Simply Prelude

It was the largest conflict between the humans and the spirits that ever occurred.  It was much like total war.  There were fronts and there were capitals, though most of the spirits didn't care to do such a thing.  Kept to their wandering selves, they roamed wherever they pleased only to join with others once a front was established.  The priests headed the forces on the human's side, fighting as close to equal terms with the spirits as they could, and helping the other humans survive on the field of battle.  Simple yet deep hatreds turned to the mindless violence in all of the conflicts, and the mindless violence turned into slaughter, more often of humans than of spirits.

The fighting went on for many days, weeks even, with only an end covered with the blood of hundreds from both sides in sight.  Though even through this all, all of the blood and pain, killing and dying, day after day, there was one scene that stood out.  It was a terrible time for the conflict, and many of the shrine priests that started in the war had been defeated at this point; the spirits were taking their place on the winning side of the conflict, and the remainder of the humans from the conflict all converged to protect what was their final front.  In this intense and chaotic battle, the scene formed out of the calamity.

The last three priests took the humans straight to the fight, and the spirits met them with great opposition.  Divine power met the spirit's own energy and the human's weapons met the spirit's flesh, and likewise, in a beautiful mess of destruction and death that dissolved a part of the forest into a large opening of scorched and turned dirt stained with blood.  Two humans helped from just beyond the clearing to aid those injured and dying, but their efforts could not save more than those condemned, and the bodies were only increasing.  The insanity of the conflict seemed to only speed up the destruction of their side as they tried their best to eliminate the other.  And through this all, one scene preceded them in seeming importance:

A man, who before had never been in a battle between the two sides, throwing away his own importance and safety, and caressing a spirit who had been injured on the field.  They were on a slight incline, and in front of one of the last smoldering ruins of a tree; the man holding the spirit in his arms and crying painful and loud tears of anguish.  Many from both sides who saw this spectacle stopped and beheld them.  A human and a spirit, a man and a woman, both hurt and bleeding, holding each other in a passionate embrace: the man crying as the spirit, with a similar expression of anguish, tried to hold their soul within their body.  Never before had a scene like this come to pass, and no tears were ever shed for one side about the other until now. 

The man buried his face in the shoulder of the spirit and continued to cry, even as the battle began to halt due to his wails.  His crying did not stop until the conflict had entirely stopped; every human and spirit standing still to watch.  Through the new silence that had just come, and the anger and evil that had just passed, one phrase could be heard through it all, and seemed to echo through the soul of everyone who was there:  "I love you."

Even With All This Technology...

The note pad suddenly being slapped down on top of the desk showed his frustration as well as any word would have.  The other writer in the room, who was also a mutual friend of his, sighed at this gesture.

"Still at a dead end?" he asked.

"It's complete horse shit, I swear.  Every time I end up with a 'lead' it doesn't lead me anywhere.  I'm about to just say 'screw it'."  He took the pencil out from behind his ear and dropped it next to the note pad that he had just slammed on the desk.

"C'mon man, ya hav'ta try." He spoke more deliberately.  "It's the story of the century, no joke, and you have the specific right to overseeing it for the paper.  If anything, you should be all over those witnesses."

The frustrated writer gave a deep sigh as he drove his hand down his face.  "I can't; most of 'em pled the fifth or are being kept away from reporters for some reason."  He plopped himself down sideways in the chair diagonally across the table from the other writer.  "Sure it's the 'story of the century', but I can't write shit if I can't get anything.  All those national assholes are taking the story and turning it into some sort of Sci-Fi horror bullshit, connecting it to that ambassador story.  Not like I can get around that with how they're puttin' it, and I don't do debunkers. Just what the hell happened is anyone’s guess."

"That's why they need a local reporter to get the story right and present the facts, no one asked you to debunk anything," the other man argued.  He finally looked at the notepad, which was full of scribbled sentences and had something stuck in it.  "What about that?"  He motioned towards the notepad.

"This?"  He picked up the notepad he had thrown down.  "Last interview I can legally get at this point.  If there's one good thing to come out of all this it's that we got the quiet girl to talk."

"I'm expecting gold," the other man smirked.  "The quiet ones always have the best material."

The writer shared in the smirk, "And this one's no different.  Now if only I can get what the hell she's sayin' I might finally have something to work on."

"Don't burn yourself out thinkin' about it," the other man advised, losing his smirk.

"Hell, like I don't learn the first time," he said, losing the smirk immediately.

"So, I assume you have a recording?"  He motioned towards the small TV and multiple-format player it is set on top of across the room.

The writer stalled for a minute with discontent on his face as he looked between the notepad and TV, then he flipped the top pages up to reveal a tape.  "What the hell, not like I can do anythin' else at this point.  Gimme a minute."  He walked towards the door and reached his hand into his pocket.  "Pizza good with you?"

"Four nights and counting."

