They wanted me to be like Ares. Blazing chariot, golden armor. Setting fire to the homes of the enemies I never wanted to make. They wanted me to reap the benefits of every victory, but after so long, the champagne goes flat, and the feast turns to ash in my mouth. I do not bang my chest, I do not cry out for violence to embrace me. I walk with a head held high but eyes looking through the floor, I see through it, through the soil, Stare at the featureless skulls of a million brave men and women, who despite all their glory, couldnt overcome the universal weakness that is Mortality. Their empty eye sockets cut me open, their yellowed teeth smile a crooked smile and they wont look away, for the love of God, why are they still looking?! They wanted me to be like Ares. I take no pleasure showering in the rain of blood. I am I. I am a man. I am a human. I am an animal. Im just one more parasite floating on this desolate rock through a black veil of endless opportunities. To hell with your fire, I shall bear no torch, my arm shall not be weighed down by the staff, ablaze with all your ridiculous expectations. They wanted me to tend to the flame. You bastards, put it out. I want no part in this, snuff out your pathetic spark and maybe youll get a good look at the darkness youve left in your wake. Slit throats, funeral bells, crying children. None of it matters, its not like their fathers sacrifice will save them from deaths cold grip. But how can you just watch? Adorn yourselves with chest plates and helmets, hold up your shields and lances, spray the air with sweet perfume. I have breathed in deep, and under the floral smell, there is the unmistakable stench of corpses. That odor gets into my skin, into my bones and hair, and Im glad too, cause maybe the people passing by will turn up their noses and see the chaos weve hidden under the suffocating blanket of peace and good times. They wanted me to be like Ares. But I am I. I am a man. I am a human. And I would rather die without an ounce of your twisted glory clinging to my bones than become War. The skulls under the ground are still staring at me, as if I can save them. Almost like if I was to pick up the torch and run past them, maybe the flesh would grow back on their crumbling skeletons. Drown chaos in a pool of blood, and people will swear its peace that theyre looking at.
Posted on: Sun, 09 Mar 2014 15:09:21 +0000
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