[ locked to : Aubrey Ringland, nyah ] this strange being, born of a breath
Nik is not happy, and he isn't sure why. He suspects that he might be feeling guilty, or ashamed, or worried about disappointing someone, and this only frustrates him further, because by God he is a genius and should be above such petty concerns.
He changes into his bedclothes, seeking solace in sleep, but sleep doesn't come. He changes back into his public clothes--a new set--and paces awhile. He sits at his desk and pens letters the he will never post, addressed to people he may never see. He tries to draft another essay but finds himself uninspired.
"Don't be ridiculous," he mutters to himself. "They will thank you in the end. After everything, they will see what you have done for them and forgive you the rest." No, something in the back of his mind whispers, they will forget. And since when did he feel the need to be forgiven?
He changes into his bedclothes, seeking solace in sleep, but sleep doesn't come. He changes back into his public clothes--a new set--and paces awhile. He sits at his desk and pens letters the he will never post, addressed to people he may never see. He tries to draft another essay but finds himself uninspired.
"Don't be ridiculous," he mutters to himself. "They will thank you in the end. After everything, they will see what you have done for them and forgive you the rest." No, something in the back of his mind whispers, they will forget. And since when did he feel the need to be forgiven?