Post by Shadow on Jan 6, 2008 4:33:27 GMT -5
Time was a strange concept. It healed as it went on, yet at the same time it could torture or numb. Shadow had stopped buying the bull that humans had created time. Time, even if just as a concept rather than a word, had always existed. He did admit, though, that time was quite relative.
Had it been a couple hours ago when Fallyn had left him? Or had it been a week already? For Shadow, of course, it was meaningless to keep track of a wild thing like time. Why try to trap such an extraordinary idea (wild as it may be) inside an hourglass or a watch? May time take its toll. Literally.
Nonetheless, Shadow found himself stalking in the cemetery in an ungodly hour of the night. It was completely dark; even the moon was hiding behind a blanket of dark clouds as if it knew the consequences of showing itself.
The tombstones themselves, even in the dark, did not withhold an eerie feeling. No, they never had. Silly human beings. Mortals avoided the cemetery night and day, because of their own thoughts. Ironically enough, it is never the ghost of the dead that haunt the living. It is, rather, the livings' thoughts, regrets, emotions, and perceptions about the dead that come back to haunt them. But of course, humans had always, from the dawn of history, blamed their own irrational feelings and thoughts along with unexplainable, and even seemingly unfair, events on other forms of themselves. Nothing was surprising about Shadow's speculations. In fact, he knew that.
With that thought in mind, Shadow usually found the uncanny silence of the cemetery a sort of comfort for his screaming thoughts. It was not his first time visiting a cemetery at night, obviously. But he had rather become better at listening to his thoughts in the isolation of the godforsaken place.
Nonetheless, Shadow had never thought he'd have to deal with his own emotions again. "Dammit!" he shouted involuntary, his voice echoing off the tombstones, reflected back at him again. He practically dropped on the ground out of frustration, his back to a tombstone.
Suddenly, though, Shadow knew he wasn't the only one paying a visit to the cemetery on this quite bleak night. He sat still, on his guard, very much like a guard dog.
Had it been a couple hours ago when Fallyn had left him? Or had it been a week already? For Shadow, of course, it was meaningless to keep track of a wild thing like time. Why try to trap such an extraordinary idea (wild as it may be) inside an hourglass or a watch? May time take its toll. Literally.
Nonetheless, Shadow found himself stalking in the cemetery in an ungodly hour of the night. It was completely dark; even the moon was hiding behind a blanket of dark clouds as if it knew the consequences of showing itself.
The tombstones themselves, even in the dark, did not withhold an eerie feeling. No, they never had. Silly human beings. Mortals avoided the cemetery night and day, because of their own thoughts. Ironically enough, it is never the ghost of the dead that haunt the living. It is, rather, the livings' thoughts, regrets, emotions, and perceptions about the dead that come back to haunt them. But of course, humans had always, from the dawn of history, blamed their own irrational feelings and thoughts along with unexplainable, and even seemingly unfair, events on other forms of themselves. Nothing was surprising about Shadow's speculations. In fact, he knew that.
With that thought in mind, Shadow usually found the uncanny silence of the cemetery a sort of comfort for his screaming thoughts. It was not his first time visiting a cemetery at night, obviously. But he had rather become better at listening to his thoughts in the isolation of the godforsaken place.
Nonetheless, Shadow had never thought he'd have to deal with his own emotions again. "Dammit!" he shouted involuntary, his voice echoing off the tombstones, reflected back at him again. He practically dropped on the ground out of frustration, his back to a tombstone.
Suddenly, though, Shadow knew he wasn't the only one paying a visit to the cemetery on this quite bleak night. He sat still, on his guard, very much like a guard dog.