Tonight. We Fight.



"Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free." 

-Jim Morrison




So what happens when the world spins with furious anger and the stars fall from the sky like a pack of diamonds. So beautifully bright and yet so irrationally destructive. We will be the last on this earth to see the sun rise. We will be the last on this great planet to see the world break apart and watch as they rise from the ashes and claim the world for one last step into anger and pain. One last way to disrespect the whole ideal of life. 

For there will always be the one-mysterious-shadow bathed in a light much like the falling stars. I awake every night and dream. My eyes grow tiresome and my heart beats fast, as I slip away into the shadows. In this world, I call it my own; in this world, I call HER my own. But making such and assumption is not only dangerous, but presumptuous. She is just as I've described (a thousand times), just a figure irretrievable; almost like a mythical figure that can be seen yet never accepted as true fact. She is the blood-less figure that remains at bay. 

If the world ends tomorrow, I would expect a little assistance from her. I would expect no less than a silent nod of attention. She would grant me a final smile before I fall away into dust. Just some sort of acknowledgement in my unquestionable and undeniable dedication toward finding her. Like the Holy Grail, or the Lost Ark, she is a question that remains to be answered and yet, a  question i'm unsure I will ever really want to discover. 

I have basked her in a way that needs no introduction, and yet I continue to write; I continue to dream. In my age, I grow tired of trying to please the world, and yet the world seems to reject me for the person I am, and disagrees with my search. I know the position I am in, is not what my heart urns for. I know that if she was to represent her self in my final hour of need, I would not know if standing beside her is a wise decision, or finding my own path is a fool's choice. Perhaps the only way to decide is to let the ceiling crash down and get ready to take a stand. 

I know I am not the type to sit idly by, while the world falls apart like a frail puzzle. I know that I would stand at the gates of hell with a shot gun in one hand and machete gripped tightly in the other. I imagine myself covered in blood and releasing a battle roar, that will echo through the mountains, and awaken each demon and let them line up to fight. I know I would gladly have her at my side: the last remaining fight for all humanity. With her by my side, I feel a thousand times more comfortable and I lean back in my boots and prepare myself mentally for what's to come. 

As the first mutated being comes scrambling at me, like a spider-on-crack, I slip one leg forward and pull my right arm back. I release my arm, like swinging for the bleachers and behold the machete sparks off the ground and there it drops; like a dead bird falling from the sky. The creature is dead. Without hesitation the world comes crashing down around me. I battle relentlessly and fear nothing. I am the crimson ember; I am the last soldier. There is no surrender and there are no reinforcements. 

As I take a breath, trying not to lose focus, I take notice to her, dressed in white, slowly taking a  slightly less clean hue. She is beside me with pistol in hand and ax draped over one shoulder. She is cruising from one target to another without blinking and at-times not breathing. She is calm and collect while I rampage on. She is the center to my focus. I pull my patience from her. Believe there is more than this and there will be a beam of hope at the epicenter of this tragedy. 

We do not take a break, and we do not grow tired. We battle on into the night and even when all the stars have finally crashed down and the ground we stand is littered with bullets and blood, we stand proud knowing: together, we would not let the world take us town easy. 

But as the sun rises on the next day, the creatures begin to dissipate, and the world begins to look a little more like home. Steaming from heat and veins sore from adrenaline, I begin to crash, knowing we survived. I take a knee and watch the sun rise. I watch the memory of her, begin to fade and soon, I will awaken to the world I've come to know and yet not understand. If her memory carries with me in my dreams and the world is bound to return to a more destructive path, then what is all this work leading to? Why can I not summon her from my dream state and bring her out of the hollow; out of the shadows.

Out of the shadows, into the daylight: She must be more than a shattered memory.


I will come for you.

  

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