To be one of the chosen ones means to push others away in this unfathomable and ever-changing world, yet strangely beautiful. Hoping to be selected, we live our lives without knowing if we're chosen.. I am no different from anyone else, a gluttonous human trying to possess more than I can grasp. Even if I may already have enough.
People succeed and people fail; that's the reality we face, even if we're aware of our fates. Perhaps that is what it means to live - flawed yet obeying something or someone greater than ourselves.
We remain uncertain of our role, and to discover the truth, we must start walking instead of running without purpose. Yet, I wonder, how many more footprints must we leave behind until the stars notice us? Despite it all, the unwavering stars above us don't even flinch at us.
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Disoriented and frightened, I staggered through the dense fog, searching anxiously for any shred of familiarity. The twinkling stars above provided little comfort, teasing me with their distant brilliance. The waves of the ocean ahead offered a glimmer of hope, a sign of life. But as I approached the vast expanse, it was eerily deserted, with the sound of waves crashing echoing through the empty void.
Shivering uncontrollably, I reluctantly turned to the mist once again, and that was when I saw it - a building materializing from the opaque fog, with no apparent pattern or reason. While I could barely make out its features, it seemed to be a church, though devoid of any conventional religious symbols. Despite my hesitation, I found myself growing curious and pushed the door open.
As I stepped into the building, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, carried by the intoxicating fragrance of aged parchment and ink. The air felt heavy with the weight of forgotten tales, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, as if the very walls held secrets eager to be unveiled.
The library that sprawled before me seemed to defy the confines of mere mortal architecture. Its shelves reached toward the heavens, disappearing into an ethereal mist that swirled above. The towering bookcases were lined with volumes of every shape and size, their spines bearing mysterious symbols and titles that whispered promises of unimaginable knowledge.
The hushed stillness of the library was broken only by the faint creaking of ancient wood and the soft rustling of pages turning themselves, as if moved by unseen hands. The flickering glow of antique lamps bathed the aisles in a warm, golden light, casting dancing shadows upon the rows of forgotten lore.
Yet, as I navigated deeper into the labyrinthine corridors, I couldn't shake the unsettling sensation of being watched. The weight of invisible eyes bore down on me, observing my every step, my every breath. I called out into the silence, hoping for a human response, but my words dissolved into the emptiness, swallowed by the vastness of the library's mysteries.
Amidst the quietude, my gaze was drawn to a curious sight. A delicate porcelain cup, its rim stained with remnants of tea long gone cold, stood atop a weathered wooden table. Beside it, a solitary white apple, its skin wrinkled with age, rested as a testament to the passage of time. These simple offerings seemed like breadcrumbs left behind by an enigmatic presence, hinting at a connection between this extraordinary realm and the realm of the living.
Yet, it was the towering tree that truly captured my attention. Its majestic branches spread across the expanse of the library, reaching out like ethereal tendrils. Each limb bore the weight of gleaming white apples, their luminescent glow illuminating the space with an otherworldly brilliance. Their beauty was both captivating and disquieting, suggesting an arcane power imbued within.
In the presence of this grand arboreal entity and the lingering traces of life within the library, the realization dawned upon me that I might not be the sole inhabitant of this extraordinary place. I couldn't help but tread cautiously, prepared to unravel the secrets that awaited me in the depths of this captivating sanctuary.
In the heart of the library, a collection of eight massive books commanded my attention, each radiating its own distinct aura. Filled with trepidation, I cautiously approached the first book, its pristine white pages beckoning me with the promise of answers. Yet, to my astonishment, not a single word adorned its unmarked surface. The absence of any inscription left me perplexed, my hopes for enlightenment dashed.
For some inexplicable reason, I found myself skipping the second-to-last book, an impulse to hasten this unsettling encounter. A surge of unease coursed through me as I gingerly opened the chosen tome, revealing a disconcerting sight. My eyes fell upon a blood-soaked scythe, its grim presence sending shivers down my spine. Although a sense of recognition tugged at the corners of my mind, fear held me captive, preventing me from delving further into the matter. I hastily turned to the next page, only to be confronted by a macabre tableau—a man, drenched in blood and gore, with bloodshot eyes and a mournful cry that resonated with a deep longing.
