Of orchestras and sublimely deafening music.
So I wrote a drabble. First piece I have written in ages, and it's really short.
You can guess who the character is, and I suppose this is kind of like therapy.
This was exactly the kind of mood he needed to proceed with his grisly itinerary. Some may have thought that they had made him this way - this creation of despicable wretchedness that all avoided - but he liked to think that it was how he had made himself. It had been a road piled with fresh bodies and doomed promises, but he was still managing to climb his lone hill and carry his black flag. He did not think in terms of what he had lost, but more in the company of what he had gained. It was an emancipation of sorts, kind of like a rebirth when it became starkly clear and simple. His last death had only been the first, and the road ahead, be without lights, was still exactly what it was - the road ahead. One that he would have to trudge onto the very end.
You can guess who the character is, and I suppose this is kind of like therapy.
This was exactly the kind of mood he needed to proceed with his grisly itinerary. Some may have thought that they had made him this way - this creation of despicable wretchedness that all avoided - but he liked to think that it was how he had made himself. It had been a road piled with fresh bodies and doomed promises, but he was still managing to climb his lone hill and carry his black flag. He did not think in terms of what he had lost, but more in the company of what he had gained. It was an emancipation of sorts, kind of like a rebirth when it became starkly clear and simple. His last death had only been the first, and the road ahead, be without lights, was still exactly what it was - the road ahead. One that he would have to trudge onto the very end.