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It's easy to talk about pain. It's easy to laugh about it. It's easy to do everything involved with pain.
Except feel it.
He walked out into the arena.He'd felt what they called pain before that day began. What he had called pain and laughed about as he nudged it to one side, shelved it away and pretended not to feel. Pretending is only a short walk from lying, and that takes you into a world where rules can be bent and twisted away when convienient. He thought about this and he stood there, watching the oncoming titans. Can lying becoming addictive? It gives you a power, you see, and one which is not easily laid aside. A dictator will never step aside, never budge an inch. He loves the power. And a liar loves the same sense of power; the small hit he gets by inflicting unknowing pain on someone else.
It all comes back to pain, he thought. Whichever way you turn in life, pain greets you with a mocking smile and a knife between the ribs. Sometimes you can ignore that smile, and turn aside the knife. But only for a brief moment in a series of moments. The walls WILL come crashing down, the armour will only last a while, the defence will always pale before the offence. A moment is nothing worthwhile by the time the next moment snaps into place and consumes your life.
A moment is only important for a moment, he thought. The sheer stupidity of that coursed through him. But it mattered. But now was not the time for thoughts. Thoughts...Thoughts get you killed. He turned to look at her face. Where along the line had she donned the mask? Had she always been wearing it? Was it even a mask, and had he been seeing a face made of mind-light and mist? A face that wasn't there...and yet a face that smiled at him when he closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the labyrinth that was his mind. Then the first was upon him. He'd die for that face, he decided. Pain is for the unloved.
Battle was joined as he desperately tried to fend off a foe that was stronger,faster,taller. Better. The word leapt from his lips with a bitter taste and a jolt of bile. He would lose. But the unloved cannot feel pain, yes...What sort of comfort is that supposed to be?, nagged a voice from somewhere. The only comfort he had, he thought bitterly. He couldn't bear to lose, couldn't afford to win. He stared desperately at his foe's face, trying to find a weakness, or any sign of something not intangible. Nothing...And that chilled him to his spine more than any wound could. How are you supposed to fight something that doesn't exist?
You do that all the time, sighed the voice again. You fight and you fight against something that doesn't exist. And you lose.
The first foe screamed without any noise. It was feeling pain, he realised, grinning. There's something there. He pressed the attack. Then she moved. He smiled at her, the smile dying a tortured death as he saw her eyes weren't directed at him. A hand, gently caressed across his foe's shoulder, and...the shadow began to take shape. He gaped. She gave him form. He didn't move as the foe moved with a new zest of energy. That energy should have been yours, the voice growled. Take it back. Yes, take it. The foe was faster. He screamed as the foe slashed a wound in the nothingness that was his strength. He fell backwards. He had lost, again.
She smiled. Her eyes were on him. He smiled back, new energy flowing through him. An energy that came from something equally as intangible as his foe, as him, as this whole place. You don't know where you are, mocked the voice. He shook off the voice again, staggering to his feet. She was there, her hand on his shoulder. He stood forward, new energy coursing through him. You want to protect her?, mocked the voice yet again. Who will protect you? He ignored it.
Then there was another figure. The second. He had no names to use because names lead to pain. And it all comes back to fame. The second wasn't as fast, wasn't as strong. It wasn't better. He grinned. There was no choice here. The defence will always pale against the offence, and the offence was his. Sword clashed against sword. When had swords come into this? asked the voice. You fought before. Swords are an illusion of the real. Just like life. He pressed the attack, and yet...the second won. He hid the pain that the first had inflicted, buried beneath layers as solid as rock. Brittle is only a word for those who are weak. But...the pain of the second shattered through the rock, and freed the pain of the first. They joined, free to cause as much suffering as they wanted. And yet he resisted. Stood in the flow, because nothing remained apart from that. Pain can be overcome.
