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Fantasy Fiction

I am just a guy. Life is short. It’s long but it really does go by kind of fast when you have so much to do. But then you miss it. 

I got so obsessed with trying to get a piece of everything and be apart of everything and connected to everyone but somehow I still missed so much. I’m not complaining per say. I have few regrets with my journey so far.

They say you shouldn’t have any regrets in life. I just don’t think that is realistic.

Most of them are forgetting manners, declining an invitation because we were too shy or not holding people longer when we embraced. And maybe I will do all of that one day. But maybe I won’t! I can change my mind. We do have to get going. We are already almost done here. Death peers at us greedily. It feels better that way than the truth of its cold indifference. 

It takes all of us. It didn’t take me though. I’m still here and many would be proud to say that. I am truly! It’s strange though. I’m not gloating but I’m relieved it wasn’t me. I know it is required that some of us remain behind to keep the tradition. Someone has to feed the ground. Not today. I just want to be happy. I don’t want to be worried about nothing but what’s in front of me. 

I missed so much. Chasing everything just to miss anything worth being around for. What was the point? The trains still mandate strong backs and engineers mandate the trains flatten stronger chins.

I suppose all I really need is to have faith that I’ve laid a path for myself and have faith that I know my way. I’ve already seen plenty and learned plenty so I don’t need to do as much predictin. I have charted what I can and wI’ll press on with high spirits regardless. I have no other choice, the Despair will trap us otherwise.

The Despair was what we called the vile demon that lurked somewhere between here and there. It was a diabolical foreboding menace that replaced wind. It plagued the mind with a red intensity any personal thought would be incinerated. It casually pierces your lungs with every inhale only leaving you staggered if you manage to exhale at all. Breathing is luxurious at the spas.

I remember when I was a child the first time I saw the ocean was also the same day I learned I hated most things about most things. It was an impossible behemoth, an entire leviathan all on its own. Hosting dwarfs in comparison to its enormity, majesty and rhythm, an unapologetic matter of fact rhythm drumming against the broken sand.

More days simply chasing anything and everything. I always end up in some unusual places, that’s just how life is yah know? I don’t know. I’ve been beating against life and the Earth like an ocean hoping to erode the concrete walls around me into fine gravel. I found that I was only breaking myself down. Memories they are, thats all they are. They are dreams of heroes avoiding voyeristic grim reapers or champions seeking an exhibition with the other side.

Now I can just enjoy the scenery. God I want to cry at that sentence. Enjoy the scenery. I don’t think I can remember the last time I looked up and didn’t have a package, a shovel, bag, or some other instrumental tool in my hand. 

Sweat and grime and heat and torment. Digging. All that smoke. The dead wood would smoke during oppressive temperatures and threaten fire. It cared none. Greedy and indifferent as all things dead. 

I only looked up to the burn of vengeful Suns or empty cerulean skies surreal behind their insane branches. Razor forked claws gently creaking and criss crossing over the thirsty cracked earth clipping every gorgeous wing.

The spas offered opportunities to earn back our breath, to defeat the Despair or follow the shining iron tracks across the desert. There’s no whistle or chat. There’s always the groaning of tired men. Of course there are tired strains from my own collapsing throat inexhaustible and foreign to my own ear while in the line. There was only one true sound.

It was the sound of our relentless scratching and chipping at the raw skeleton of our Great Mother. It’s the sound of cracking bone with every forced row between the land and the sharp blade. Raking and chafing in bionic repetition ignorant of the orange clay rising in stiff mounds circling the queue while we silently gagged on the black dust.

It was all a trick of poison or a poisonous trick. Either way, whatever life - is that what you would call it - that remained would soon be overtaken by illness. The same slow, decaying, creeping illness expedited by a treacherous greed to feed the greedy!

But not today! The trees are verdant. I never noticed they were as tall as they were and wow, clouds! Fresh air! The path has brightly smiled upon me and I am smiling back in greeting without sweat on my brow and blue birds cheering merrily. The road is paved with polished yellow cobblestones and scarlet brick lined with the vertebrae of nameless things that were honored collateral of the previous travels.

Enjoying the scenery is a privilege of slowing down. What a day to see the path ahead! Personally, I left the tools behind. I don’t think I need them for what I want to build next. 

It feels good to have your heart find calm. I want that all the time by just being. That should be enough. Just being. I miss that. I know I had it once. I trust that I have it. There’s nothing else to look for!

I’m gonna protect the energy and myself enough to experience that at least once a day. Just being. If I can’t at least get to hold it. I don’t know. I am just a guy. Do what makes you happy. Be with me in this moment, if that’s what makes you happy. Trust me, you don’t need to go mining for love. 

August 05, 2021 23:03

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