A Soul To Suffer

Prologue

Never accept death, when suffering is owed. But is it not the goal of life to owe suffering?

We do not live to undergo hardships, but to willingly choose so.

We live with the purpose of choosing to suffer, because the mind does not expand living...peacefully.

Only in the dark room, may your mind grow.

Never accept death...

When suffering is owed to yourself

Life is often a vague line of what is right, and what is wrong. No one person has the same beliefs about everything, and no one person is right about anything.

Do you really understand what your life means to you?

What is suffering to you?

Is it mornings in which you wake up, and cannot get out of bed, but you must because the overdue bills need to be paid?

Wake up a thousand more times, just like that, suffer on purpose and watch those bills turn into checks.

Do you not want to run, feeling helpless after five minutes of jogging, that you're barely able to breath?

Go back again, do it everyday, and find the endless joy of prancing through the wind while it can only try to take your breath.

Is there a dream you have, that feels so far away that you struggle to even believe?

If you really want what you say you want, suffering is owed. Not owed to the landlord wanting your money, nor to the wind that wants your breath.

You owe you.

And that may be the hardest thing to do.

To suffer when there is no excuse, but yourself.

You can't blame the government for billing you, you can't blame the wind for taking your breath away.

You can only blame yourself for choosing not to suffer.

When the ghosts of what you could've been surround your casket, how many of them will you see?

"Seaweed Brain!" A voice called from downstairs.

As he set down his pencil, bare feet could be heard bounding up the wooden steps, stopping momentarily at his door before crashing through it, into his field of vision.

The blonde blur knocked into him, causing him to wheeze with laughter as she straddled him to his chair, squeezing his warm body tightly.

"Dinner's ready." She chuckled, kissing his cheek softly.

He pinched her chin softly between his thumb and index finger, lifting it back up to where he could properly press his lips against hers.

When the blonde recovered from the irresistible high that never seemed to get old, that never could get old, she noticed the paper on his desk.

"Writing a book now are we?" She teased, running her finger along his sharp jawline, enjoying the tiny prickles of stubble that laced his soft, bronze skin.

He pondered the idea. "Call it a...message."

Her gorgeous face flashed briefly with confusion before she rested her ethereal features against his powerful shoulders.

"A message, for whom?"

"Mom! Dad! The food is getting cold!" Multiple voices rang out from the bottom of the steps, they both glanced over before looking back at each other a soft smile playing on both of their lips.

"For them."

End Of Prologue