literature

Spiral, Fly away again.

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Literature Text

Life without purpose it is the greatest tragedy known to those who yearn for it. Without resolve lesser men and woman succumb to damnation. Futile attempts of finding a bliss known as happiness. Although, such scarce things like joy can be just as much a blessing as it is often a curse. A man without cause, without regret, whose actions are fueled in spontaneity rather then calculated thoughts can live without doubt. Hesitation in doing what one believes right should it be selfish or noble is the ultimate factor in dictating if what is sought can be lost or gained.

So in the middle of nowhere did it watch. A yew patient and calm diligently observing the changing world about curious and naive. Things had come and gone as had brethren lost in conquest of man's greed or death by mother earth's whim. Still the tree found obsession in the call of the song, a melody lingering, whose volume more like a whisper compared to a rising tempo. Nay, it had been contempt in roots simply carefree of mortal obligations and responsibility. Never had it been questioned for motif or reasoning; all saw tangled roots, stolen nutrients, as a means of survival rather then theft. Such was the opportunity that presented itself when one's body returned to soil, compound to forge stronger and more durable forces of nature, as it had happened to a forgotten son of Adam.

Listen closely and then the intensity of the beat will grow. Louder and louder like a pulse originating from the trunk of lumber. The bark sheds off like old flesh from the serpent; tempted by the snake to take hold of forbidden fruit from branch. A druid's cry call forth into woodland and a promise of vengeance quenched; it sought enlightenment, redemption, for having been spared a fate otherwise destined for saw mill. No shrieks of agony as the shape of it molded and carved into a silhouette of a man. Spring leaves of vivid and vast colors gaining new peach pigment while accumulating and coiling wood statue. Stored liquid essence in yew's footing assembled to construct glassy blue eyes like ocean's depths. Dirt meshed and packed together into tiny fibers making raven locks of hair.

As life is said to have originated it had once again repeated the cycle. The nude male stood a moment longer in his mother's embrace; she a forgiving and nurturing deity, of love and fertility, though lessons taught cold and harsh. A final parting gift as shaved and skewered bark is pieced together to forge clothes that hug against body. Lavender attire of divinity, nobility, of an origin he couldn't hope to ever escape; a throne never to detest, never to seize, or dare to compete for against rightful heir. In the darkest of night it resembled that of an assassin; much like his training in life forced him into becoming. No longer was his past bleach, inexperienced, and white while remaining ignorant of past mistakes. Symbolic ivory robes replaced with scarlet red like the blood spilled, for this cloth a frequent reminder of the consequences of selfishness.


"He's gone, this is the hell I deserve. The conclusion of his Legacy, Tyroll have you reached a level of ascension where no mortal man can reach or grasp? What other stories, are out there? Brother, Fellow son of Erata, guide me. What legends linger still, what paths remain, and who among the babes have grown?"

These words he muttered under breath as the air thickened and time manipulated as a rift in space conjured. Ripples in the sky, pockets of air bubbles, a gateway to a land of faraway or even neighboring town. The call of the song rang still in ears as he no longer attempted to silence it. A swallow watches male waiting for order from a master thought dead. A tamer of the every shifting gales of fate; he who can trap the bird of inevitable escape will master the force of the wind.

"So, it begins anew. If reincarnation, is indeed something accurate and true; I hope to meet you, once more, I have not forgotten even in years of slumber."

The voice trails off as his fingers press against a coin of seemingly no value; although, it was in his darkest hour of no hope an innocent child restored a faith lost. When all others watched a spiraling demise, abandoned and torn on frozen streets, that one genuine act of kindness brought him to his knees. A realization that even in the depths of his isolated thoughts, cold and alone, the warmth of another remained. Those years of harboring ill-feelings for kin, the hatred he buried down towards a god he called father, and all hardships endured up till that point ceased. If he had but one wish, a single one, it would be to bring joy to another who had given him even the slightest.

"It is time to go, this is there story. Who among them needs help? Let us go see for ourselves."

The man turned to face the bubbling air like a cauldron of water. Without hesitation the male stepped forth into the unknown headfirst. Light ceased, the sweet fresh oxygen gone, and only an abyssal maze awaited his arrival. Several doors, thousands, aligned in two rows with numbers scribbled on. Each a gateway to a new realm of mystery, a story to be told. Who among them would rise to the occasion? Could he even manage to stumble upon them when he can not see? A blinding radiance engulfed the darkness as palm opened revealing the object of his sanity; the coin a foreigner in a place where it did not belong in the rift of time. It allowed passage where it should not; a phenomena unexplained nor even  understood, yet it worked all the same as he ventured into the depths of nothingness.

"Well this one seems just as good as any."

As he muttered the phrase his fingers seized around the bronze knob of the oak door. Cautiously he opened it while stepping through. Vivid experiences of a past new and unique portrayed all around the male like a movie projection. Wars in explicit detail shown, crimes committed against one another, love blossoming, friends laughing and smiling together, tears fallen from woman and even proud men alike, and then they ceased as bit by bit the sunlight returned and blades of grass crushed by ebony boots resurfaced. A whole new world, a brave new world, waiting to be explored and examined. No longer an actor on stage, just an observer from afar. Such was the task suited for the swallow's tamer.


"I will fly away again," he proceeded to recite the chorus of a song he began to hum.
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