With an air of ominous grace, he bore upon his form a single black wing, contrasting starkly against the rest of his body. It stretched out from his right side, its ebony feathers seemingly imbued with an otherworldly power. In his crimson-hued hands, he gripped a scythe tainted with the stain of fresh blood, its wicked blade glinting malevolently in the dim light. The horrifying image was etched into my memory, haunting me with its anguish.
I instinctively slammed the book shut, the weight of what I had witnessed gripping me with an icy grip. It was not death itself that I feared, for its nature remained elusive to me. Instead, it was the enigma of what lay beyond death's threshold, a realm unknown even to the divine. The uncertainty gnawed at my soul, leaving me unsettled and restless.
Desperate to escape the unsettling darkness that had consumed me, I discarded the blood-stained book and reached for another, its foreign script hinting at a new narrative. Although the language eluded my comprehension, I found myself captivated by the images that graced its pages. Familiar scenes stared back at me—a snapshot of my recent high school graduation, the joyous celebration of my first birthday, and even moments that defied logical explanation, events I shouldn't have had any recollection of. It was as if the book held a profound record of my entire existence, an archive of my life's journey. Overwhelmed by disbelief, my mind raced to comprehend the inexplicable phenomenon unfolding before me, leaving me in a state of awe-struck wonder.
As the room began to spin, I felt my grip on reality start to weaken. Fear coursed through my veins, and I could feel my hands shaking uncontrollably. I hastily put the book down, desperate to escape this strange place. I made my way over to the door, my heart racing with each step. But just as I reached for the handle, a dense fog enveloped me, and I felt a sudden gust of wind knock my left arm to the side. Upon looking down, I realized that my left hand was missing, and blood gushed from the wound. Even with the shock of the situation, I felt a strange sense of focus. This was far from normal, and I couldn't help but let out a piercing scream of agony. "Eh?! Ahhhhhh!" I cried out in pain, falling to the ground and clutching my bloody arm.
As the veil of unconsciousness lifted, a voice, both velvety and tinged with an undercurrent of sinister allure, reached my ears, beckoning me into a twisted reality. "Welcome back," it intoned, resonating with a perverse sense of familiarity. "We finally meet formally for the first time."
Before me stood a man, a haunting reflection of my own existence. His piercing gaze held an enigmatic duality: one eye bathed in the warmth of hazel, while the other, a frigid abyss of unyielding darkness. In his left hand, he cradled a pristine white apple, its ethereal glow contrasting against the enigma of his presence. In his right hand, he brandished a longsword, a gleaming instrument of power that seemed to pulsate with latent energy.
His countenance was an enigma, shrouded in mystery and contradiction. Adorned in resplendent robes of white, intricately embroidered with golden filigree, he exuded an air of regality that hinted at a dominion beyond ordinary mortal realms. Ornate embellishments adorned his garments, an exquisite tapestry of symbols and sigils, whispering secrets only the initiated could decipher.
But what captivated my gaze was the ethereal appendage that sprouted from his right side—a majestic white wing, an emblem of a celestial lineage or an abomination of nature. It stood as a stark contrast to my own mortal form, a reminder of the uncanny kinship we shared. His silvery mane cascaded like a frozen waterfall, a stark departure from my own raven tresses, and yet the resemblance between us was undeniable.
As I found myself involuntarily kneeling before this imposing figure, a sense of awe and powerlessness washed over me, as if I stood in the presence of a deity—an entity that held dominion over all, an embodiment of perfection and control. It was a notion that had long stirred frustration within me, challenging my very core. And now, in this surreal encounter, the weight of that frustration threatened to suffocate me, reducing my thoughts to mere fragments of coherent existence.
Every fiber of my being strained against the overwhelming force of his presence, as if his very aura possessed the ability to render me insignificant, a mere mortal lost in the wake of his grandeur. The intensity of his gaze threatened to blind me, as though his eyes were forged from the brightest and darkest flames, searing their imprint upon my soul.
