Logan
05-01-12, 11:51 PM
{{Note: This is happening in between the first and second round of the Clan War between IK and PA, and is open to anyone. }}
Looking around, the thought of what had transpired shook him deeply. Innocent men, women and children killed for what might as well have been sport. Worthless conflict with no purpose, no real reason, had raged there, yet it was nowhere near over. Citizens huddled near crumbled buildings trying to free trapped friends or family, or just trying to be helpful any way they could. Being helpful in times of crisis was a human trait, something that stemmed from the human need for companionship, the need to matter. The same need which drew him back to the ravaged streets.
His heart yearned for the companionship of something real. No longer was there a drive or passion for the fallacy of emptiness, of being alone. On the surface being the one, the only one, was comforting. There was no reliance upon those prone to failure, which was to say anyone and everyone he knew. Even his dearest friends were prone to coming up short when it mattered. Certainly, some would succeed every now and then, but in the end, it was always the same. Nothing changed, nobody changed. Not even him.
Yet he did. His place in the war was intended to be more than it had been. It was hoped he would prove himself once more on the field of battle, but in the end he had done the very thing he feared others would do to or for him. He failed. He came up short. He simply did not get the job done. And now, standing in the light of a solitary fire which was licking at the sides of what had been City Hall, he felt the full weight of the failure fall upon him.
Dropping to his knees, as he had done oh so many times before, he swore under his breath. His eyes glistened with moisture as tears welled. His heart ached and his voice shook with the might of thousands of lost souls. His breath ragged, his chest heaving, his entire being wracked by guilt, by frustration. And yet he endured. He held on, not for himself, but for those he failed. He held on not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
His arm rose as he wiped his sleeve across his face. "Why'd you place your faith in me? I have nothing to give, nothing to offer. I've been a failure for as long as I can remember, and yet, you swore I could handle it. Why can't you just let me be?" The question seemed empty in light of the circumstances, yet it seemed perfect. What had possessed them to place their trust in him? What did they see in him that he couldn't seem to figure out?
As the questions poured salt onto his fresh wounds, he found solace in the fact he didn't have to answer them or the ones he had failed. He could go back to living just as he had before. Emptiness and loneliness seemed to be the perfect answer. He didn't need anyone else, just himself.
Looking around, the thought of what had transpired shook him deeply. Innocent men, women and children killed for what might as well have been sport. Worthless conflict with no purpose, no real reason, had raged there, yet it was nowhere near over. Citizens huddled near crumbled buildings trying to free trapped friends or family, or just trying to be helpful any way they could. Being helpful in times of crisis was a human trait, something that stemmed from the human need for companionship, the need to matter. The same need which drew him back to the ravaged streets.
His heart yearned for the companionship of something real. No longer was there a drive or passion for the fallacy of emptiness, of being alone. On the surface being the one, the only one, was comforting. There was no reliance upon those prone to failure, which was to say anyone and everyone he knew. Even his dearest friends were prone to coming up short when it mattered. Certainly, some would succeed every now and then, but in the end, it was always the same. Nothing changed, nobody changed. Not even him.
Yet he did. His place in the war was intended to be more than it had been. It was hoped he would prove himself once more on the field of battle, but in the end he had done the very thing he feared others would do to or for him. He failed. He came up short. He simply did not get the job done. And now, standing in the light of a solitary fire which was licking at the sides of what had been City Hall, he felt the full weight of the failure fall upon him.
Dropping to his knees, as he had done oh so many times before, he swore under his breath. His eyes glistened with moisture as tears welled. His heart ached and his voice shook with the might of thousands of lost souls. His breath ragged, his chest heaving, his entire being wracked by guilt, by frustration. And yet he endured. He held on, not for himself, but for those he failed. He held on not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
His arm rose as he wiped his sleeve across his face. "Why'd you place your faith in me? I have nothing to give, nothing to offer. I've been a failure for as long as I can remember, and yet, you swore I could handle it. Why can't you just let me be?" The question seemed empty in light of the circumstances, yet it seemed perfect. What had possessed them to place their trust in him? What did they see in him that he couldn't seem to figure out?
As the questions poured salt onto his fresh wounds, he found solace in the fact he didn't have to answer them or the ones he had failed. He could go back to living just as he had before. Emptiness and loneliness seemed to be the perfect answer. He didn't need anyone else, just himself.