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> "Young one" or "Unencumbered Bliss", I like optional titles
post Oct 16 2005, 03:07 AM
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I wrote this awile ago and forgot about it. What do you think?
(also, does anyone know why my indentations don't show up in the post? I had to add an extra line between my paragraphs. I'm new here, as you can plainly see)

"Young one" or "Unencumbered Bliss"

Born in the small town, where all was important, precise, exact, and crucial (accept to the world at large). They knew he traveled with demons. “It is a simple thing to cure,” they said. All we need are a few dabs of holy water, some prayers, some time” some pain. This did not sit well with his father, who was the all important, heroic war veteran; his son’s condition threatened his good name. For this reason, it was decided that this “problem” was never to be revealed to the public. But this was a town too ripe with gossip to make it that easy.

The rumors spread like wild fire on an open plain. The stories ranged from whispers of a union with demons, to some sort of curse, put on the boy as revenge for those slain by his father. And so the child was hidden from their view. Caged in a back room and taken out only for drunken beatings at the failure of his existence. So it fled. It broke its chains and ran from this life. Ran from this town. And now this time exists as only a memory, long since forgotten. And the name was lost, as was its future.

A life alone is one that cannot be if one does not know how to live. On a cold, morbid evening, when the water fell harder than a thousand half-remembered bruises, it took refuge in an old library. This place was one so great that it seemed you could lose yourself there forever and never be found. Having found the perfect place to hide from the world, it left only for food. It stayed for a time with only books for company and found them a useful ally.

The stories were strange and wonderful but most of all they were frightening. It read stories of villains, of secrets, of espionage, of love, of lust, of heroes, and most of all it read the myths, which were always the best, because they had less to do with the unfamiliar thing called life. So what did it do? It sailed on a silver ship to the place above the rainbow, where the things still go bump in the night, and their were always endings, happy or otherwise. Those skeptical might say it was not real, and never could be. But it was to it. Isn’t that what mattered? And still does.


(Edit: COme, come now fine forumites, you mus have some opinion you would like to share? Perhaps a bit of advice? No? I'm going to stand over here now.)

The purpose of nonsense is to be nonsensical.
I don't feel as though my words are what is needed in this instance.
"The rest of those who have gone before us cannot steady the unrest of those still here." Finding Forrester by James W. Ellison.
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