The flimsiest pretext

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The flimsiest pretext

Post  rykario on Fri Sep 02, 2011 12:14 am

To lay down and sleep would bring peace yet, it is of the most cowardly things one could do. Cowardice is a cancer upon the hearts and minds of the masses. It can be found at all levels of the social conscious. A man suffices with a loveless relationship for fear of being alone. Cowardice fuels acts of malice and betrayal constantly. Why did Armenians outnumbering their oppressors one hundred to one march to their deaths knowing no respite lay at the end of the trail, cowardice. While the minority took up arms the masses watched impotently as their wives were raped, children killed and towns razed with hellfire. Cowardice is a virus more ravenous than we could aspire to be. We loath its embrace even more than we hate ourselves. With such considerations we do not complacently await a merciful ending but actively pursue a challenge we can not surmount. We hunt for a glorious and honorable death.

And so it is that we spend the time our dual habits of nihilism and self loathing permit searching for a greater power than we poses. To this end we waife ( a process by which one ascends to the omni-point truth of existence. One then locates a new location as you would on a globe then upon descending to the mundane levels of existence finds themselves already there) to a place colloquially known as the Nightside. At time of arrival my level of contaminant is merely .05 too low for him to sway my thoughts or construct. Being singular in mind for the time I select my most recent construct both for its aesthetic qualities and for the new tools I have equipped it with. This construct stands 6.7 and floats and additional half inch off the ground in a constant field of distortion. As it traverses realities it blurs their substance winding it around the construct as light would look viewed through a bottle. I stare at my hands as I regain mental clarity. They are white with chrome accents on each knuckle and a chrome strip along the inside of each arm. The strips wind up the arm stopping at the elbows where they meet my newest addition the retention circles. These are chrome circles jointed on the outside to allow the elbow to bend properly. I created them after examining a mundane climbing knife and came to the realization that their use could increase substance stability and decrease the amount of substance needed. The strips of reflective chrome then thicken and continue along what would be the inside of the biceps leading to the illegal group of generators on my back. The generators maintain the construct and allow it to go about its benevolent nature. These are devices with such capabilities that no government nor administration legally permits their use. They are both boon and bane of any construct, allowing for impressive feats when properly build and unstable bombs when created by a novice. My legs are similarly constructed as they dangle slightly off the ground. On my chest I wear a chrome disk etched with marks symbolic of alliances and affiliations I once held. And in place of an expressive visage I wear a simple chrome mask that while showing no discernible emotion gives the impression of slight sorrow. I mirrored this after another mask warn by a reprehensible ally become turncoat. Such intellectual property infringement is another communality of my constructs as one consideration of a construct is the effect its sight will have on others. Besides I have yet to hear the dead protest my transgressions toward them (save for one but she is a different matter).

As my surrounding sharpen I am assailed by a cacophony of sound. Most the common gibberish of daily life. Inconsequential noise exchange that looses purpose moments after its utterance or meters from its source. There are amidst the throng occasional whimpers and cries of the downtrodden and mistreated. There are equal number of voyeuristic sighs and exclamations of those experiencing that short lived exultation. One in particular who seemed to be derived from a low open window slightly above my head had seemed to indicate that the exultation had been both overly expedient and one sided. The sound in question was given meaning by another benefit of this construct a simple ISD ( meaning integrated subordinate drone) that each day would consider its own mortality at the continual prospect of converting every sound imaginable into comprehensible words had it only the sentience to do so. The sound was met with a befitting anarchistic sight as my vision focused. People of all description cavorted in crowded dark streets forcing their purpose on each other. Some wanted to sell, some to buy, some to simply see what could be seen. All my other senses engaged adding there own trite meaning to the reality. The sense of smell simply being a repulsive burden I disengaged it for the time being.

I looked at the scene with contempt disgust and fear. I had once been in a crowd not unlike this one that had been vehement over a political squabble. I had been sent to quell its animosity, and at first my purpose was met with little resistance. Then as I entered its epicenter the crowds true intent manifest and spurred on by group-think and fear noncombatants became enemies and a deluge of force converged from all sides. I had no escape and resorted to carving a bloody swath to my salvation. I left that mission a failure. It caused political up hoar and left me feeling a mixed set of feelings inadequate, guilty, wrathful, and jaded. It also engendered in me a distinct desire to avoid crowds whenever possible. Though here it seemed god had pissed on me again. I moved forward pushing aside those who obstinately did not move, they were either brave or unaware souls. I moved through paths cleared at an absurd rate in a city alive with desires and dreams. My destination hitherto unknown my purpose a fight, a war, a righteous dispersal of the undeserving.

rykario

Posts : 3
Join date : 2011-08-29

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