"Chinese then."  He quickened his pace out of the door back to his office to get the order-out menu.

"Some things you must see to believe."

Lyric of 200+

Save me, little girl, save you.
Lay round over ground non-blue.
Sea of see to girl's sense.
May not leave mother's hence.

Mother not of mother true.
Older two no knows who.
Bridge may of ice or rice.
Stepped on rainbow in trice.

~[Page Ripped Onwards]~

Patience for the Inevitable?

How could I get used to it like that?  It just kept happening over and over again.  The first few times I cried, and struggled desperately, but my fate wouldn't give way no matter what I decided to do.  Whether it was to talk to this guy and say this thing, or do this only at this time, I was always met with the same ending, if not given a slight change just before. 

After that, I stopped trying.  It was my first loop, or cycle, and of course I had no clue what I needed to do or what I needed to say.  I felt like I wasn't good enough for whatever was keeping me here.  Reminds me, I did a few things I could even now call insane back then.  When I knew the ending was coming, I would do something funny to me or odd to everyone else on the last day, just as a sick joke.  I remember one time I kept all of the passes to go to the bathroom and all of the money I was given for food, and on the last day I used them all up and laughed to myself as I bought a pocket watch. 

Why a pocket watch?  Who knows?  I will admit there was a mental break down, or "falling out", after I woke up a few weeks earlier.  I stopped doing those things, but sort of drifted since then to just go with the flow and end up where I was going to end up.  That was, of course, until I got tired of dying again and again and decided to do something.  It took me quite a while to break free, but I did; only to find that I only tumbled the first wall, but it was progress none-the-less.

After all that, I didn't know what to do, really.  I just decided from that point on to solve all of my problems over and over, helping other people out with their problems time and time again.  It became tedious at some points, but what's really two hours to an entire year or two?  And through it all I found a way to set aside an hour, go to a shop, and buy a pocket watch.  Every cycle had one, and one that looked very similar to the last.  I found that both comfortable and frightening, but it has become the symbol of my journey:  A small, but strong circle of time, where the beginning and the ending are always the same point.

Of the Four; Two

I won't have anyone die on my watch.  Not after then, of course; because it's too late for them, and, well, you.  It was foolish to everyone there to make a pledge like that, and now I have an empty space around me.  Well, you didn't really agree either.  You know I'm not one to sulk, but...

There isn't much time for me yet, since I turned it down back then. I went to your funeral; I would feel cheated if you didn't come to mine.  We'd be even then.  So, are you willing to pay back one last dept?

Back Again (To That Place)

I remember it.  I remember it well.  Back when I still had little to none of the sense I have now.  I was a fool, and I thought I was doing justice.  A small part of me still hurts to go back.  Back to the beautiful colors and the wondrous possibilities it held; though I now know none of them are real.

Perhaps I can go back to it, when I have learned to control myself better.  They ripped me away from it and taught me what it meant to truly be anything worth bolstering.  They have my eternal gratitude for that, and I know there is no way I can ever repay them.  But here I am now, thinking that I may be losing this battle within myself, and wondering what I should do next.  It feels just like it has a hundred times over.

When I do finally return to it, I hope that I can just silently smile, and maybe even cry a little, at how fortunate I am to remain who I am today.  Standing in front of the same stone wall, and feeling the same feeling of awe that I felt so long ago.

Perhaps I can go back to it, when I have learned to control myself better.

He Did and Will Forget

The fire engulfed the walls of the building and spilled over onto the roof in certain places; the light emanating from it brightening the sun's faint touch.  Standing still and facing to the other, both man and boy with contradicting faces looked into the eyes of the other.  The boy, of malicious understanding, and the man, of disappointment and failure.

"You forgot," the boy teased his voice, letting a slight pause, "to cover your tracks."

"I don't know what you mean," the man responded.

At this, the boy, holding no restraint, burst into laughter.  "You, you tried to trick me.  More than once, I see now."

The man remained silent.  He knew now that there was nothing he could say to sway the boy's mind.

"Your silence proves it!"  The boy went on, "You were always planning for yourself!  Not just you, but that... it... and that bird too!"  The boy saw the man cringe in self-restraint as he said this.  "Oh, oh oh oh.  You don't like that?  You have put it to yourself.  I've seen your real side."

"And?  What would that be?" the man asked curiously, trying to hold back his malevolence.

"A puppet of me, that's what!  But I'm too smart for you!"  At this point, the boy was switching between angered shouts and shaking words, almost at every pause.  "I've found the truth!"

Your truths are only lies.  The man wanted to say those words, in fury, but he stood silent, remembering his position.
            "Funny how much one learns looking into the sky," the boy started off, sounding dream-like, but then his voice took a loud and strong tone, harsh in its nature.  "HE will forget again!  You know!  You know it!  You will forget me and lie too!  Again!"

The man knew that there was nothing he could say to sway the boy's mind.  He remained silent.