It was a beautiful day outside. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming. . .
Too bad he was stuck inside.
They say with great power comes great responsibility.
He sat at his computer, contemplating what to input, before setting it down and pacing the room.
That was his power. Writing.
He had an unpleasant amount of violence in his early life, even if murder and bloodshed wasn't a part of it, and he'd be damned if any of it got out. He worked so hard to channel all of this… emotion into something he could use as an outlet.
Creating all that's left in his mind. That's why he was here.
He almost chuckled at his writing. For many months he'd wrote. For many months he'd worked.
It almost seemed like enough.
His stories were those of depression, and heroism.
With the goal of securing a better tomorrow.
Or at least the mindset.
It was almost funny, with the violence that had been present in his early life, that he'd coped with it with bad humor and good laughs.
His goal was to have a sort of rule in one area, that of happiness. His product gave people satisfaction and happiness.
He was no megalomaniac, but the power to make people happy through writing wasn't exactly an evil craving.
That's all he ever wanted. Was to make people happy when he himself could rarely ever achieve pure happiness without a dread in the back of his mind.
Music, singing, writing. Those were his outlets.
As for the violence and yelling, well… it's not like he was being taught that in this world, it's kill or be killed.
In truth, the unpleasantness sort of shaped him, despite giving him a rather sucky disorder. Eh, whatever.
It was just a shame when people called for help…. but nobody came.
We need to save them.
But….. you can't.
At times like that, those who ignored those cries, should be burning in hell.
Having a really bad time.
When he read about these abusive parents to the kids, or that of a similar nature, he felt pity. But he also felt anger.
If he was put in that situation, he wouldn't call for help, nor take the pain. If he had parents like that (which he didn't)…..
He'd rip them to shreds.
Self-defense wasn't murder.
Justice wasn't waiting around for the legal system to do its thing. That was being lazy.
Justice was making sure it won't happen again.
He growled lowly and shook his head.
This world was dark.
Dark, darker, yet darker.
He sighed.
He was nearly finished. And here. was the final piece of the puzzle.
He needed to think harder. Better material.
The timelines jumping left and right. The Doctor wanting the ultimate power over humanity. Wanting to control them all. To destroy you all.
But not before he continued the game.
His fault….
All in fiction of course, but…..
It was like a game of life. That's what this was. Life. The joke without a punchline.
They couldn't understand how this feels. Knowing that one day, without any warning…..
It could all be ripped away by tragedy or fate.
Maybe…... there was a way to end all of this… to put things right.
Just keep writing. Improving the human condition. For those untainted by darkness.
Heh. Let's erase all of the unhappiness. Let's turn it all to dust.
That's a wonderful idea.
He sat at his computer and typed:
"Howdy. It's me, Logan. Man, do I got a story for you today."