There was a
boy who sat alone, who looked upon the world in secret, who looked at its
darkest corners, because he grew bored and fearful of the happy lands of blue
and red and was content looking at them, because it gave him pleasure to defy
the night and take a glance at that which was supposed to scare him.
He had been
sad one week, having seen the rotting corpse of reality, decaying into
nothingness every day, but he did not care for he was brave and went out to conquer
the rot unbeatable that would he knew be his demise and death, but he loved
fucking with the night in this way showing its personification he did not care
and could overcome anything it threw at him.
Meanwhile two
armies waged war, one was angelic and golden with wings of silver and awe, the
other rotten and foul, with corpse and zombies laying in swarms of rot, those
of light did good things and cured great things but those of night did not care
for the good, the boy knew both were futile and useless, granted great power
over life but unable to accomplish a thing.
So the boy
journeyed through the great chasm of nightmares, of futility and horror, seeing
things abominable, seeing the great failure of mankind, until he ran out of things
to see and was in horror. Then a trumpet sounded, resounding from somewhere
strange, he looked up and saw a glorious eclipse, but it was far too blinding
and would take one year to see, but what he had seen was a word, you defied
both, both...
I had not
tried to kill the evil and had not joined the evil, I had looked at it and
smiled. On that night of the trumpet blow, a glorious sex transpired in my head
far beyond my anything I knew, a thing was born a thing new and old, an ark
lost in the ages, a missing piece of infinity, for I had conquered the night by
glance alone and was not scared anymore. Still this was the night, not the
year. Yet in those days he should have been totally depressed.
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