WHEN WILL THE WIND BLOW, What was her name?
Summary: Most people fear things they don't understand. The nature of human beings can be quite simple, except when they aren't.
He didn't really understand it, I mean really, who could? Who could say they understood the very essence of human nature. Well not him anyway and why would anyone expect him to? Why would anyone want to for that matter? Life was such a trivial thing, in the darkest and most vile single explanation we were put on this earth to simply...die.
Blasphemous. Was there a God? A being that stood tall above this world? This universe? He didn't know the answer to that question either. Though...he suspected that if there was indeed a God...that higher power had long abandoned mankind. He sighed...what a terrible ruler indeed...
The fact of the matter is that anyone could truly become a God if they so wished...anyone could become a devil if they so wished...history was written in stone and eons upon eons from now the people would believe whatever it was that was written. Kill 5,000, and you would live on to be a symbol of evil incarnate. Save as many, and be remembered as a savior.
He shook his head. He had lived his lifetime a million times over and watches as humans destroyed themselves again and again. At first he tried to save them...they painted him a savior...to no avail.
And that was when he realized that no matter what he did it was a losing battle. A sick game created by a king who abandoned his throne. The cattle become dazed and lost without the Shepard.
When will the wind blow, he wondered. Briefly, a picture of a woman flashed into his mind. What was her name? He didn't remember. He didn't even remember his own name anymore. The question remains how a simple human had arrived at this point, he had forgotten how to be angry, forgot how to smile, forgot how to hate, to love. He was an empty being, something that evolved. Was he even human anymore?
Silver shone against the light at his desk, a knife. He grabbed it and looked up
A bound woman hanging from the ceiling. She smiled gently and said nothing.
Crimson blood spattered onto the floor suddenly. Falling in a waterfall of beautiful crimson. A small rivet gently made its way across the floor board. A long line of beautiful crimson...
"What...was her name?"
More blood splashed onto the ground, and the woman's head plopped gently onto his desk.
He grabbed his head
"What...is my name?"
He put his hand to his face and stared at the head of the woman. Even in death, she still smiled.
His face was wet
"Why..."
.
.
.
.
"Why... am I crying?"