[ IP ] Wilderness

`` Birds, I really do hate them. Reason? I'm not sure, maybe it's that I'm jealous they can fly, or maybe it's how they just go everywhere in groups, never alone to think for themselves, like we humans do. 
 
 Just what am I doing? Surviving? For what purpose? Just what am I? These shallow, pitiful thoughts echo through my head. `` They're useless.'' I tell myself. This world that I was forced into, this world of vast forests, this world of farming, this world of war, this world of families, it's odd, I can tell you. People cling to what was, the world of yore. We, today, live our lives attempting to bring back those days of numbness. Can I criticize? Can I talk from my high horse with clear conscious? I do n't know, nor do I think I will ever know. 
 
 That world, where pens ruled over swords, using them to gain power, is gone. The world that we live in now is ruled by swords, swords marked by battle upon battle, ruled by swords that were forged from pens. But what does that make me? A sword? A pen? What am I? 
 
 The communities that have sprouted up are magnificent, different ideologies rule. Some are communistic, some are socialistic, some are capitalistic, all attempting to bring back a version of that world, the world where we sat all day, talking to people across the planet, working 5 to 9 for a new pair of shoes, or a new graphics card, or a new car. Can I blame them? It was easy to live then, but it was harder to want to live. 
 
 I ask too many questions, too many useless questions, anyway.'' 
 
 Stomping out the dying embers of my fire, I gulp down the rest of my coffee before standing up off the collapsed bricks I used as a seat. Collapsed buildings, believe it or not, are good shelters. I step away from the pile of ashes, picking up my shotgun while in motion. 
 
 A large flash of purple light fills the horizon to my right, I see the center, it's source, high in the sky, and hold up my thumb, covering it in entirety. Shrugging, I walk away from it. 
 
 `` Deja vu.'' 
 
 -- -- - 
 
 I'm not the best writer in the world, I know. For some reason I've had people compare my writing style to H.P Lovecraft, but I do n't see it. 
 
 I wanted to write more, but really if I'm to be dead honest because this is n't a long series or anything, it was more spur of the moment inspiration, and I doubt anyone is really going to enjoy it very much, I ca n't find the motivation. 
 
 
 
 
 
 