Then she walked again, her eyes moving. He stood powerless against the flow, mouth open in disbelief as she gently touched the second on his neck, and again the shadows condensed into a form. A form that she had created. He shook his head in disbelief, and the flow forced him backwards. She looked at him, and he forced it inwards, away from view. If she couldn't see it, it didn't exist, surely? Then she looked at them. Looked..at THEM.
Where are you looking, because you're not looking at me, he thought. Those words hit him with a truth he had never seen before. Not wanted to see, perhaps.
So now, you have a choice, said the voice. You can stay here and battle the pain in the way you always have. Or you can walk.
Walk...It's easy to talk about pain...a moment in a series of moments...
You can never see the big moments coming. That's what makes them what they are. No-one is ever ready to face what could be the biggest burden. And he turned.
Her eyes fell upon him. He stopped. Walk away, said the voice. Walk away and you'll never feel the pain you know is just round the corner. Her eyes burnt. He stood poised. Walk, and feel the pain of guilt and shame. Stay, and feel the pain of envy and betrayal. Either could not happen. And either could happen with such a force that you will NOT walk away.
It's easy to talk about pain, he grinned ruefully.
Walk away. Or stay. Because, in this game you play, you only have one turn.
Except feel it.
He walked out into the arena.He'd felt what they called pain before that day began. What he had called pain and laughed about as he nudged it to one side, shelved it away and pretended not to feel. Pretending is only a short walk from lying, and that takes you into a world where rules can be bent and twisted away when convienient. He thought about this and he stood there, watching the oncoming titans. Can lying becoming addictive? It gives you a power, you see, and one which is not easily laid aside. A dictator will never step aside, never budge an inch. He loves the power. And a liar loves the same sense of power; the small hit he gets by inflicting unknowing pain on someone else.
It all comes back to pain, he thought. Whichever way you turn in life, pain greets you with a mocking smile and a knife between the ribs. Sometimes you can ignore that smile, and turn aside the knife. But only for a brief moment in a series of moments. The walls WILL come crashing down, the armour will only last a while, the defence will always pale before the offence. A moment is nothing worthwhile by the time the next moment snaps into place and consumes your life.
A moment is only important for a moment, he thought. The sheer stupidity of that coursed through him. But it mattered. But now was not the time for thoughts. Thoughts...Thoughts get you killed. He turned to look at her face. Where along the line had she donned the mask? Had she always been wearing it? Was it even a mask, and had he been seeing a face made of mind-light and mist? A face that wasn't there...and yet a face that smiled at him when he closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the labyrinth that was his mind. Then the first was upon him. He'd die for that face, he decided. Pain is for the unloved.
Battle was joined as he desperately tried to fend off a foe that was stronger,faster,taller. Better. The word leapt from his lips with a bitter taste and a jolt of bile. He would lose. But the unloved cannot feel pain, yes...What sort of comfort is that supposed to be?, nagged a voice from somewhere. The only comfort he had, he thought bitterly. He couldn't bear to lose, couldn't afford to win. He stared desperately at his foe's face, trying to find a weakness, or any sign of something not intangible. Nothing...And that chilled him to his spine more than any wound could. How are you supposed to fight something that doesn't exist?
You do that all the time, sighed the voice again. You fight and you fight against something that doesn't exist. And you lose.
The first foe screamed without any noise. It was feeling pain, he realised, grinning. There's something there. He pressed the attack. Then she moved. He smiled at her, the smile dying a tortured death as he saw her eyes weren't directed at him. A hand, gently caressed across his foe's shoulder, and...the shadow began to take shape. He gaped. She gave him form. He didn't move as the foe moved with a new zest of energy. That energy should have been yours, the voice growled. Take it back. Yes, take it. The foe was faster. He screamed as the foe slashed a wound in the nothingness that was his strength. He fell backwards. He had lost, again.
She smiled. Her eyes were on him. He smiled back, new energy flowing through him. An energy that came from something equally as intangible as his foe, as him, as this whole place. You don't know where you are, mocked the voice. He shook off the voice again, staggering to his feet. She was there, her hand on his shoulder. He stood forward, new energy coursing through him. You want to protect her?, mocked the voice yet again. Who will protect you? He ignored it.