Summoning the remnants of my courage, I mustered a voice that trembled with equal parts defiance and desperation. "Get away from me!" The words tumbled out, a reflexive cry born of self-preservation, uncaring of how feeble and insignificant it may have sounded. In that moment, survival eclipsed all else, even the concern for my own appearance or the vulnerability that lay beneath false bravado.
Yet, as my voice echoed through the hallowed space, it seemed to dissolve into the ether, absorbed by the magnificence that surrounded this enigmatic figure. I realized that my plea, a mere wisp in the vastness of his presence, might have been swallowed by the depths of his being, its impact unknown.
Anticipating the strange being's next move, I winced, bracing myself for the worst. Yet, to my surprise, they spoke with unexpected sincerity. "Believe me, I want to. I am the owner of this library," their voice echoed, laced with both longing and desperation. A faint chuckle escaped their lips, hinting at the possibility of an unlikely alliance.
As hope flickered within me, an unimaginable burst of pain shattered any illusions. My left leg was violently ripped away, torn mercilessly from its socket, searing agony through my body. A macabre display of crimson rain sprayed as my voice was claimed by desperate screams and wails. "Ahhh!" I weakly whined, growing weaker with every moment, losing too much blood.
"Sorry about that, but don't worry, I'll let you live," they laughed, their tone devoid of sympathy. "Why are you doing this to me? I don't know you, you don't know me. You must have me mistaken for someone else—I don't belong here." Frantically, I pleaded for my life, squirming around in an attempt to stand up.
"I apologize for the scare, but rest assured, you won't be harmed," they chuckled, barely making an effort to console me. "As for my motives, I have my reasons. And as for your identity, there's no mistake. I know precisely who you are."
Despite my desperate pleas and struggling, they maintained a firm grip on me, their hold unyielding.
"I understand your confusion, but trust me, I know exactly who you are. Your destiny cannot be escaped," they declared with a cold smile, tightening their grip around my neck as they carried my limp body.
"No, you don't," I croaked, attempting to strike back, even though I knew it would be futile. However, my feeble blows went unnoticed, as if they were brushing off insignificant nuisances.
"I know your name is Kai Gracen. Born to Asian American parents, Paul and Carla Gracen, on the 22nd of June in 2005, precisely at midnight. I know you better than you know yourself, and it appears that you have no recollection of anything! Perhaps I am the true 'Kai Gracen,'" they sneered, gesturing towards the open books that contained my lost memories.
My mind was reeling with shock and confusion as I stood there
, trying to process the truth that had just been presented to me. It all seemed too unthinkable to be real, and yet there was a part of me that couldn't help but believe what I was hearing. I felt my body go limp with disbelief, but even as I did, a part of me still yearned for answers. And so, I found myself summoning the courage to ask the question that had been burning in my mind since they had started speaking.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "And what do you want?"
For a moment, the figures before me seemed to hesitate, as if grappling with their words. Then, one of them stepped forward, and in a voice that was strangely human, replied.
"I have no name," they said, "but I don't know if I can say that I don't have a name. Just call me Vanitas to make things easier, and remember this: I no longer wish to be a dream anymore."
I braced myself for the worst, fully expecting them to strike me down. But to my surprise, the figures simply vanished, leaving me standing there alone with my thoughts. As I slowly came to grips with what had just happened, I realized that everything in my life had changed, and that nothing could ever be the same again.
*****
Time became an elusive concept in this desolate place, and I lost all sense of its passage. Days blurred into nights, and nights merged into an unending expanse of darkness. I was trapped, a solitary figure amidst the void, with no one to share the weight of my existence. The isolation gnawed at my sanity, eroding the edges of my mind and leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
The wounds that had once bled profusely miraculously ceased their flow, leaving behind scars that marked the remnants of my shattered body. But even as the bleeding stopped, I found myself unable to stand or walk. My legs had become feeble, robbed of their strength, and I resorted to crawling, desperate to find an escape from this desolate realm. The ground beneath me, a cold and unforgiving surface, became my only companion as I dragged myself forward inch by painstaking inch.
