Stop and write about “our world can get so out of line” if you wish. Or you could [[a mind to meander|go back to where the river begins]]. If you have some text (or an image) you would like to see added to this page, please email it to me (remember to let me know which page you would like me to add it to). ---- ### Ruthlessness A pit in your stomach, the gaping hole in your heart. The ever-living shadow that follows us all to the grave. One may think of their life, or someone else’s. Perhaps you reminisce on those times when you smiled with pure joy. The bliss that comes with these things, so trivial yet so important, we take for granted. We think with the mind of immortals, drinking the nectar from our goblets and feasting on the ambrosia of life. Yet, the ichor that pumps through us, that breathes us life, is only a dream. > We can all feel it. The impending doom of the end, the warning signs. Yet feigning ignorance is the only way to keep ourselves sane. We can lie and deceive ourselves, to our own, but we cannot outrun Death. She stalks us like prey, watching us with a calm. Any moment could be the last. The Fates of life who spin our threads, silk woven like the Mother Spider, sliced by Her blades. > We cannot run. > We cannot hide. > Everything will end, > And everything will die. > We swallow our pride, sucking in our bellies and puffing out our chests. What a facade bravery is, when a man is faced with death. To weep tears enough for an Arch, to plead at the feet of the Universe and curse out the mighty gods and cry, “It is not my fault, for you have cursed me. You made me and fed me and now look what you've done to me! For years I have served you, you savage beast! For my life is dedicated to your eternal feast! You laugh at the damned, you scoff at the weak! I am a servant in your allegiance, I am your priest!” A man once grateful, bound to a god by his moral, now turned to rage and hatred. To see the light before him die. To watch the world he once loved, reduced to shrub. To his god, he cries and screams. Several nights and days, pleading and cursing. He blames for all that has been done. It is no surprise when the god responds, pride wounded and lust gone, “You, who curse me and blame me for war, do not know all I have done for. I have plenished your lands, blessed your fruit. I took your hands, I led you anew. I gave you this life, you better thank me, too! Without me, you are nothing. A petty soul, lost and blundering. You are my priest, the highest of my council. Look around you, pitied fool, and remember who started this ill counsel; you, your people, your thirst for blood. I am not to blame, you are!” With his silver tongue, the god scowled in disdain. He spoke his truth, he told his proclamation. His servant, the follower of his schemes, see his words as shallow. This god turns it on the people, yet has nothing to offer. With an anger more bitter than the ripest melon, he turns to his savior once more with venom, “You have wounded our children, you have made them cry! Their tear soaked faces aimed up at the sky, praying to you for the life you promised them, and yet you say goodbye! For years I have followed you, you wretched witch, for years I have loved you and deemed you rich. And now, you spit in my face, when I call upon you with lost faith! You take my words and twist them like a snake. What more can you offer, what more can you take? From me, from my people. We are not saints, most certainly not, and you were the one who gave us this thought! You told us we could lie and cheat, that if we begged on our knees we would be complete! We have worshipped you, criminal and all, so where is our reward? Where is your promise, oh great thrall!” He spat his words in great contempt, his eyes ablaze with suffer and anguish. A battle of wit, one yet won, neither foe to give in and neither to flee. They aimed their words to eachother, like a mighty sabre, blow after blow and yet no fall. The god turned to his enemy with a glower and scowl, the coldest stare only an immortal could grow. “You foolish man, you idiot priest! I could not care, not in the least! Your wars, your famine, they are not even things a god would imagine! I have no care for what you do. Your stories, your death. To an immortal like me, they are only a breath! You make your wars, you murder your children. It is you who should be cursed, not I!” The priest was shocked, this was new. In all his life, not once had he thought his god to not care. He prayed and received signs, but were they just tricks? Were they just lies? The god before him was not who he claimed. He was disgusting, a foul beast. He marveled in horror at the putrid stench. The fetor of his words, rising through his bones. He did not care, he never would. It was his people, the priest did see, but he rejected the idea. He lashed again, this time harder. This god would not lie to him henceforth. “Then what of your promises, what of your keep? Do you lie so easily, your tongue a snake? You damned man, you deserve the hate! Your oaths and laws, all a mirage. I cannot believe I trusted you, I cannot believe I lost! So much, you have taken, so much is your fault. You cannot blame me when you gave us the hope! I followed your every word, built myself in your image. Never once did I take your words for fibbage!” The holiest of men, the best of them all. He looked at his immortal with great dismay. He continued to fight on and on, though it was futile. You see, they blamed eachother. Neither wanted to admit their faults. And yet, Death watched, her blade in hand. The life of the priest, she waited for her prey. One way or another, these lies would end. We are not immortal, neither are our words. Man or god, we all are powerless to Death’s law. She will take what is yours when she deems fit. She is the end of all things, ruthless yet kind. She makes room for more. Without her, Life would take over. Growing until the world was full. Ceaseless wars and endless pollution. Each day we wake, we feel the doubt. “Today will be the last time”. We slip on our shoes, put on our hats. We push away Death and move on with our lives. They say it is fear that keeps us going, and that is quite true. If we did not fear Her, we needn’t lie. – Paige Blankenship