Natz~
Full of Hugs and Fire~
as it sounds this is where i'll present my entry for each week~
would like criticism and opinions but mostly its to store my story here
hope you enjoy~
would like criticism and opinions but mostly its to store my story here
hope you enjoy~
A place long ago, forgotten and ignored by most people out of the realm, exists a place, a world. A land full of life. From its start of civilizations constructed from monoliths delivered from their ancestors past. Relics to spur technology and potential. To speed man forward through power, from its first steps of civilization to the age of stones, metals of working and chanting of of nobility. The monoliths guiding them to the power of arts and crafts, to build them higher and higher on talent and art, to go beyond mere words and survival to be place upon paintings, sculptures, photos, paper. Things to remember them by as the monoliths that spurred themselves to go forward. To reach expanding and rush of travel of new lands, exploration journeys, further from the lands they were built up in. To found nations to last millenniums, cities to stand tests of time, and mechanisms and monuments to rise above the land. The men, women, childs, people who formed these nations in these forgotten places, to rise and live in these unknown world forgotten by existence at large, growing a solid nation, a strong city, a place to call their own, and their own strengths to rise forever.
For it to be consumed by their own hands, all the hundreds of years of time in their world to be undone by their own hands, everything destroyed, forgotten, perished. People who were ployed and tricked to rival against those at top. Deaths raised hands at many unfortunate people died at the hands of those few who abused the government, and the damned blamed the good faces at the top for the crimes. Little by little seeds of destruction were constantly sowed, to be lay'd waste amongst them all. executions, massacres, genocides, till the whole nation is inflamed among itself. Its own fires to be blamed of its own actions. Those who are at the top faltered and died, and the sod rebels at the bottom bled their lives for an empty cause, those few who turn these events garnered what they wanted. Destruction and mayhem to foster their boredom, the city, the nation to stand for time crumbled to those who wanted to sack emptiness of vices, the land bombed, courtesy of those left at the top who wanted more blood to be spelled, and sunk to the depths of hell.
Everything that made the civilization once proud, still remains, in ruin and in tatters but still a tall among the land. Another bomb hits and the land is anew, all the destruction, the existence of the previous man that inhabited this place is now gone. New men and women exploring and discovering the ruins of the old, what remains after the world got restored from the past ones actions. no memory, no history, all completely gone from existence. The relics from the old, become the monoliths for the new. History repeats, they grow, they learn, they change. Proceeding from wood and fire, to stone and metal. From mud and drawings to arts and displays. The new civilization follows the old ones foot prints. The ones that they leave exactly for them to follow in. They build, they explore, they learn, they destroy. Almost to a fault. Exactly in the same path the first went, the second followed suit in similar fasion, a built up city, a strong nation, good people and broad ideas, all ruined by their own hands. The same few built in high lands, cast down on the same few in bad times. The names and faces change, but the same bodies and the same history apply. Till there is no one left again in this land and it is also again bombed to follow the previous civilization. all of its pride and glory from copied foot prints, joined in hand once more. The land anewed, the relics and ruins show, becoming their own monoliths, and another group of man rose once again to follow in the previous kingdoms foot steps to follow it down the gutter.
History repeats, on and off, age after age, eternity for eternity. The same people, doing the same things, over, and over, and over, and over again. No differentiation, no change in mode, the same people, doing the same actions, every cycle, only for new ones to replace their past. It repeats, forever, no change or room for mind. Every civilization built up to magnitude, only destroyed from those internal out of their desire for blood and boredom. No lesson to be learned, no trick to pull off, nothing to plunge. This has continued from tens to tens, from hundreds to hundreds, thousands to thousands, no record can keep track of how many times this cycle has repeated. after millions of repeats no more hope arises to learn or desire to change, the cycle is comfortable, it is stagnant in its consume. No man or relic has lived that long to tell, to watch the constant flow of similarity form to delay or wish for change among this fright. At least.... no man.
Above this world that is forgotten, all up top to a twinkling star in the sky, far above where no mortal dares to dream to reach. Inside the star is a room. An empty room, dark with the feeling of consumption among entering, in the center the only light shining in the room inside the star. screens or monitors, tvs or computers, unclear of what their distinction is. but they view the events that follow down below, keeping other worldly track of the cycle of all the mortals fates in their view, always blinking and changing rapidly but clarity it is. Showing the events that repeat the disaster all these times for ones viewing. The screens show circular all around the room showing inward, so the being in the middle can view them all. Yes the one who has been watching the cycle unfold of millions of times, the one who chooses to be their fate.
The one from the room in the star who watches over the world that is forgotten, no one know his existence, no one knows who he is, maybe there once was but they are long ago gone now. He himself, the man in the star doesn't know himself either, perhaps he was once a courageous explorer who reached the star? Or maybe he was created for some purpose? what was it? He doesn't know, the info is long dead away with several cycles. The man atop of this throne to watch all the screens to watch. Watch the madness unfold the world below, the same scenes, the same events, the same people. He has seen them all before and act the same way an untold amount of times.