The absence of any company, be it friend or foe, only deepened the sense of desolation. It was a void that permeated every aspect of my being, casting a shadow upon my thoughts and emotions. The lack of human connection stripped away the anchors that grounded my mind, leaving me adrift in a vast emptiness. The silence that enveloped me was deafening, broken only by the sound of my own labored breaths.
In the depths of this solitude, clarity became elusive. Thoughts scattered like dust in the wind, unable to find solid ground to settle upon. The once vibrant tapestry of my mind now resembled fragmented shards, each piece holding a whisper of the person I used to be. I struggled to piece them together, to make sense of my fragmented reality, but the effort proved futile. Confusion reigned supreme, leaving me feeling helpless and disoriented.
Strange as it may sound, even the presence of an enemy would have brought a sense of solace. For in their presence, I could direct my anger, my fear, my frustrations. There would be a focal point for my emotions, a target for my determination. But in this desolation, I was left with only the void, an amorphous antagonist that offered no respite, no outlet for my pent-up emotions.
It was within this backdrop of despair that I continued to crawl. In the absence of any external validation, I found strength in the indomitable spirit within me. I mustered the willpower to keep moving, to defy the overwhelming odds stacked against me. Every inch gained was a victory, a testament to my unwavering determination.
In a fit of frustration, I lashed out at the tree beside me, striking it repeatedly until my remaining hand was raw and bleeding. Despite the pain, I continued on, desperate for an outlet for my emotions. The tree stood stoically, seeming to mock my weakness as it bore the brunt of my wrath.
As I continued to pummel the lifeless tree, the pain in my hand finally registered, though it was quickly overwhelmed by the simmering anger and helplessness that consumed me. Finally, exhausted from my outburst, I collapsed to the ground, reaching up to grasp at the unattainable stars above.
When I awoke, I attempted to escape my imprisonment, only to be met with a shocking surge of electricity that coursed through my body, tearing at my insides and leaving me reeling. The very fabric of this world seemed to be rejecting me, and I was powerless to stop it. The pain that wracked my body threatened to drive me mad, but I somehow managed to hold on, despite the overwhelming agony.
In a moment of despair, I stumbled and fell into the ocean, expecting to drown. I was surprised to find that I was not suffocating but somehow managing to breathe through some strange mix of water and air, leaving me feeling disoriented and confused. My attempts to escape were met with an invisible wall that blocked me at every turn, leaving me to flounder in the depths of the sea.
As the stars above looked on impassively, I raised my hand in futile defiance, feeling the last shreds of hope slipping away. With a final, desperate cry, I collapsed once again, nearly passing out from the overwhelming pain and loneliness that weighed on me like a crushing weight. The sound of my own frantic breathing echoed in my ears as I gazed up at the heavens, the stars still unattainable and distant.
Tears streamed down my face as I lay there, feeling completely alone and utterly defeated. It was as if the universe itself was against me, pulling me under with its limitless power and leaving me helpless to resist. Every movement was an act of futility, every breath a struggle to keep going.
And yet somehow, I found the strength to go on. Even in the face of such overwhelming adversity, I managed to cling to life with a tenacity that I hadn't known I possessed. Even as the pain threatened to drive me mad, I kept breathing, kept standing, and kept fighting against the crushing reality of my situation.
The strength of my own soul was the only thing that kept me going. In spite of the overwhelming darkness that threatened to consume me, I used every drop of grit and determination I had to push back against it. With every breath, I pushed my way out of the depths and reached for the stars once more. It was a fierce battle, a war between me and the universe itself, but I refused to give in.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I emerged from my imprisonment. The sheer relief of freedom flooded my being, and I collapsed onto the ground, overcome with delirious laughter. However, even amidst the elation, my laughter was tinged with an undercurrent of fear. It was the fear of the unknown, of what awaited me beyond those confining walls. The darkness loomed, threatening to engulf me once more. In that moment, I realized that I had only two options before me: to run away, to retreat from the challenges that lay ahead, or to face forward, to confront the daunting path that stretched before me. Both choices seemed daunting, for in the vastness of the universe, I felt small and insignificant, like a mere speck in the presence of the unfathomable stars.