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August 3, 2013
I suppose everything must come to an end at some time or another. Every sapling that matures into a towering tree must one day come crashing to the ground. Every mountain that has been built up must later be weathered and eroded into nothingness. Even the enlightened machines of eons past must one day grind to a halt and power down forever. Everything is eventual, and the things I have seen in my past have been ephemeral to say the least. To me, they came and went within the blink of an eye, rarely remembered and never missed. I moved on and did not mind much, for I had responsibilities.
But the memories come back, easily enough, when I wish to remember. The peoples, events, locations—they all come back at my whim, yet they are flawed. The images I see are a myriad of lines and shapes, however, there is no significance behind them. The feeling is maddening: to remember the faces of ones loved and lost, but not recall who or what they stood for. All I wish is to remember those I spent my life fighting for and acknowledge their sacrifice—but alas, I am a slave to my inheritance.
And the time had come to travel once again, and thoughts of the future raced through my mind as they always did. Perhaps I would finally succeed. Perhaps I would do what my ancestors never could. But whenever I pondered the possibilities, the implications of such an incredible feat always sobered my fleeting, optimistic outlook. What was I to expect, really? I had failed time after time without even the slightest hint of change. It seemed I was doomed to continue on my path until I reached the void, where everything and nothing existed.
Indeed, times were grim—all life was speeding towards a final and seemingly unopposed conclusion. But I believed, and still believe to this day that in the darkest of times, mankind shines the brightest. And I yearn to see the day when all peoples rally under one banner, one hero, to right humanity's wrongs. I cannot do it alone, for I am but a catalyst in the reaction that is necessary to save all. The person to right everything will come from the people, a champion of the people—a person they can call kin and a person they can call king.
Stars had begun to appear in the night sky above, dotting the inky blank firmament. I had arrived, and the end was underway. What happened from this point onward would govern the fate of all life. It was an unnerving thought to anyone, but after so many failures, I had become numb to the horrors of my work. I gazed up at the stars, innumerous and uncountable in the sky above. We had much in common, the stars and I. For one, they watched all that unfolded below: the good, the bad, the triumphs, the losses. They watched without emotion, or care for that matter, for they knew no other way.
I wondered how many there were, biding their time, waiting, like all things, to burn out and die. Thousands upon thousands of stars looked back at me, the perfect representation of the enduring nature of Time, and consequently, myself. We were inseparable. We were one in the same. For as long as a world buried in turmoil persisted, my quest was not complete. Now, however, it seemed that Time and I were at the end of our paths, the edge of the cliff, and on the other side lay oblivion. If ever a hero could arise from the depths, instill fear in those that would hasten mankind towards its otherwise inevitable doom, and touch the hearts of the people he led, it would be now. Mankind had run out of chances. I had run out of chances.
|As the Tide Breaks|
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