Blood's Sacrifice

Chapter 4 - Fork

Indescribable waves of confusion filled the young male as he sat down against the wall of a run-down looking alleyway, filled with endless emotions that clashed with each other to thoroughly corrupt and shatter at his very being more. The mentals did not care for Savannah Rose, enough to put him out of his misery— to be left unconscious, in sleep, coma, or death. No... it was a rather harsh time, like all other times that felt like life wanting to make the most skin-curling, acidic lemons into insipid lemonade.

Everything was already spoiled. Everything. It always had been... but Savannah's big heart, while sat there and beginning to bleed out the first few tears like an everyday anxious toddler, tried not to believe as such until everything was revealed to him. Ultimately, the brutalities of this life were heartbreaking. To the core, the very best he could do was weep more, and wait for himself to eventually stop leaking like a fountain... back to weeping like a child. The very illusion of adulthood when compared to the childish soul was always cruel on the body. No one ever realized this until it was too late; they were already crying. They were already a child again.

One could never be sturdy forever. One could never be fully indestructible. Everything had its ups and downs. Savannah bled those tears well while fully knowing the fundamentals of the cruelty in the life that he lived in; this awkward, gut-wrenching and severing reality that paled against his greatest of dreams as he woke to discover that the world was ending, and had already ended because it was ending. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise... but he was still there, in the ending phase. That meant that he would have to suffer through this facade of duality— light and dark, in each and every teeth grinding, terrible experience that would come from the already terrible world before him. The sourest of lemons. The people attempted to make sweet lemonade with the sourest of lemons. They, in Savannah's mind, were foolish.

But his conscious mind was an utter blur. His subconscious, on the other hand, knew everything it needed to know. That was where the aspect of foolishness was already discovered, and then some. Concepts whirling, and whirling, and whirling around in his mind made him cry. All babies cried once they were born. Externally, if the physical anatomy of their bodies could even muster up said tears. Internally, as their soul wept for the unfair treatment of being cast aside in an unjust, unfair world that did not know how to keep its balance for the betterment of all. Truth: everyone, to their deepest layer, was still infantile.

It did not matter where the tears were. Tears were tears. All over the fur— all over the fur of Savannah as he wailed about the true grayness of the world that no one else wanted to accept. No one else, he felt. Even if he convinced one of such a thing, he could only hope that they did not turn tail on him like the rest, for another single silly mistake he did not mean to do... and go back to their ways of evil again. He, a person that loved so much would never seem to be loved back as much in the hellish dystopia that the world's evil so craved to be birthed as a nightmare from the combined consciousness of the masses. He could only hope that his love's light could triumph over the vastly overwhelming forces of dooming darkness, pitch black and laughing eternally with a slither and hiss in its motioning sin, often disguised as blessing.

Savannah Rose screamed as he cried. And as he screamed, he died. And as he died, he lived. And he laughed throughout the tears of this reversed evil wept. Madly. The conscious mind could not comprehend it all, so all it could do was spit out the egregious laughter from his source of illness. Intrinsically and sickly plagued by his environment, eventually beginning to cough through the blood-curdling laughter and wails that echoed within the busy, yet empty world for no one to listen. Not a soul would bother to even consider saving another soul. Not a soul cared. Selfishness is, and was the sin that rarely anyone tried to fix themselves by opposing; by becoming the opposite. He clawed at the walls throughout this greater tantrum, eyes widened throughout the loss; throughout the illusion of time being severed as everything became one as it always was. He could damage himself. His claws could break, his body could bleed, his chest could convulse...

Should, could, would, and is; et cetera. The very nature of life's paradox did not care for power. It did not care for anything. All perspectives, no matter how varied, all blended together in great fundamentals. It was an infinitely perplexing mask of matrix which existed just to exist. Knowing that it could never be fixed fully left it to exist. The error was the solution. And this... is life.

Savannah Rose was yet another victim, left in a reality of hell, and forced to live it out until the pendulum swung again... perhaps for the better the next time. But by then, he would be gone. In identity; yet his eternal soul would most likely live on.

His mind broke.

But his heart would still keep him there.

Enslaved... all puppets were puppets of puppets!

Infinitely!

Savannah Rose wished for the betterment of the world.

Savannah Rose wished for the betterment of the world.

Savannah Rose wished for the betterment of the world.

But.

There was always something to get in the way of that, at one point or the other.

'It is what it is.'

If love truly conquered all... then Savannah simply could not wait for it to conquer the hell that he appeared to be in.

Savannah Rose could not wait.

Savannah Rose could not wait.

Savannah Rose could not wait... for relief.

For the greater good would be what he had to stand for, till the end of his days.

Against darkness.

Or perhaps, he would just turn another hue of gray.

A fork is a fork.

Incomplete, yet whole.

Branching...

Heat lightning flash.

Heat lightning flash.

Heat lightning flash.

Whole, yet incomplete.