Soon. Very, very soon. Almost certainly this week. Before Friday, no doubt. It's going to happen.
I've gone over every possible scenario in my head. Will it be light or darkness? A battle, a message, an offering? Will I arrive at the appointed place and find nothing, the ultimate betrayal? I don't know. This was officially predicted ten months ago, and signs pointing to it have appeared for even longer. You'd think I'd be ready. Hells no I'm not. There's so much more I have to do... messages. Gifts. Final words. If anything should happen to me, people are going to want to know why.
And yet I can't. I'm a bundle of guilt and anxiety - I never feel this bad about anything - and I can't even bring myself to talk to anyone. I have to let someone know... just in case this is the end.
I guess for now all I can do is speak my mind here. Such as it is. Presumably at some point this will be read.
Speaking of which, Jane... strange that you, my unexpected commenter, should be a matter of such interest. It's rare that anyone takes interest in a character such as myself, so forgive me if I seem suspiciously intrigued by someone entering my (albeit public) domain. You are a welcome distraction. I thank you.
...I haven't slept in a good long time and it's really starting to show.
Anyway. The December event will happen soon. This I know for certain. I need to prepare. And prepare fast. If I'm going down in fire and flames then dammit I want people to know why.
I wonder if this is gibberish. Can't be bothered to check.
9 comments:
What is this supposed to mean?
It means death, of course. And if Nine plays the cards right, rebirth.
That doesn't exactly make sense.
When we are afraid, when it hurts too much, we like to tell ourselves
stories of power. How we lost, how we can reclaim it, how we can exercise it, how we can bring it forth. We tell ourselves that the cries we hear are real, that they are more than just meaningless emotings. The cries we hear may be those of labor, and the pain we feel may yet be that of birth. It's chaos, but that's the price we pay deep inside to give birth to a dancing star.
December is a good month to die.
But what is the point, unless we return with a story to tell? They have a story to tell, surely you realize. That's all we are - stories, fictions, patterns in the mist. And some of us... some of us have so many stories to tell.
I tell you, we go nuts if we ain't got nobody. It don't make no difference who we are, long as we's with somebody. I tell ya. I tell ya... you gets too lonely and you gets sick.
You can't trust the butterflies, but the moths, well now, the moths are special, as are the Nine. But you can only watch, observe, and listen to the colors. Don't pry open that cocoon. Moths gotta do it on their own, it helps build the strength in their wings. Open it up from the outside, well, the moths would be too weak to survive. Struggle is nature's way of giving strength.
I'd say, never take milk if you've asked for water, but I've learned never to say never.
Some will die so that others will live.
You seem to know a lot about this guy for a random blogger. How would you know whether or not this is his reasoning at all?
et in Arcadia ego
So be it.
*whisks eggs*
So why isn't this guy posting anymore?
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