Then there was another figure. The second. He had no names to use because names lead to pain. And it all comes back to fame. The second wasn't as fast, wasn't as strong. It wasn't better. He grinned. There was no choice here. The defence will always pale against the offence, and the offence was his. Sword clashed against sword. When had swords come into this? asked the voice. You fought before. Swords are an illusion of the real. Just like life. He pressed the attack, and yet...the second won. He hid the pain that the first had inflicted, buried beneath layers as solid as rock. Brittle is only a word for those who are weak. But...the pain of the second shattered through the rock, and freed the pain of the first. They joined, free to cause as much suffering as they wanted. And yet he resisted. Stood in the flow, because nothing remained apart from that. Pain can be overcome.
Then she walked again, her eyes moving. He stood powerless against the flow, mouth open in disbelief as she gently touched the second on his neck, and again the shadows condensed into a form. A form that she had created. He shook his head in disbelief, and the flow forced him backwards. She looked at him, and he forced it inwards, away from view. If she couldn't see it, it didn't exist, surely? Then she looked at them. Looked..at THEM.
Where are you looking, because you're not looking at me, he thought. Those words hit him with a truth he had never seen before. Not wanted to see, perhaps.
So now, you have a choice, said the voice. You can stay here and battle the pain in the way you always have. Or you can walk.
Walk...It's easy to talk about pain...a moment in a series of moments...
You can never see the big moments coming. That's what makes them what they are. No-one is ever ready to face what could be the biggest burden. And he turned.
Her eyes fell upon him. He stopped. Walk away, said the voice. Walk away and you'll never feel the pain you know is just round the corner. Her eyes burnt. He stood poised. Walk, and feel the pain of guilt and shame. Stay, and feel the pain of envy and betrayal. Either could not happen. And either could happen with such a force that you will NOT walk away.
It's easy to talk about pain, he grinned ruefully.
Walk away. Or stay. Because, in this game you play, you only have one turn.
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It's easy to talk about pain. It's easy to laugh about it. It's easy to do everything involved with pain.
Except feel it.
He walked out into the arena.He'd felt what they called pain before that day began. What he had called pain and laughed about as he nudged it to one side, shelved it away and pretended not to feel. Pretending is only a short walk from lying, and that takes you into a world where rules can be bent and twisted away when convienient. He thought about this and he stood there, watching the oncoming titans. Can lying becoming addictive? It gives you a power, you see, and one which is not easily laid aside. A dictator will never step aside, never budge an inch. He loves the power. And a liar loves the same sense of power; the small hit he gets by inflicting unknowing pain on someone else.
It all comes back to pain, he thought. Whichever way you turn in life, pain greets you with a mocking smile and a knife between the ribs. Sometimes you can ignore that smile, and turn aside the knife. But only for a brief moment in a series of moments. The walls WILL come crashing down, the armour will only last a while, the defence will always pale before the offence. A moment is nothing worthwhile by the time the next moment snaps into place and consumes your life.
A moment is only important for a moment, he thought. The sheer stupidity of that coursed through him. But it mattered. But now was not the time for thoughts. Thoughts...Thoughts get you killed. He turned to look at her face. Where along the line had she donned the mask? Had she always been wearing it? Was it even a mask, and had he been seeing a face made of mind-light and mist? A face that wasn't there...and yet a face that smiled at him when he closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the labyrinth that was his mind. Then the first was upon him. He'd die for that face, he decided. Pain is for the unloved.
Battle was joined as he desperately tried to fend off a foe that was stronger,faster,taller. Better. The word leapt from his lips with a bitter taste and a jolt of bile. He would lose. But the unloved cannot feel pain, yes...What sort of comfort is that supposed to be?, nagged a voice from somewhere. The only comfort he had, he thought bitterly. He couldn't bear to lose, couldn't afford to win. He stared desperately at his foe's face, trying to find a weakness, or any sign of something not intangible. Nothing...And that chilled him to his spine more than any wound could. How are you supposed to fight something that doesn't exist?
