SirTom
17th June 2004, 02:33
now i dont know wut this is exactly. maybe a play on words and literary things, maybe not. i enjoy writing, so i wheeled up my wheely chair to my computer and began typing. i dont have a title for this or anything (help on that would be appreciated), and this piece is rather dark in nature. but anywho, here it is, open for critisicm. enjoy:
.Untitled.
By Tom
I am, in part, feared by man: my mere presence is foreboding. Thus my existence is all the more strenuous and ominous.
To name myself as wanted is precisely incorrect: I am more sought after than wanted. Sought after for what I have done and what I do to this day and what I will continue to do as long as there is life to do it to.
Man searches and scrutinizes and fatefully feigns unfathomable knowledge and in the end ascertains nothing more than that with which he began. I find this comedic because the life of that man, ironically, ends in such a fashion as to which it was used for: the knowledge I hold, and the power I yield.
To answer your subconsciously hypothetical question: yes, I take life. Does this mark me as profane or immoral in any way? Does it make me a wrongdoer, an advocate of injustice and villainy? Is it feasible to conceive that the life which I purge perhaps exists for me to purloin it?
You take life; many lives, in fact. You may know it and you may be unaware, but what is important is that I know it. I may have planned it to be so, for that minute spark of existence to end at your touch in exactly the chosen manor at exactly the chosen time. For all that your knowledge is worth, that next life taken could be yours.
Some seemingly random act or predestined event may well be placed just so for your demise. You sleep, blind to what occurs around you. At night in the depth of silence and rebellion when all is astir in the deep stillness, I may creep into your chamber and extract that precious life of yours you wield some vehemently. And in that nocturnal episode, you remain what you are; no less, and never more, until I see fit to make it otherwise. And I remain what I am, apart from life altogether. For in the morning you awake, if awake at all, as your own entity, a figurehead atop the mantle of another’s display. And I too awake, if awake you wish to name it, as nothing more than that which I previously was, yet never less: I remain Death.
.Untitled.
By Tom
I am, in part, feared by man: my mere presence is foreboding. Thus my existence is all the more strenuous and ominous.
To name myself as wanted is precisely incorrect: I am more sought after than wanted. Sought after for what I have done and what I do to this day and what I will continue to do as long as there is life to do it to.
Man searches and scrutinizes and fatefully feigns unfathomable knowledge and in the end ascertains nothing more than that with which he began. I find this comedic because the life of that man, ironically, ends in such a fashion as to which it was used for: the knowledge I hold, and the power I yield.
To answer your subconsciously hypothetical question: yes, I take life. Does this mark me as profane or immoral in any way? Does it make me a wrongdoer, an advocate of injustice and villainy? Is it feasible to conceive that the life which I purge perhaps exists for me to purloin it?
You take life; many lives, in fact. You may know it and you may be unaware, but what is important is that I know it. I may have planned it to be so, for that minute spark of existence to end at your touch in exactly the chosen manor at exactly the chosen time. For all that your knowledge is worth, that next life taken could be yours.
Some seemingly random act or predestined event may well be placed just so for your demise. You sleep, blind to what occurs around you. At night in the depth of silence and rebellion when all is astir in the deep stillness, I may creep into your chamber and extract that precious life of yours you wield some vehemently. And in that nocturnal episode, you remain what you are; no less, and never more, until I see fit to make it otherwise. And I remain what I am, apart from life altogether. For in the morning you awake, if awake at all, as your own entity, a figurehead atop the mantle of another’s display. And I too awake, if awake you wish to name it, as nothing more than that which I previously was, yet never less: I remain Death.