Fates and Roses

Prologue: Ashes to Ashes, Dust to dust.

Act 1

All is but a illusion within the between realms of both the living and the dead. Our eyes shielded by our false sense of time and reality, there had never been the old or the new— it was just everything had been there.

We are only but a small speck of dust within the realms of the universe, and yet we have yet to discover what it's there on the other side. We cling to wrath and yet we try to fly when we see a fowl's freedom as it moves from the horizons, we are but intelligent creatures and yet a fool from an old one's eyes.

The earth reeked of the scent of the metal and smoke that were left behind by wars and the air silently filled with screams from the anguished. People search for rhyme and reason in their lives but sometimes there is none. And So we stop.

There had been so many, and yet so little left from the fragments of what was once there— buried deep within the deep dark caves of our minds that which we cannot reach out to when our young hands could. Ghosts of the past haunts the future and only the future lies between our thoughts and actions; so we become anxious of them.

But not much for the fate that settles down on our shoulders, Fate is but a different thing that guides us through the plains that exists within this fragile thing that we call reality— one that we cannot be rid of even if our bodies had expired be it young or old, innocent or not.

We carry them like sacks of bricks on our backs without even a warning as it is tossed to our hands from out of the blue. There is no time nor limit to our suffering, for that anguish will only reside in our hearts if we do not let go of the past. Nor for the anxiousness for the future.

We simply have to wait like the lazy creatures that we are, sitting around on anything but the ground that had once tied us with the other world— if not our tomfoolery had caused us to forget. Then if our time comes we simply wither away like a forgotten seedling, even if the tears of our family members or other companions would drop into our pots and caskets we cannot simply grow back, for that is but an unbalance to the world that had met our demise. A fraction of a simple speck of sand on a beach.

We fall in love and die for those that we care, platonic or not our mortal hearts will only continue to bleed with our tainted blood, ever thumping with whatever that we cannot see that is behind us.

That and we foolish creatures will only get to dream, or not at all, of the strange things that surrounds us that are long dead or dying, we cannot reach out to them nor exchange sentences for words will only remind them of their sins. We come across such things even if they seem to be more normal, even if they aren't *human* our minds will only trick us of the vision we have lost and yearning— our childhood eyes that glowed vibrantly as we stare onto space.

Have we changed? If you ask them they would simply shake their heads, even if they had seem to be fond of our once innocence to the world; we can only cater to their humoring when our minds were at it's youngest.

But what about that then? A rambling of a lost soul as I would have been, typically weening to myself as we go over with our paragraphs. Yet this had been the things to tell, even if they seemed to slip from my closed mouth as I try to put out words for you to read and doubt.

Oh, but to heck with it— obviously this isn't my story, but this is a story that is mine to tell. It is a story that matters in both great and small, spanning nations across the globe and touching the lives of the people we would never meet, if we even could, and also the ones that we cannot see.