He looks down at the gravestone positioned at his feet. He stands there, and stares at it. His eyes slowly hovering over every letter and detail or the plark. It takes five minutes of silence for his acceptance to sink in. He falls to his knees and buries his hands in the dirt. He cries.
This is a dream, I thought. This cannot be real, I rebuffed. Although however much I protested, every time I opened my eyes all I could see was a world in which I did not belong.
Why me? I asked to myself. What makes me so special? I inquired. Even when I knew very well what made me different from all the others, I felt alone and confused nevertheless.
Waking up into a world beyond imagination would have been exhilarating, if I weren't so lonely. Everyone I had ever known, had ever loved, gone. They were gone, yet here I remain. The only things at my side were my own arms, and even they could not be relied upon at all times.
Those people said they knew me. They told me stories of my own life. They know the myths, but they do not, and will never, know me. They have not felt the pain of loss, they have not felt the worthlessness of rejection. They will never know me.
They gave me shelter, and a bed. They told to relax, they told me that everything is ok. They spewed lies from their mouths. Disgusting, twisted, heart wrenching lies. I wanted to correct them. Instead, I decided to leave.
It was dark, I knew this. The moon was new, and I had a plan. I crept out from my room, and down the corridor I went. After exiting the building however, it came to my attention that I had nowhere to go. I do not belong here. I do not belong in this world. This world, where I am forlorn.
I begin promenading aimlessly into the night. My pace increases as I reflect on what they had said. They wanted me to join them, to be their ally. But for what? War? No. I refused. I outrightly refused to be tangled in anything of the sort again. Not to defend the world. Not to defend THIS world, in which I am not from. In which I do not belong.
I shivered, the air turns to ice. It cuts my skin and I bleed. I gain enough speed for a light jog. I twist my head, searching for somewhere. Anywhere. I stop.
It is only when I go through the gate that I notice I am wearing no footwear. Even so, I continue to enter the clear air of what appears to be the remnants of an old cemitary.
A flower? I questioned to the ground. How out of place, I acknowledged. Out of place, like I was. Abrubtly, the flower pulled at my heart. It was as if my entire life was etched onto the petals of the tiny, lonely flower.
I shifted my gaze slightly to the left. There, the flower had a purpose. The forsaken flower is there to serve respect to whoever this stone belongs to. I took a step towards it.
I look down at the gravestone positioned at my feet. I stand there, and stare at it. My eyes slowly hover over every letter and detail or the plark. It took five minutes of silence for my acceptance to sink in. I fall to my knees and bury my hands in the dirt. I cry.