Down below an man cries and begs to god to help him. Wounds from before but still fighting the war that continues, the man pleads to a god to save him, to help him live to see his son grow. The man in the star room sees this and gets up from his throne and walks toward the screen that shows the man crying, begging to live, crawling to struggle. The man in the star room pulls his only tool he has had for as long as hes been in the star room. A knife, sharped and curled at the end to show a blade, handle bright and ordain, a cut before the hilt, with a chain attached in forms of string and mythical. Below the screen showing the crying wounded man, struggling to live, shows a string, thin, fragile, and light. With a sinister smile the man formed using the knife slowly cuts the string out watching it evaporate to nothing. The crying man, who wanted help to see, to feel, has a clock down on him. Five heart beating. Four blindness ensures. Three chest burning. Two screams wailing. One a last cry. The clock disappears and the man falls, dead, like everyone around them. Taken by the one he calls god, the man in the star room overlooking the world forgotten, smiles as he takes another fate.
Another lost, the cycle reborn, and the man, nay the god in the room in the star feels pleased. Doing his work, keeping the world in stasis. Causing the cycle to repeat, his factors, his influence controlling the fate of the mortals below, keeping the land forever in a unending cycle of self destruction. Why? Some belief that this is for the betterment of people so they don't eradicate themselves forever? some joyous pleasure of seeing people doom to forever repeat their mistakes? Or some form of control in the gods hands as he watches over eternity of the mortals own suicide. None can say, as no one meets the god of fate, he watches, enjoys, and derives. From succeeding in his perfection, a stable cycle that will continue till their world is deleted. An endless cycle to continue forever, his greatest work.
This cycle explosion rang from the gods screens, viewing it all as the star gets to work, to eliminate all trace of the current cycle but their monuments. To leave behind monoliths so the next cycle can continue the foot prints of the prior to follow the same sheep cycle generations prior have followed. The god drinks in hand, some substance of his creation, and revels in his creation as the next cycles man grows from their caves and rocks to discovers the goods he has left them. To watch them grow and learn, to build and create, to destroy and detonate. A movie he has watched for a thousand years, that has been repeated an unknown amount of times, but still continue to view, to enjoy the mortals suffering as his own journey of creation. Amusing himself with their familiarity and cutting the string of fate for whatever mortals clock is time, a designation he controls. Creation, life, death, all pawns in his hands. Fruits to pick when the cycle calls for it, and moments he has memorized from countless times of screen play.
The next cycle begins underway, and the god lavishes his newly found drink from those below, preparing for the next climax and the next scene haplessly watching the same trick and the same story he has read for an eternity with different actors. All playthings for his art. All objects at his disposal, to the god of fate in the room at the star, above the forgotten world where no one knows where.
For it to be consumed by their own hands, all the hundreds of years of time in their world to be undone by their own hands, everything destroyed, forgotten, perished. People who were ployed and tricked to rival against those at top. Deaths raised hands at many unfortunate people died at the hands of those few who abused the government, and the damned blamed the good faces at the top for the crimes. Little by little seeds of destruction were constantly sowed, to be lay'd waste amongst them all. executions, massacres, genocides, till the whole nation is inflamed among itself. Its own fires to be blamed of its own actions. Those who are at the top faltered and died, and the sod rebels at the bottom bled their lives for an empty cause, those few who turn these events garnered what they wanted. Destruction and mayhem to foster their boredom, the city, the nation to stand for time crumbled to those who wanted to sack emptiness of vices, the land bombed, courtesy of those left at the top who wanted more blood to be spelled, and sunk to the depths of hell.
Everything that made the civilization once proud, still remains, in ruin and in tatters but still a tall among the land. Another bomb hits and the land is anew, all the destruction, the existence of the previous man that inhabited this place is now gone. New men and women exploring and discovering the ruins of the old, what remains after the world got restored from the past ones actions. no memory, no history, all completely gone from existence. The relics from the old, become the monoliths for the new. History repeats, they grow, they learn, they change. Proceeding from wood and fire, to stone and metal. From mud and drawings to arts and displays. The new civilization follows the old ones foot prints. The ones that they leave exactly for them to follow in. They build, they explore, they learn, they destroy. Almost to a fault. Exactly in the same path the first went, the second followed suit in similar fasion, a built up city, a strong nation, good people and broad ideas, all ruined by their own hands. The same few built in high lands, cast down on the same few in bad times. The names and faces change, but the same bodies and the same history apply. Till there is no one left again in this land and it is also again bombed to follow the previous civilization. all of its pride and glory from copied foot prints, joined in hand once more. The land anewed, the relics and ruins show, becoming their own monoliths, and another group of man rose once again to follow in the previous kingdoms foot steps to follow it down the gutter.