You do that all the time, sighed the voice again. You fight and you fight against something that doesn't exist. And you lose.
The first foe screamed without any noise. It was feeling pain, he realised, grinning. There's something there. He pressed the attack. Then she moved. He smiled at her, the smile dying a tortured death as he saw her eyes weren't directed at him. A hand, gently caressed across his foe's shoulder, and...the shadow began to take shape. He gaped. She gave him form. He didn't move as the foe moved with a new zest of energy. That energy should have been yours, the voice growled. Take it back. Yes, take it. The foe was faster. He screamed as the foe slashed a wound in the nothingness that was his strength. He fell backwards. He had lost, again.
She smiled. Her eyes were on him. He smiled back, new energy flowing through him. An energy that came from something equally as intangible as his foe, as him, as this whole place. You don't know where you are, mocked the voice. He shook off the voice again, staggering to his feet. She was there, her hand on his shoulder. He stood forward, new energy coursing through him. You want to protect her?, mocked the voice yet again. Who will protect you? He ignored it.
Then there was another figure. The second. He had no names to use because names lead to pain. And it all comes back to fame. The second wasn't as fast, wasn't as strong. It wasn't better. He grinned. There was no choice here. The defence will always pale against the offence, and the offence was his. Sword clashed against sword. When had swords come into this? asked the voice. You fought before. Swords are an illusion of the real. Just like life. He pressed the attack, and yet...the second won. He hid the pain that the first had inflicted, buried beneath layers as solid as rock. Brittle is only a word for those who are weak. But...the pain of the second shattered through the rock, and freed the pain of the first. They joined, free to cause as much suffering as they wanted. And yet he resisted. Stood in the flow, because nothing remained apart from that. Pain can be overcome.
Then she walked again, her eyes moving. He stood powerless against the flow, mouth open in disbelief as she gently touched the second on his neck, and again the shadows condensed into a form. A form that she had created. He shook his head in disbelief, and the flow forced him backwards. She looked at him, and he forced it inwards, away from view. If she couldn't see it, it didn't exist, surely? Then she looked at them. Looked..at THEM.
Where are you looking, because you're not looking at me, he thought. Those words hit him with a truth he had never seen before. Not wanted to see, perhaps.
So now, you have a choice, said the voice. You can stay here and battle the pain in the way you always have. Or you can walk.
Walk...It's easy to talk about pain...a moment in a series of moments...
You can never see the big moments coming. That's what makes them what they are. No-one is ever ready to face what could be the biggest burden. And he turned.
Her eyes fell upon him. He stopped. Walk away, said the voice. Walk away and you'll never feel the pain you know is just round the corner. Her eyes burnt. He stood poised. Walk, and feel the pain of guilt and shame. Stay, and feel the pain of envy and betrayal. Either could not happen. And either could happen with such a force that you will NOT walk away.
It's easy to talk about pain, he grinned ruefully.
Walk away. Or stay. Because, in this game you play, you only have one turn.
Except feel it.
He walked out into the arena.He'd felt what they called pain before that day began. What he had called pain and laughed about as he nudged it to one side, shelved it away and pretended not to feel. Pretending is only a short walk from lying, and that takes you into a world where rules can be bent and twisted away when convienient. He thought about this and he stood there, watching the oncoming titans. Can lying becoming addictive? It gives you a power, you see, and one which is not easily laid aside. A dictator will never step aside, never budge an inch. He loves the power. And a liar loves the same sense of power; the small hit he gets by inflicting unknowing pain on someone else.
It all comes back to pain, he thought. Whichever way you turn in life, pain greets you with a mocking smile and a knife between the ribs. Sometimes you can ignore that smile, and turn aside the knife. But only for a brief moment in a series of moments. The walls WILL come crashing down, the armour will only last a while, the defence will always pale before the offence. A moment is nothing worthwhile by the time the next moment snaps into place and consumes your life.
