Writing (broken)

There wasn't much to say. He walked a long time into darkness pretending he was strong. Pictures he saw scrambling across the sky were his guides. Ghosts in whom faces came from memory, smiling and pointing a certain way. Long stretches of time drew his fears inward and he began to tread heavily, untrusting of the familiar. He ran. Sprinting closer to the center of the unknown. When he turned to look at his side, she was there behind a mirage. He reached out, but felt the space of a thousand galaxies between their two souls, so he wept. Feeling lost and alone he stopped running. Tears flowed harder and his throat spasmed and tightened, forcing him to push his breath out in horrid sobs. The fingers pointing in the sky saw everything. Time began to rip into his flesh exposing his truth even more, and choices left him. He reached out beyond his vision to a feeling that might have been, and was met with fear. Tasting caustic film as fear poured over him he bathed in its oily slime as it covered every cell, it sank into the wounds time left and seared into his blood and bones. Writhing on the ground now composed of burning sand and rock- his thoughts open to all-pain began cultivating in him a desire to become human; to be weak and mild, to be humble. This was all destined for him before his first ancestor spoke her first words, before the galactic explosions and planetary formations became the earth he now lay on. His God knew the story of everything, and was now blessing him with a righteous birth that few comprehended. The immensity of all of time crushed him from one instant to the next, reminding him how insignificant he was, and his whole life ran through his mind. The ghostly faces watched with unflinching gazes, their fingers no longer pointing, he recognized them now as his ancestors. He wept even more still at how ashamed he was that nothing he did had ever been hidden, his brash arrogance was a knife up his wrists, his selfish greed a noose around his neck. False pride, lies, hate, abuse in every form, he wept and wept until his tears became meaningless, until his sobs grated to nothing and he couldn't breathe. The gazes looked at him and he knew they had no pity. She was not there. His mind played out thousands of lifetimes through his mind, each one different, each one telling of a life of secrets now exposed; murderous wretches, brutal abusers living double lives, nightmare upon nightmare being shown in all its ugly gory detail until he couldn't even summon the ability to peer into his thoughts. Exhaustion is too mild of a word, he was entirely cleansed by his God of any right to control over his body, and even the pain he was experiencing felt as if it were a dream from a lifetime ago. The beginning had come. When he awoke, the sky was not dark, his ancestors were not looking down upon him, his body was untouched, and she was still not there. He almost remembered something, a feeling that might have been, but it drifted through his mind without catching, and he smiled.

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