Last Lucid

*First off, I want to note that I have never written anything extensive before, and my grammar is definitely inconsistent. Please keep this in mind, and I hope you can enjoy the story in spite of it. I am writing this partly to see if I can form a story.

The present never takes the shape that the past struggled every day to sculpt, no matter how meticulous it's methods may have been. Among the rush and strife of everyday life, all we seem to make is what we would like to see right then, not concerned with the ripples that spread.

At the end of the pond, the ripples have calmed, and over that distance I cannot see what broke the water's surface, it is too far off now. Whatever it was that brought us to this, we no longer have a thread to follow.

In the present, our reality is only what we are comfortable with admitting, all else masked over with what we chose to create, a burrowing into our mind, a ViS. It's a device, it's an appendage. Much less an interface, more so the only way to see what everyone else sees.

Down cobblestone streets, in shops, in homes, and combing our dreams, the ViS' illusions are everywhere; we gave up common reality for a technological wonder that has made life all the more fantastical.

If your thoughts are still your own, maybe you will have better luck seeing what I cannot. Don't forget like I have, what is most precious. For while I hope I can remember them, I no longer see the person I most cared for, not even in my dreams.