The glue of society, once tactile is now brittle and dry. It erodes, quickening as time moves on. The fibres straining against the tension. The tension pulling tighter and tighter. Once stable roots, now getting pulled from the earth. The tension heating the atmosphere and burning the uprooted trees.
We are all burning.
The feeling it just washes over me. Washing all the colour out. All the hope it evaporates. I just sit and stare. Stare at what, nothing, just the inner monologue inside my head. A cliche battleground.
One, that I hope to defeat.
Become victorious in my own battle against myself.
The chances seem slim though.
I lie there, the red stretching out across the translucent water like a peacock’s tail. My life ebbing but at the same time more vital than it ever has been. At this moment I more alive than I have ever been. I am truly in control of my destiny.
The moment will last forever, I have finally proven I exist and that I have free will. It is only as I create an ending do I realise that I have the freedom to be, to exist, and to not exist. A choice …
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