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Literature Text

This is the end. This is the beginning. This is me standing at the apex of it all: clouds, sky, sea...all of it pouring past my sight into nothing.

The palette was black and white. It was so pristine. Your hands unknowingly plunged beneath the surface, smearing the paint, blurring the lines. And a once simple storyline erupted into chaos. Pure chaos.

I was claiming my portion. I was the cautious champion, blossoming from something unlikely into something certain. For all the things I didn't understand, there were more of which I was certain. All those certainties have melted into one: that the end of everything is seeking me out.

The ocean is on fire. The sun is draining away like water. And all I can do is watch.

Voices. So many voices. The political man pointing a finger. The preacher man warning the masses. The optimistic man grabs his share. And the oblivious man goes about his normal routine, not to be bothered.

Above it all, above the cacophony I hear the void. The hushed whisper of a mysterious fate waiting in the wings. And the hollow ringing of my own indifference.

It's not like you would know, would you? You still live within the sound, within the life that we are all raised to believe in. Where babies cry, and people love, and where the world just keeps on spinning. But this is not my home.

The world can burn for all I care. But perhaps even more alarming is the fact that it doesn't bother me. It doesn't bother me that I'm holding the matches.
More freeform, prose, whatever the proper term is
© 2011 - 2024 SonicBoomDigitalArt
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