Am I cursed?
Am I so simple to not have realized I couldn't be so happy without facing down an impending doom?
I tried.
Honestly, I did.
Every step of the way.
Maybe this is what it feels like to face a crisis of faith.
It's been over a decade. Years spent, the local hermit. The hateful thing in the corner of the tower. He lived day by day. Week by week, month by month. Year by year. No one knew him. Not even the people he loved. But is that even love?
What kept me going? Cowardice? Righteous ideal?
Everything that surrounds me, it permeates hate like heat. So much heat, it could kill me.
Am I so simple to not have realized I couldn't be so happy without facing down an impending doom?
I tried.
Honestly, I did.
Every step of the way.
Maybe this is what it feels like to face a crisis of faith.
It's been over a decade. Years spent, the local hermit. The hateful thing in the corner of the tower. He lived day by day. Week by week, month by month. Year by year. No one knew him. Not even the people he loved. But is that even love?
What kept me going? Cowardice? Righteous ideal?
Everything that surrounds me, it permeates hate like heat. So much heat, it could kill me.
But I have the shield. It's cold. It combats the heat.
So why does everything still feel so dreadful?
If this thing was tied to faith... maybe I'd have lost the ability to wield it a long time ago. Or, maybe I never would have been able to hold it to begin with. What faith can there be in man, when the one person who tried his best to hold it to his heart can't hope to believe in it himself? Are we doomed?
![[Image: Flashback-8.png]](https://i.ibb.co/B5v68ZZW/Flashback-8.png)
...
Let me tell you of a dream.
A man wakes up to the sound of a crow's call. He stretches his arms, his old body fighting against the ravages of time. Idly, he wonders how long it's going to go on like this... but this thought doesn't come from fear. It's curiosity. It's a finish line he's curious to meet with his own two eyes.
He smiles. There's nothing to think about when he still had to get dressed, and he still had to eat breakfast.
He smells... fried eggs. Ham. Some grits.
The food is prepared by a wonderful woman. One that in a bygone era would be his Lady. In another role, in another dream, evil was fought off. Love had won, and this was their happy ending. They share the table with some children. Grandchildren. They're loud. Somewhat rowdy. Maybe reserved in public. Smiling. Happy. In some iterations of this dream, they are joined by a family dog.
The old man plants a kiss on his Lady's cheek, and leaves to watch the clouds pass by. The children, they yell and scream over playing knight with a pair of sticks. They run after one another, and the cows and the horses in their pen watch like noble spectators during a play peering silently at its actors. The old man watches them, too...
And he realizes he cannot see their faces.
How could he imagine this life for anyone, let alone himself?
They don't exist.
And that's the dream.
...
For all it was worth... he tried.
His family knows no such peace. It may never.
Maybe if I force them to stand behind me when it all catches up to them, I might know the faces of my family again.
...
Let me tell you of a dream.
A man wakes up to the sound of a crow's call. He stretches his arms, his old body fighting against the ravages of time. Idly, he wonders how long it's going to go on like this... but this thought doesn't come from fear. It's curiosity. It's a finish line he's curious to meet with his own two eyes.
He smiles. There's nothing to think about when he still had to get dressed, and he still had to eat breakfast.
He smells... fried eggs. Ham. Some grits.
The food is prepared by a wonderful woman. One that in a bygone era would be his Lady. In another role, in another dream, evil was fought off. Love had won, and this was their happy ending. They share the table with some children. Grandchildren. They're loud. Somewhat rowdy. Maybe reserved in public. Smiling. Happy. In some iterations of this dream, they are joined by a family dog.
The old man plants a kiss on his Lady's cheek, and leaves to watch the clouds pass by. The children, they yell and scream over playing knight with a pair of sticks. They run after one another, and the cows and the horses in their pen watch like noble spectators during a play peering silently at its actors. The old man watches them, too...
And he realizes he cannot see their faces.
How could he imagine this life for anyone, let alone himself?
They don't exist.
And that's the dream.
...
For all it was worth... he tried.
His family knows no such peace. It may never.
Maybe if I force them to stand behind me when it all catches up to them, I might know the faces of my family again.