Story: Questions - OF
Came to my mind yesterday.
I was listening to Violent Dreams by Die Happy... and somehow I just had to write this, and couldn't stop until it was finished.
It's written in Nathan's point of view.
Another shard.
Just a piece of the puzzle.
(I have drawn him. It's not finished, just a wip screen, I'm going to color it.
here.)
This time, it is not in CZ.
In English, just without betaread.
So I'm really sorry if there are any disturbing mistakes.
For many years, I have been wondering.
What is all our existence good for?
People ask.
Always the same questions.
It gets boring with time.
How was it to die?
And what am I supposed to answer?
That I’ve seen a light at the end of a dark tunnel, and that then a voice told me ‘it’s not my time yet’?
That I’ve met the Mother, who has told me I am supposed to live forever for… for what?
The truth is it was just rather unpleasant to have a knife stabbed in my chest.
…Only waking up, I woke up, rather confused, in the embrace of somebody I had never seen before, and something was wrong, something felt terribly wrong-
Yes.
And the something has been wrong for almost seven centuries now.
How is it to live for so long?
How am I supposed to answer this?
That it is perfect, when one doesn’t have to worry about dying?
That it is fine, because I can help many people with my Black Blood?
That it is what. Boring?
It’s … nothing.
One gets used to it.
It’s not that hard.
Befriend nobody. For you, their lives will end in a glimpse of an eye - they will grow old and die though you are not aging, you remain the same through years and years, decades and centuries which will turn into millennia-
Maybe I should call it frustrating.
We’re standing still in time. That was what Andaemon once told me. That’s what he calls all this.
If I cut my hair, in few seconds it would grow out back to its length - not like there was anything to cut on my head: my hair is so short I’d have to shave it.
And it will remain like this forever. This short.
I will never be able to grow out long hair, like the ancient ones have.
It had frozen in time…. So long, long time ago.
All my life I answer people’s questions.
But somehow it seems… there is nobody to answer mine.
I asked many times. I asked them, the ancient ones, I asked even the ones younger than me, because yes, there are ones younger than me, Simon, Julian…
Julian.
I knew him as a human, warm, breathing, so passionate, so enjoying the living.
I still can remember.
And look what this gift has done to him - turned him into an immortal being - a warrior so merciless and cold that making love to a stone would produce more human warmth than him.
I asked many times.
What is all our existence good for?
I understand the reason of Asmarael’s immortality. Or Siel’s. Phaiber’s. Az’s … Of anybody from the oldest ones.
The Dead himself… And the never dying Kings…
But why are we here, the young ones, whose existence seems to be just pointless?
Andaemon gave me something that could be taken as an answer I’ve been seeking for.
Something, that I reconsider every time when Siel, the mad man (or asexual, as some like to stress) who seems had lost his sanity many millennia ago, strokes my hair and calls me his child.
As they are here to watch over the planet, though never taking part-
…. The young ones are here to watch over them.
The young ones are here to keep the oldest sane.
Because sanity is something… that immortality can ruin so easily…
I was listening to Violent Dreams by Die Happy... and somehow I just had to write this, and couldn't stop until it was finished.
It's written in Nathan's point of view.
Another shard.
Just a piece of the puzzle.
(I have drawn him. It's not finished, just a wip screen, I'm going to color it.
here.)
This time, it is not in CZ.
In English, just without betaread.
So I'm really sorry if there are any disturbing mistakes.
For many years, I have been wondering.
What is all our existence good for?
People ask.
Always the same questions.
It gets boring with time.
How was it to die?
And what am I supposed to answer?
That I’ve seen a light at the end of a dark tunnel, and that then a voice told me ‘it’s not my time yet’?
That I’ve met the Mother, who has told me I am supposed to live forever for… for what?
The truth is it was just rather unpleasant to have a knife stabbed in my chest.
…Only waking up, I woke up, rather confused, in the embrace of somebody I had never seen before, and something was wrong, something felt terribly wrong-
Yes.
And the something has been wrong for almost seven centuries now.
How is it to live for so long?
How am I supposed to answer this?
That it is perfect, when one doesn’t have to worry about dying?
That it is fine, because I can help many people with my Black Blood?
That it is what. Boring?
It’s … nothing.
One gets used to it.
It’s not that hard.
Befriend nobody. For you, their lives will end in a glimpse of an eye - they will grow old and die though you are not aging, you remain the same through years and years, decades and centuries which will turn into millennia-
Maybe I should call it frustrating.
We’re standing still in time. That was what Andaemon once told me. That’s what he calls all this.
If I cut my hair, in few seconds it would grow out back to its length - not like there was anything to cut on my head: my hair is so short I’d have to shave it.
And it will remain like this forever. This short.
I will never be able to grow out long hair, like the ancient ones have.
It had frozen in time…. So long, long time ago.
All my life I answer people’s questions.
But somehow it seems… there is nobody to answer mine.
I asked many times. I asked them, the ancient ones, I asked even the ones younger than me, because yes, there are ones younger than me, Simon, Julian…
Julian.
I knew him as a human, warm, breathing, so passionate, so enjoying the living.
I still can remember.
And look what this gift has done to him - turned him into an immortal being - a warrior so merciless and cold that making love to a stone would produce more human warmth than him.
I asked many times.
What is all our existence good for?
I understand the reason of Asmarael’s immortality. Or Siel’s. Phaiber’s. Az’s … Of anybody from the oldest ones.
The Dead himself… And the never dying Kings…
But why are we here, the young ones, whose existence seems to be just pointless?
Andaemon gave me something that could be taken as an answer I’ve been seeking for.
Something, that I reconsider every time when Siel, the mad man (or asexual, as some like to stress) who seems had lost his sanity many millennia ago, strokes my hair and calls me his child.
As they are here to watch over the planet, though never taking part-
…. The young ones are here to watch over them.
The young ones are here to keep the oldest sane.
Because sanity is something… that immortality can ruin so easily…