A moment is only important for a moment, he thought. The sheer stupidity of that coursed through him. But it mattered. But now was not the time for thoughts. Thoughts...Thoughts get you killed. He turned to look at her face. Where along the line had she donned the mask? Had she always been wearing it? Was it even a mask, and had he been seeing a face made of mind-light and mist? A face that wasn't there...and yet a face that smiled at him when he closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the labyrinth that was his mind. Then the first was upon him. He'd die for that face, he decided. Pain is for the unloved.
Battle was joined as he desperately tried to fend off a foe that was stronger,faster,taller. Better. The word leapt from his lips with a bitter taste and a jolt of bile. He would lose. But the unloved cannot feel pain, yes...What sort of comfort is that supposed to be?, nagged a voice from somewhere. The only comfort he had, he thought bitterly. He couldn't bear to lose, couldn't afford to win. He stared desperately at his foe's face, trying to find a weakness, or any sign of something not intangible. Nothing...And that chilled him to his spine more than any wound could. How are you supposed to fight something that doesn't exist?
You do that all the time, sighed the voice again. You fight and you fight against something that doesn't exist. And you lose.
The first foe screamed without any noise. It was feeling pain, he realised, grinning. There's something there. He pressed the attack. Then she moved. He smiled at her, the smile dying a tortured death as he saw her eyes weren't directed at him. A hand, gently caressed across his foe's shoulder, and...the shadow began to take shape. He gaped. She gave him form. He didn't move as the foe moved with a new zest of energy. That energy should have been yours, the voice growled. Take it back. Yes, take it. The foe was faster. He screamed as the foe slashed a wound in the nothingness that was his strength. He fell backwards. He had lost, again.
She smiled. Her eyes were on him. He smiled back, new energy flowing through him. An energy that came from something equally as intangible as his foe, as him, as this whole place. You don't know where you are, mocked the voice. He shook off the voice again, staggering to his feet. She was there, her hand on his shoulder. He stood forward, new energy coursing through him. You want to protect her?, mocked the voice yet again. Who will protect you? He ignored it.
Then there was another figure. The second. He had no names to use because names lead to pain. And it all comes back to fame. The second wasn't as fast, wasn't as strong. It wasn't better. He grinned. There was no choice here. The defence will always pale against the offence, and the offence was his. Sword clashed against sword. When had swords come into this? asked the voice. You fought before. Swords are an illusion of the real. Just like life. He pressed the attack, and yet...the second won. He hid the pain that the first had inflicted, buried beneath layers as solid as rock. Brittle is only a word for those who are weak. But...the pain of the second shattered through the rock, and freed the pain of the first. They joined, free to cause as much suffering as they wanted. And yet he resisted. Stood in the flow, because nothing remained apart from that. Pain can be overcome.
Then she walked again, her eyes moving. He stood powerless against the flow, mouth open in disbelief as she gently touched the second on his neck, and again the shadows condensed into a form. A form that she had created. He shook his head in disbelief, and the flow forced him backwards. She looked at him, and he forced it inwards, away from view. If she couldn't see it, it didn't exist, surely? Then she looked at them. Looked..at THEM.
Where are you looking, because you're not looking at me, he thought. Those words hit him with a truth he had never seen before. Not wanted to see, perhaps.
So now, you have a choice, said the voice. You can stay here and battle the pain in the way you always have. Or you can walk.
Walk...It's easy to talk about pain...a moment in a series of moments...
You can never see the big moments coming. That's what makes them what they are. No-one is ever ready to face what could be the biggest burden. And he turned.
Her eyes fell upon him. He stopped. Walk away, said the voice. Walk away and you'll never feel the pain you know is just round the corner. Her eyes burnt. He stood poised. Walk, and feel the pain of guilt and shame. Stay, and feel the pain of envy and betrayal. Either could not happen. And either could happen with such a force that you will NOT walk away.
It's easy to talk about pain, he grinned ruefully.
Walk away. Or stay. Because, in this game you play, you only have one turn.