I'm taking a brief break from my other story. I had to write a monologue for my creative writing class. I have recently become obsessed with the ancestors from homestuck, so I thought I'd do a little tribute to the troll I'll be cosplaying. Reviews are always appreciated

In a society where your relevance is decided the moment you're born, you become accustomed to a lot of control. We all just learned to accept our fate with closed mouths and eyes cast to the sordid ground. If the inkling of rebellion arises, it is crushed without hesitation. Those who exist at the pinnacle of society, garbed in their extravagant shades of indigo and pink, serve as a constant reminder of this hierarchy. With the most pure blood, they stand above all.

Looking back on everything, I feel like a fool for never opening my eyes. "Why am I subjected to a life in the wilderness? Why do they rule over the land? Why are my friends exploited so terribly?" I should have wondered those things long ago.

It took an amazing being to finally speak out against the all-powerful rule of the high-bloods. I believe he was the bravest of all of us…yet he came from the most humble begins. Abandoned at birth, born with the most "dirty" blood in our world, he was left for dead. Only upon a chance encounter did he rise. A wise woman happened to be wandering about on her daily tasks, and stumbled upon his sleeping form. With compassion overflowing in her heart, the woman took him in, and raised him as she would her own child.

It breaks my heart to think about the guilt she must have felt, hiding his wretched blood from the world. She knew that one day he would realize the cruel fate laid out before him. But for as many years as she could, she shielded him from this reality, showing him nothing but a mother's love.

Of course he couldn't stay hidden forever though. By the time the child had reached adulthood, he was well aware of his place. Many would surrender with this revelation. But not him, he would continue to fight.

I felt so incredibly lucky. Perhaps it was the love his mother raised him with, but this condemned soul was not bitter. In fact, he was hopeful. He looked at our world with new eyes, he saw a happy future for everyone one of us. Where our roots didn't matter. Where we could all coexist without enslaving one another.

I loved to listen to his dreams for the future. It sounded so beautiful. I pictured the dark hues of the monarchs mixing with the bright emerald and yellow shades of my companions. I realized not only did I love his dreams, but I loved the dreamer himself. He told me that our love transcended definition itself.

I speak of love, beautiful paintings made from unity, yet what happened? What happened to him? The future he wanted seemed to shatter as the arrow pierced his chest. The family I had found seemed to dissolve as his mother was subjected to a fate worse than death. My heart itself seemed to stop when I learned that I wouldn't be able to follow him to the afterlife. I am trapped to a life of solitude. I spend my days rewriting all of his teachings. His memory may be erased, but his ideals will never die. If he is the flame of the revolution, then I am the air that gives strength to the fire. I will never let my love burn out, I will become an unstoppable tempest. I will not let them forget.