Things didn’t remain the same. They couldn’t remain the same- no matter whether the nightmare held any claim to reality whatsoever, whether I was sane or not, the effects were there. They were there, and they wouldn’t leave- and things seemed forever different.

The world was a dream within a dream- any sense of prolonged reality was lost, and all meaning to the sad little attempts at life seemed gone. Where there was once a realm of endless possibilities, eternal passions and ageless dreams, now stood a desolate land of ill-fated whims and pointless mornings.

What would happen were I not to rise tomorrow? Who would come to my bedside and calm these tremors? What meaning could there be in a moraless, desperate existence after a glimpse of savage heaven?

And no matter who asked them, how they were asked, and what was asked their answers always remained the same: nothing. What had I learned? Nothing. I have learned nothing, because I refuse to give up that ideal. If I do not let go, I cannot be forced into this pitiful reality.

Ignorance is bliss, and a year ago, I would have laughed at that.

But I can’t now. I can’t laugh at many things, and sometimes, at night, the images, putrid smells, and piercing cries all return. Oh, it is surely not the dream once more- it is but a reminder of what happened in that nightmare.

And I’ll ask myself: what have I done?

Nothing.

There was blood. Rivers, lakes, and oceans of blood that shouldn’t be- but there was another war.

There was always another war.

For each and every battle, the outcome becomes less important- the entire underlay falls away to reveal nothing but petty ambitions and audacious pride. Impetuous, impetuous, garrulous wars.

Another bomb may fall, and we do not see the victims, so it is all good and well here. These are not our people, these people- hah, as if those fools could even be called that!- they are not aware. Their system of government is different from ours, and even though it has been working for them, it is surely not as strong and virtuous as ours. The only way to accomplish anything is by force, force, war.

They have too much power, now- it is in our self-defence now, and self-defence is not murder. Our hands are tied, we must battle. Let us desecrate their holy lands.

And all the while, there is a mother crying as her baby burns.

Burn, baby, because your life is meaningless to us.

Life is different. I can say that now, as tears fall to their individual and equally elegant demise. As one tiny droplet creates another ripple, as another anguish is set out into the world. Die, tear, die, because there are those out there begging, fighting, crying, dying. Die, tear, not because our world doesn’t love you, but because you are the only ode the lost ones will ever receive from here. Our civilized world- hah!- a mockery of our past.

Any sacrifice to stop the killing. Oh, gods, stop the killing- it hurts, it hurts to see it.

And I will sacrifice everything I have to ease their pain. It’ll hurt, and it does hurt, and I don’t know why. It never did before.

And if I dream one more night of death, I think that I might have to declare myself as Lord of Death, Creator of Wars- because I see too many. Is there such a thing as empathy? Such a curse?

Of course not. Not here. It is but guilt, but fear of another war- but terrible anguish over lives lost. Why?

Nothing.

There was something there, and now it’s gone, and I don’t want to lose any more. And every death is another loss, because somehow now it affects- now it has grown into something ghastly and terrible.

The nightmare- was it real?- drenched the world in horrid reality. Had I always been so blind to suffering? The nightmare- was I truly at war? Was I the toy soldier, marching, marching, muddy and sick? How did this nightmare change everything? How could it change me?

Because I am living for no one, because I am needed by no one. I am as I am- someone who has seen but not, confused and delusioned, willingly guilted into defeat by needless powers.

I am no victim, they are- we are the villains.

Every breath taken is one stolen, every smile is one torn, every god damn blue sky is another one broken and twisted. Every shining day is a spit in the face.

They are angry, and I am tired of hearing it.

That presence may be gone, but some new knowledge is here, and it is worse than any other conscience. Lead us to reason, lead us to morality- I am tired.

I cannot do it alone. But I am alone. Help.

I wish you were here.

The rain is falling again today, and I was thinking of you. I was thinking about all of you. I miss you.

Hadn’t you promised to stay? Weren’t you supposed to be here, beside me? What had happened? You were there- I saw you, felt you, heard you- but now- how could so much have changed? Where had everyone gone? One moment, there, the next…

The fellow beside shook his head, his glasses clanging on the floor. “Nurse! Nurse!”

A spark of lightning illuminated everything. The man sat up, looked around. “Hey, the day’s messy, isn’t it? Kind of like when we landed, isn’t it? Don’t you remember? Don’t you?”

The wind howled and I looked up at the waiting person, whose eyes shone like they were about to be given the meaning of life. Perhaps they were, on some basic and profound level: but there was no meaning in words.

“Despondency is normal in shellshock. What I’m worried about is the whole rainy day salute.”

“I’ll do what I can. Can you hear me?”

Tell me what went wrong, because I don’t know. The magnitude of what can be said is dammed by the over-powering desire to say it.

Silence is an agreeable answer to any question.

“I’m going to help you. So, tell me how you feel.”

How I feel? I miss you. I miss everything. Nothing’s the same anymore, my hands are eternally crimson, and I can’t wash them. I can’t cover them up, and it never mattered before.

Why now?

“Christmas is coming soon. Tell me how you feel about that.”

Details that are so unimportant shouldn’t be details. Imperfections that are so subnormal should be grouped together to form a perfection.

If perfection is impossible, how does heaven exist?

“Please, I’m trying to help you.”

“So am I.” I am. I really am, but in order to solve the problem, it has to be understood first. I’ll dream of you.

The shadow that crossed the living room wasn’t you, and it was disappointing. I’m not sure what is real, and people keep dying. Why does no one care?

