlefield and Fate a cruel and fickle general. Then man curses her- curses, even, the day he was born. She, however, can not comfort him. Is it her fault for doing her job? Is she to be blamed for overseeing events written at the dawn of Time? No. It is not in her nature to do so.
But then, that is why Destiny exists. The older sister of Fate, the writer of the stories, the tales. Her own personal opinion is that man's greater folly is his unwillingness to see the whole picture- yes, greater than trying to fool her sister, if you can believe it. Authors and Journalists write only of a man's fate- a third party observation of tangible objects and comprehensible thoughts. They do not realize that a story does not end with only oppression. That there is no death without hope hidden in the seams. It is a secret Destiny wove in- a loophole for those people willing or desperate, enlightened or crazy enough to find it.
The tragedy is a strange creature, you see. It calls to some people's souls the same way many hearts prefer the tinkling and shining happy endings. What the typical human doesn't realize is how many facets comprise the epilogue of a story. Emotions are not limited to what you read- to one party's personal revelation of another's situation. An ending of love and devotion can easily be a mask for greed and deception. On the other hand, a tragedy is not necessarily always tragic. We all know that every precious gem starts out as something less than desirable. That the beauty only shines in the eyes of those willing to delve below the surface. For, as with all things in this life, it all depends on the way one looks at things.
It was over. Abandoned once again. By his own folly? Perhaps. By his own horrible fate? Of Course. By his heart? His Damnable heart which he tried to forget about with every waking moment? Even more so.
His life lay in tatters around him. He tried to erase all memory of the days gone by. Of the few times he had been truly happy. Were those days real? Or were they just delusions he continued to nurture? He couldn't say any longer and- to let the truth be known- it was quite likely he no longer cared. All that surrounded him now was Death. Not the kind of Death that he himself personified. Not the kind he had always imagined- fashioned, even- himself to be.
The Death of Mind.
The Death of Power.
The Death of Hope.
The Death of Light.
The Death of the Music.
Yes. It was all over now. He knew he could hold it off no longer. Life had deserted him in a flurry of curls and lace.
He was tried.
He was sentenced.
He was condemned.
He didn't wish to give up quite yet. She had promised him, after all.
He raised his eyes from the ivory keys he had stared at for a good portion of the day. The week? The month? He no longer knew… the clocks had stopped long ago.
It was definitely a matter of delicacy. A matter of should or should not. A matter of doing things in the most discreet way possible.
He scanned the room in thought- Unfocused and Uninterested in the treasures he had collected throughout the years.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, a shimmer of gold commanded his attention. He stood up- frailly- and stumbled over to the table. He would have lunged if his legs had allowed him. It was buried under unfinished scores and blank sheet music. Under notes scrawled in an illegible handwriting. But it was there. Something forgotten. Something that he had meant to be forgotten.
Cradling the object in the palm of his hand, he felt unshed tears burn his inhuman eyes, and released peals of haunting laughter. Laughter bound to forever echo the caverns of the labyrinth.
Part Two Soon… )