How do you live so completely in the moment? I think about death all the time. It’s like some unpleasant phone call I don’t want to make. I know I can’t avoid it. It’s coming whether I like it or not but I don’t want to do it. I don’t even feel like I’m really living yet. I don’t know what life is all about. I can already see the end of this thing that I haven’t got a handle on yet. Should I “rage against the dying of the light”? How can I when it hasn’t even shone for me yet?
He left the oracle dead on the floor. She would had been oblivious to her own words while in the trance; never even remembering the prophecy. There was no need to kill her. He had waited for her to rise from the mystic depths. Then when he saw that she was awake and aware he had took her. Her death was an after thought, an important one, but an after thought none the less.
The Oracle had foreseen his rise. Her words had only bolstered what he already knew to be true. But, in the way of Oracles and their prophecies there was a caution. There was one small thing that might stand in his way. The Oracle had prophesied that his down fall lay within himself. ” Beware the seed of your regency for by it ye shall fall”. Good enough, he thought and then set about his business.
He left her sprawled, naked in front of the altar. Her head lay at an impossible angle. Her voice forever stilled and her dead eyes sightless and empty. The prophecy was his alone and his seed would find no home in her or any other woman for that matter. A fine way to start, he thought to himself, as he heading out into the world meet his destiny…
He could hear the sound of fighting. Pain stabbed through his side. His hands were covered in blood…so much blood. He lay there helpless, this man, to some he had been a god. He razed not just worlds but entire galaxies. This could not be happening. She had lied, LIED. His time could not be at an end, he could not die, the Oracle had prophesied. He had warred across space and time until the universe had been all but wrenched apart. He had been careful, his heat had never known love, only cruel rapine quenched in death. It was a blessing really for those objects of his attentions. His seed left drying between thighs slowly cooling as the life blood ran.
Now he lay dying, how could this be?
They came to him then, to watch him die. He did not know their faces. He did not know their hearts, but he should have. They were his children; not born of the seed of his body as he had feared but born of the fire of his great desire. They had been born into the legacy of his rule and so had been molded and formed by his conquest and his destruction. Full of destruction and hate, they were more truly his children than any that might spring from his body and so the mighty was brought down.
Beware the seeds of your regency.
It’s almost 2 am and I’m not even close to tired. Honestly that’s nothing new. I’m a little strung out but more restless than anything else. There’s time to think at night and that’s a mixed blessing.