Ephemeral thoughts...
Some of us do not need a savior or a hero to save us from the Dark. Some of us just need the space and the time to stare back into the Darkness in defiance of it all. Because however unlikely it may seem, some of us are our own heroes; standing tall before the great onslaught of the Dark.
“History is not written with heroic deeds. Nor is it written with gold and silver or blood and death. When a thousand years passes, what of them will remain will be faded and crumbled and turned to dust. And what they will remember will be a faded, distorted and disfigured image. None of which will ever come close to the truth. No. There will be no truth, for there never was one. There is no right, nor wrong. What there is, my brother, is power. And who wields that power.”
the shallowness of it all, in the sluggish whirlpool that is my mind, makes me hate myself, for the unending, unwanted, thoughts that comes thumbing, if not bubbling, to the surface.
if we but saw what they did, if we but felt what they did, would we still not know, the pain?
Runamandor, the baker. (part I)
In the silence, interrupted only by the creaking of the wooden planks beneath his weight, he hobbled down the stairs. His thoughts not fully formed for the coming day, was only now beginning to coalesce into anything more substantial than pancakes.
Delicious pancakes. Without any excessive syrup.
//Say whatever you will, but consuming something that already had enough sugar to kill a horse, added with a layer of another thing that contains more that enough to kill a few elephants ... well, either you're just a moron, or you haven't discovered what eating healthy is.//
The inherent paradox of his own reasoning didn't bother him as much as it should've, some might say, yet if there was one thing that Runamandor felt it was this: the uncountable years of his existence had not changed him as much as he thought it would've. No, it had not. Nor had it made him dull witted.
In the kitchen he promptly busied himself with the preparation of the first item.
The ember glow of the coals cast cascading shadows on his face, and the scars that were hidden in light, became pronounced in the shadows. It gave him a menacing look.
NOTE: this short piece gave me the idea to write a new novel, which I am currently working on. (05/16/2018)
“The future can ever promise but one thing and one thing only: surprises.” ― Steven Erikson