Thread:GalaxE/@comment-36159587-20200126063915/@comment-36159587-20200203025732

2017 Random Past Writing

He was walking along an unseen path. It was full of curves, twists, and turns, of things he could not see but knew existed. He felt the throbbing of his legs threatening to collapse, and the heat at the soles of his feet, and he knew that if he gave up here, he would be swallowed by the heat equal to that of lethal flames. Yet, he still continued, not knowing what he was searching for, but knowing he was searching for…something.

He felt the heat spear through his chest, something that felt so solid, yet wasn’t. Pausing, he saw a figure outlined against the landscape, barely visible but still there, back turned from him. Jun Ling tried calling out, but he couldn’t. The words were lodged into his throat, making him unable to speak properly, if at all. The other gave no response or reaction, but it seemed like the more he called, the more energy was called upon the fire. The flames licked at his tunic, impatiently waiting for the moment to devour him.

The silohuette slowly turned, so slowly he/she didn’t seem moving at all. Yet, with every instant, the flames grew higher and higher, more wild, and the air grew so smoky he could not see but the shadow of the person he was reaching out for. Suddenly, a blast of fire hit him across the face—was it the forehead? As his vision turned grey and his consciousness grew thin, he still struggled to get one glance of the darkened mask that was swept by ashes and the crimson of flames.

2020 Rewrite

Pain.

There was…so much pain…

Every movement he made burned at his core, but somehow, he was standing. No, he was walking, even as a flame burst upwards at him in sync with every step he took.

There was so much that blinded him. All he could see were the flames all around him, spreading, engulfing everything, consuming him. He was unable to stop them from devouring him and this curious little world that he was apparently now a part of, but he continued on, along the unseen path.

After all, it was all he had left, now. This pain and this fire—and perhaps they were intertwined, too.

So what was he searching for?

Somehow, he had not the urge to continue, but there was something other than that. There was something more than all of these curves and twists and turns to this invisible, scorching road, more than the mere, empty feeling that there was more to this place, things that he could not see but knew existed. It was more than that dreadful and gravitational despair pulling at his body, wanting him to succumb, and more than the heat burning away at the soles of his feet. It was more than the fact that he knew if he gave up here, he would be swallowed by the lethal flames, the deadly heat. No, it was the realization that he held on to as he continued, not knowing what he was searching for, but knowing he was searching for…something. Something more important to him than anything else in this tortuous and darkened world.

At some point, beyond the general efforts of everything villainous, he felt something spear through his chest. He paused, instinct to panic beyond him. After years of being attacked, and attacking others, fear was sometimes in another foreign world even from his perspective in the supposed real world.

But when he looked down, there was nothing there. Perhaps the smoke of this world had already engulfed all of his vision. Or perhaps the smoke itself was the spear lodged in his chest, now. Yet, it still felt so solid, as if something that wasn’t actually there was actually there.

It was as if the spear back then had returned. The weapon that had pierced his chest years ago was back, but this time, it brought no blood; it brought not even unconsciousness. Back then, the pain had been so immense to his young self, a child fighting on the front lines, and with it came the realization that he was about to die, he was about to die—

But this time, it brought nothing. It brought only some sort of hollowness emanating from somewhere within himself, that inner hand striving for something more, something more than this pain, or even this world. It strove for something. It reached out towards nothing.

Or was it nothing? For in his line of vision, a figure had appeared, a hellish black against the hellish canvas painted by destructive flames. The tranquility the figure emanated partnered with some sort of apathy, as if they transcended emotion. Their back was turned to him, almost invisible, almost translucent, parrying every word he must have tried to utter to them and making the syllables lodge into his throat.

Somehow, it too seemed the more he called, the more energy was called upon and into the fire, and it rose as if some sort of demonic wave, obscuring his view of the entity he was trying to reach out to and thinning his consciousness. Finally, a blast of flames whipped him, but as his grip to the world was ripped apart like paper, his final glimpse was only to the mere angle of a darkened mask swept clean by ashes and crimson flames.

Okay @2017 me

"silhouette"

NOT

"silohuette"

Or whatever that was

02:57, February 3, 2020 (UTC)