Prolugue
In death as in life, there are choices that must be made. I'm just beginning to realize that, to feel the weight of it on me, like Paris with the Apple of discord. One wrong move could make the gods roar with anger and tear apart heaven and earth. I'm standing above them all weighing this and that, tossing them like a juggler would, keeping them up in a desperate attempt to escape from them.
Don't think, don't even breath and it will be okay.
I see my futures mapped out, countless threads, crisscrossing as they wind their way to the end. Some, of course, are shorter then others.
I have been here too long. It is time to make a decision, time to trust in something, for once. Faith, trust, and pixie dust. Faithtrustpixiedust. Maybe I'll turn into Peter Pan, young and invincible, brought low only by love. But then maybe I'll resign myself to Wendy and become one of many, a sooty flame snuffed out when it is time.
Maybe….maybe what?
Decide, force yourself thinking of all the options and choosing the one that hurts the least be fair to them for they know not what you do. Forgive me, Father. For I have had my eyes wide open this whole time.
And finally, choice. It comes like a bird, an ahh yes. It is right in its own way, as all madness is.
