[EternalPen]

Synopsis: My reflections on life when I was emo.


Guitars played along, accompanied by a piano, a violin, and after a moment, a beautiful, calm, and wonderful voice. It sang. It sang of death, wrongdoings, and mourning. It sang of a corroded past, a flaming future, and a hopeless present. It sang of man’s best creations, and most feared mutations. Sleepless nights echoed off the voice, blank eyes, empty souls, and only years of loneliness before death cried out with truth from the person pouring out the melody.

It stopped for a brief moment before ascending to a tremendous level of noise, and an obvious male voice rang out above it all. It sang of dreams, hopes, and love, all smashed. A female voice screamed of dreams, hopes, and love, beginning anew. The voices melded and all sound muted to hear the voices sing in perfect harmony. They sang, and they sang of the end of all things. They sang for me to take their hands.

I, Julius Heart, am a very confused man. Whether I am living or dead is hard to determine, and by that alone does my previous statement make complete and utter sense. Of course, now my other statement makes none. How can any man not understand where he stands in life concerning taking his next breath and having given up his last? That, my friend, is why I am here. To explain.

Life, so is said in most situations and many speeches and thousands of pieces of literature, is ever lasting love and happy endings. Now don’t get me wrong here! Not everything says such nonsense, but you must agree that it isn’t hard to find.

Death, so is also said in many speeches and pieces of literature and even some real-life situations, is preserved for the enemy. Of course, we all die sooner or later, but a life of unhappiness, failing of plans, and constant loneliness accompanied by rejection is preserved for the “bad man” in every child’s closet, every king’s dungeon, and every corner of the burning, flaming pit of hell. Not always, but mostly.

There are those innocents that give all, get nothing, and die unhappy, but who is to say that they were truly unhappy? Did they enjoy giving for others? Did they enjoy watching others live happy? Or maybe… maybe they enjoyed dying?

Either way, I have given much, I have received nothing, and yet I get what the “bad guys” get. If my life is like this, am I dead? Or am I living in a “bad world”? Is this entire world wrapped in chains underneath a stone fortress with wine and meat above roasting on a picket while a celebration of love and prosperity is going on? Is this entire world resting in the dark, brushing other evil entities, waiting for a helpless thing to fall into a deep, unforgiving sleep so it may sink its teeth into the small, childish form? Is this entire world dragging others around it into the burning, screaming, sulfurous pit so it has not to suffer alone, but with the fruits of its deceit and lies and hopeless despair it has spread?

Perhaps, instead, this entire green and blue ball rest mindlessly and stupidly paralyzed in a street somewhere, filling everything around it with joy, but just excepting to be stepped on in return? Is it waiting to be kicked into the gutter for all the food it has given away, all the love it has spread, and all the tears it has dried up? Is it an innocent little thing, or a devious, pouncing monster? Or is it a hero that, in stead of being given gold and food and women and fame, is given what the inhabitants thrive on?

Or am I just blind? Because if I, or this world, is not dead now…

I certainly hope to be soon.

[Nupur]

This was amazing. All your thoughts were very well put and explained. The entire pice was very well written. Great work!

[EternalPen]

Thank you! ^_^ I appreciate it!