History repeats, on and off, age after age, eternity for eternity. The same people, doing the same things, over, and over, and over, and over again. No differentiation, no change in mode, the same people, doing the same actions, every cycle, only for new ones to replace their past. It repeats, forever, no change or room for mind. Every civilization built up to magnitude, only destroyed from those internal out of their desire for blood and boredom. No lesson to be learned, no trick to pull off, nothing to plunge. This has continued from tens to tens, from hundreds to hundreds, thousands to thousands, no record can keep track of how many times this cycle has repeated. after millions of repeats no more hope arises to learn or desire to change, the cycle is comfortable, it is stagnant in its consume. No man or relic has lived that long to tell, to watch the constant flow of similarity form to delay or wish for change among this fright. At least.... no man.
Above this world that is forgotten, all up top to a twinkling star in the sky, far above where no mortal dares to dream to reach. Inside the star is a room. An empty room, dark with the feeling of consumption among entering, in the center the only light shining in the room inside the star. screens or monitors, tvs or computers, unclear of what their distinction is. but they view the events that follow down below, keeping other worldly track of the cycle of all the mortals fates in their view, always blinking and changing rapidly but clarity it is. Showing the events that repeat the disaster all these times for ones viewing. The screens show circular all around the room showing inward, so the being in the middle can view them all. Yes the one who has been watching the cycle unfold of millions of times, the one who chooses to be their fate.
The one from the room in the star who watches over the world that is forgotten, no one know his existence, no one knows who he is, maybe there once was but they are long ago gone now. He himself, the man in the star doesn't know himself either, perhaps he was once a courageous explorer who reached the star? Or maybe he was created for some purpose? what was it? He doesn't know, the info is long dead away with several cycles. The man atop of this throne to watch all the screens to watch. Watch the madness unfold the world below, the same scenes, the same events, the same people. He has seen them all before and act the same way an untold amount of times.
Down below an man cries and begs to god to help him. Wounds from before but still fighting the war that continues, the man pleads to a god to save him, to help him live to see his son grow. The man in the star room sees this and gets up from his throne and walks toward the screen that shows the man crying, begging to live, crawling to struggle. The man in the star room pulls his only tool he has had for as long as hes been in the star room. A knife, sharped and curled at the end to show a blade, handle bright and ordain, a cut before the hilt, with a chain attached in forms of string and mythical. Below the screen showing the crying wounded man, struggling to live, shows a string, thin, fragile, and light. With a sinister smile the man formed using the knife slowly cuts the string out watching it evaporate to nothing. The crying man, who wanted help to see, to feel, has a clock down on him. Five heart beating. Four blindness ensures. Three chest burning. Two screams wailing. One a last cry. The clock disappears and the man falls, dead, like everyone around them. Taken by the one he calls god, the man in the star room overlooking the world forgotten, smiles as he takes another fate.
Another lost, the cycle reborn, and the man, nay the god in the room in the star feels pleased. Doing his work, keeping the world in stasis. Causing the cycle to repeat, his factors, his influence controlling the fate of the mortals below, keeping the land forever in a unending cycle of self destruction. Why? Some belief that this is for the betterment of people so they don't eradicate themselves forever? some joyous pleasure of seeing people doom to forever repeat their mistakes? Or some form of control in the gods hands as he watches over eternity of the mortals own suicide. None can say, as no one meets the god of fate, he watches, enjoys, and derives. From succeeding in his perfection, a stable cycle that will continue till their world is deleted. An endless cycle to continue forever, his greatest work.
This cycle explosion rang from the gods screens, viewing it all as the star gets to work, to eliminate all trace of the current cycle but their monuments. To leave behind monoliths so the next cycle can continue the foot prints of the prior to follow the same sheep cycle generations prior have followed. The god drinks in hand, some substance of his creation, and revels in his creation as the next cycles man grows from their caves and rocks to discovers the goods he has left them. To watch them grow and learn, to build and create, to destroy and detonate. A movie he has watched for a thousand years, that has been repeated an unknown amount of times, but still continue to view, to enjoy the mortals suffering as his own journey of creation. Amusing himself with their familiarity and cutting the string of fate for whatever mortals clock is time, a designation he controls. Creation, life, death, all pawns in his hands. Fruits to pick when the cycle calls for it, and moments he has memorized from countless times of screen play.
The next cycle begins underway, and the god lavishes his newly found drink from those below, preparing for the next climax and the next scene haplessly watching the same trick and the same story he has read for an eternity with different actors. All playthings for his art. All objects at his disposal, to the god of fate in the room at the star, above the forgotten world where no one knows where.
