The Sin of Hope
A man who is still fighting might look crazy, desperate, shallow even. His unending battle with his very self a vain affair.
But what is truly terrifying is a man who's given up. Insanity's incarnate, too sickeningly free in his machinations.
What if one such figure ends up driving themselves to their utter limit? what if they end up so deep in the throes of despair that it becomes a part of them?
And what if at the end of it all, they ask for respite, for revenge.
In a sense, that could be any of us, or even, all of us.
Hope is the poison we take willingly, it is the knife we turn within ourselves. It is what makes us, and it will be what remains of us
Time, fate, and the very nature of life itself, it haunts us—and surely, it will ruin us.
And so, the story went on.
A dying world, rotting from within. A boy cursed by it, yearning for freedom.