A Tribute To The Fallen - Raeford Lagnelias ((Creative writing practice: Delving into the mind of the inhumane)) ♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱-♱- The sun. That one trivial source of power, which warms the earth and all that inhabits it. It fertiles the barren soils in which many toil, and releases from it, earthly spoils. The sun, however simplistic one may think it to be at once, baffles at twice, and at thrice, it drives a man to insanity. Although, this unholy advocate does not only blind mere men with its horrid radiance- but also those who are more unholy than the thing itself. I find it odd, (and, the oddity is only increasing by the moment), why men do not thank the sun for its service to them?... Despite their lack of thanks, they believe they are controlled by it, and they are blind. But, this time, it is not the sun that has blinded them. It is restriction. Spiritual restriction, which has only been discovered to be useless by what man calls 'madmen' and 'fiends'. It is no wonder, that the miserable species has torn itself apart! They believe that a world without this restriction is a world of misery- an endless circle of malice and murder. But, they do not notice that this is exactly what they have trapped themselves within! What miserable creatures they are, groveling on hand and knee, upon the very soils which are soon to take their limited lives! If only one had the key to save them all- if only one could unlock their predictable, sad little minds enough to spread the news to the rest! Why, I would spare the species the misery myself if I weren't bound! I have a key, yes, but it is only the key to my own straightjacket. I write now with nothing but a pen and teeth- as, my worldly hands are bound. The warden is to look upon this very journal tomorrow- as, I have made a deal with him detailing such. I have come to learn that a man cannot resist a deal. Especially when they are foolishly vain enough to believe the other will be embarrassed by the outcome. And, here I wait, pen in my mouth with my hands bound, reminiscing the freedom that is to come. But enough idle prattle, as I could ramble on about the flaws of man for an eternity. An eternity that you do not have. My chosen name is Raeford Vixen Lagnelias- not the second, or the third, or so forth- as I have no family, and plan not to have one for as long as I may roam this earth. And warden, as you may know from my public records, I do not exist. Which, in retrospect, makes lacking a lineage or family- or whatever other bonds people may deem essential for living- much, much simpler. Ask any creature which roams upon this earth my chosen name, and you will only be met with nonchalant shrugs of the shoulders and dismissive waves of the hand. Ask my given- Ah. Well, I won't bother you with such boring matters, as you men tend to wave aside with those hands you deem so powerful any possibility of what my words may suggest- so I will not waste another precious second of yours dwelling upon them. Now, where was I? Yes, myself! Forgive me, my dear warden, as memories are fleeting in this lesser vessel of mine. I can but wonder how you live in such a way. I would call it unnatural~ but in your eyes, I suppose it is only... Human. Now, allow me to recall my thoughts- I have written to you about my name, and about my lack of existence~ But not the secret! Can I, warden, tell you a secret? By the end of this little journal of mine, the world will be at its end. And you, warden, will be the deliverer of this end. How ironic! How painfully ironic it must be, to know that you and your position will be the demise of all those you love, when the only reason you fulfilled such an occupation was to protect them! So, for the sakes of all those you love, I'd suggest you keep this journal going. ENTRY 1, DAY 1, YOU.
