There's a Darkness in me
10-08-2013, 09:32 PM
Life, it seemed, had an uncanny way of repeating itself. Over and over a crime would be committed, the two never quite the same and yet the modality left unaltered by those who found themselves involved. A demented giggle sounded past the rogue?s lips as his thoughts circled languidly on the subject matter, only vaguely interested in the instruments of fate that allowed such archetypes to persist as they did. You see, Nibelheim had found himself undergoing quite the epiphany with his only complaint being that it hadn?t occurred during the daylight hours when there was far less for me to do. At least then I would have something to ruminate over as I waited for dusk to set in. Ginger eyes beheld a tarnished sky, black and bottomless and grim as it reigned above his head, naked of its false diamond stars. It wasn?t a particularly cold night as far as winter eves went. The ocher male had found a pleasant little niche to rest in, a log, rotted and hollowed out proving just shy of too snug. Now what was it he?d been thinking again? Oh, yes, repetition. Now the factors of any events were heralded by two deciding variables, victims and villains. Heroes an expendable lot quite frankly and their self-righteous bigotry held so little appeal that Nibelheim didn?t dare go into it further. He?d end up arguing with himself again and wasting the midnight oil. The victim was predictably the one to suffer lasting damage, their lives forfeit to the designs of the scoundrel. Sometimes the crook would return to the scene of his crimes to revel in his cruelty and, occasionally, so too did the sufferer. But what Nibelheim had come to realize was most amusing, wasn?t that the many individuals who found themselves the receiving of a bad hand. No, what made him cackle was that eventually the constantly perpetuated roles began to blend. Soon the victim was the villain and the villain the victim! Another fit of hysterics plagued the wolf who slipped from the logs tight embrace and rolled languorously in the dirt, sides heaving with an odd mirth. The perpetrators became the tragic and misunderstood, no longer wholly responsible for their misdeed because their past experience wrenched sympathy from those with bleeding hearts. And the victims! Oh they were priceless in how they seethed! How bitter they became and how their hatred poisoned them to violent extremes. How wonderfully stupid the world was. And him? Nibelheim cocked his head as he gazed listlessly into the depth of shadows that permeated the forest. He was neither and both alike. He was the root of their tragedy, the bringer of their strife, the was the precursor of unsown chaos. He was the criminal and the unrecorded casualty. A jagged grin formed on his face. ?I wonder if there will be stars tonight.? Speech, |