I don’t fear death, but I don’t envy it- there is no beauty in death, no glorious fanfare to welcome the hero. In death, there is no hero, only the lost.

And I won’t lose you.

I won’t glorify thee, Death. Death, be not proud, for thou art a slave to kings and desperate men… *

They asked who you were today. You know what? I couldn’t answer. I miss you eternally, but you’re gone, and I’ll keep searching, but will we ever meet again? What happened? Was it a nightmare, and can I bring you back, like so many of my dreams?

So I’ll feel for a dream, as nothing’s what it seems and I’m hunting for you. Let life bring what it can, because there’s a river that cuts through every mountain.

But it’s not my river, and I’m tired of pretending. I cannot do this, it is an impossibility and the task is far too great.

There is no grand war to end all wars, the ends cannot possibly justify the means, and life goes… On.

So I think… So I think that I must explain.

Once upon a time, there was confusion. There were always two possibilities, as endless as the sea: there were always two paths to choose from, and no matter which was chosen, the other would always occupy a certain space far away. I could not reach there.

The Other Presence was there, beckoning, beseeching- gods, why doesn’t it stop!- always willing, commanding, the empress of the divine hour glass. But it- Other- was me. Who was I? I was a tiny speck in the hour glass, reaching out and lacing my hands through other falling sands, drowning in the superfluous solidity of a liquid life. Other was white: I was black. When Other shone, I slept; where we both stood, there was never peace. I fought Other for the right to life for many years, and then…

Well, there was a nightmare. The nightmare. You were there, but by no means tangible in the nightmare: but you were there. You helped me.

You helped me to condemn Other.

Not just you, but this world: we all were as one, in a glorious battle for both life and justice. But we didn’t know what we were doing. We fought though, didn’t we?

And then it ended.

I awoke into a reality that did not support my ideals, my thoughts set ablaze as witches condemned without trial. My heart used to be black, an apathetic cause for an apathetic world.

Other is gone, Other has left, Other is somewhere else. So is that darkness.

Now life is precious, life is wasted: there is nothing but the melody of life, the endless requiem that foretells an ending but never beckons it: there is a tear.

So there is a ripple, dominating the sea of tears, all cried for the wrong reasons. There is a Sea of Love.

So there is a rumour, a passing of society through decades of dampening until there is only a shadow left. There is a Sky of Shadows.

So there is an eternal wishing, the everlasting devotion to being, the wickedness of want and the pleasure of subjugation and an endless nothing.

Gods, gods, blood and bone, bleach and bile, doomsdays and heydays- there is this nothingness, this unfathomable abyss of deluges unable to be free! Freedom, a goddess couldn’t say it better, freedom, freedom.

And now there is this sadness, this melancholy untouchable for all that is lost. So much is lost!

So who cries for them? They are screaming, wailing, howling, they are dying- and no one cares.

That is my story. They did not live happily ever after, they did not get married, and there were no more weddings.

Od’s bodykins, then. * Bully for them, then.

I cannot find you, and the world is slipping away. Not from me, but from all of us.

I woke up today, knowing there was death in the air. More death.

It doesn’t end, it cannot end, and you’re not here to help me.

Glory is not found in cadavers, I wish to say. This is not the answer, death is never the answer. Life is. We do not fight for death, but life: no one should have to die for life. Prepare to die for what you live for, soldier- this is the pain that kills, the blood that spills, the thirst that fills and the life that thrills. I won’t lie to you, soldier, but you’re going to be a hero for this: they’ll praise your name like- hallelujah!- what a hero he is! You’re our star, son, and it’s all up to you.

Until you die. They always die. The lies lead to death.

I may not know what is happening, but I know enough in that it is not good.

This I know: I am a pacifist, thus an idealist: but what reality can the world function on if that reality demands infinite sacrifice? Life is an idea, morality is an idea: all we have are ideas, and reality is only our perception of an idea. Reality is a slave to ideas. And we are a slave to perception.

We live in the present, the present perception we have is all we have: reality has nothing to do with five minutes ago, because five minutes ago could have changed in every mind. There is black, there is white, and there are millions of shades of grey between.

We walk that grey, we express that grey, and we are as deep as that grey. That is our grey. All our petty ideas of goodness, morality, ethics, evil, malice, love, hatred, glory, honour, pride- they are our grey. There are no definites, only variables in this equation: so there will never be a simple answer.

This grey is where you are not. You were never here, were you? And what of Other? Was anyone ever really…

Why? You were never tainted by pride, by greed. Those are our definitions of humanity: there was Pride, and there was Greed, and they fought over humanity endlessly. Love left with Beauty when the night came, Elegance befriended Grace and they flew off into the sunset. Immortality and Purity lay in twilight, leaving us as prisoners of night’s dawn.

Forsaken? No- never, but Patience only lasted so long, and we have worn out our stay.

And after all this, through nothing and everything, past life and death, I will never find you again. I love you.

Life goes on, another tear falls, more victims die: another spark fades, more sand hits the bottom, and we are running out of time. And I do not know what I am doing anymore.

My love, I am confused. I am tired. I can no longer fight. You are out of my reach, we cannot touch you, goodnight, blessed eternal night for the world sheds us. Goodnight, and I will love you infinitely and forever, without words and without limits, and I will never find you again: goodnight, sweet Innocence, for we’ve lost you.

And I think…I think that I’m lost. I’ve lost…something. But you knew that, didn’t you?