Benjamin Juang (ibneko) wrote,
Benjamin Juang

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...and the wide eyed wanderer traveled the continents, always silent, always watching, and remembering and not remembering, everything that he sees. People, sad, sorrowful, lost in their ways and their mind confused by the air, by the hopes and the dreams of fancy. Children, grey and dismal, small, weak, underfed, lost to the fog, wandering like he was, but without aim, without hope. Elderly men and women, brittle with age, crawling on bent knees and chaffed elbows, over the grass-less earth, the dry, parched dust that no life can spring from.

But that was only one continent.

He found others, traveling in his small boat, letting the ocean and the winds play upon the sails. He found lands with angry, hateful people, who fought each other, their weapons terrible, their screams agony, their hate burning like the dark red sun, high in the sky. He found lands with nothing but animals, the people having chosen to kill themselves rather than the animals. He found lands with works of art, of beauty, but no one to appreciate them. He found lands with greed, men and women bitterly hoarding what little they had, and desiring more. He found lands with nothing but silence, the people being deaf and mute. He found lands with women, with men, all separate, clashing together only to mate and reproduce like wild animals over the grassy plains. He found lands with hope, when there was none, and he found lands with love and generosity, where peace reigned.

But he could not find what he was looking for.

So he kept wandering, his legs carrying him far, from north, to south, from east, to west, gaining nothing but age. He could not die, for the Gods had granted him that one wish, upon his birth. He was immortal, but yet so lacking. Lacking in something he did not know. So he wandered, the dark red sun rising and setting, marking each day. Slowly, he started wandering back into lands that he had been in once before. But they had changed. Those whom he had gazed upon and wondered about was gone. The art and beauty that marked each land had changed, been destroyed, or been taken away. The animals had multiplied, changed, or were hunted into extinction. And he continued onwards, still searching.

People asked themselves, is he lost? Is he exiled from his own lands? Maybe he was a great warrior who had committed a great sin, and this was his punishment? He heard the questions, but didn't answer. Because he didn't know.

Note: This was more or less randomish, but maybe someone can draw a lesson or moral from it somewhere. dunno... like how voices just kinda speak to me, but not really, not for these things... I'm just the messenger. Someone else has to interpret. "Wide eyed wanderer" feels like it's from somewhere familiar. I'd go search google, but I'm too lazy right now. well, not lazy, but it's 11 PM and I feel like going to bed or something. Anyways, read, enjoy, comment, suggest, interpret, understand, apply? It feels incomplete, but the switch that had turned on this flow of words had turned off again by the third paragraph. (at about the fourth "He found lands") The rest was kinda just me squeezing the creativity dry, a bad thing to do, as it make the writing seem more forced (in my mind)

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