Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb
Mary had a little lamb with fleece as white as snow
And everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary went
Everywhere that Mary went that lamb was sure to go
Does thought really proceed the action or is thought not involved in the motion?
Abstract
They say that around each one of us is a space, a personal bubble, an area in which our entire mood controls the personal psyche. Perhaps my primal self had been somehow happier. There is a chance that I might have ravaged the world. It would have taken on the physical form of my emotions as I used the infinite power of the Chaos Emeralds to become God. Cold, heartless, and without love, I would have been he who is love, the one being who is LOVE. If not for suffering, I most certainly would have never interacted with anyone or felt this pain. Could this lonely alternative better then? Naturally but absolutely not. In truth, I could have achieved world happiness as God. Delight would reign supreme as people were able to thoughtlessly continue through their day. All would be wealthy and free of commitments. The evils would be defeated once and for all. The ending would be a pure bliss as all decisions were far from difficult. An easy and simple choice.
Or so one might hope…
How is it then that each person could
Be
F
a
l
l
i
n
g
Lost and gone forever? How is that no one being could be close to another. How is it that the divine be the root of evil. Simple…
Free will is a long gone idea. A simple choice of clothes would no longer be theirs to make, but mine. And when I am bored with a person, or perhaps even people, I could kill them. As to not exclude my fur covered brethren, so too should they be treated. A flip of wrist, a flawless game, a perfect serve, or the crushing defeat, all mine. They shall be mine, my world.
Suffering…
I recall my first intimate moment with suffering. However, that is indescribable until one considers the suffering that lead to the reason that my suffering could be.
Gerald. Dr. Gerald Robotnik was a truly troubled man. My creator, and in a sense my father, designed me, but things such as love cannot be "installed." It is a learning requirement of life. It cannot exist without suffering, and if no one suffered, we would all remain apart in our separate bubbles. We would never cross and never expand our world. Our worlds would end with us and with us alone. So to, the world itself would wither as nothing can be gained from stunted growth. When nothing is gained, when nothing progresses, there is demise, death, a lacking of aftermath, a void, a parallel dimension where reality isn't becomes reality.
And with great fortune, she suffered. Maria, my love, felt pain. I was there. She was kind, and we were closest of friends. To be sure, no intimate relations would dare happen between my sister and myself, and such an arousal had never crossed my mind until one day she was accused of having an affair with…a lesser classed citizen. Such an insult could only indicate a relationship with furry, especially when said by the human created regime of that nation. It was not, however, true. So for this reason, Maria herself took that plane trip. A trip intended to bring peace, to move forward in our era of peace. Three words could sum up at the events that followed.
Blood…
Metal…
Failure…
I am faced with this failure again, this loss. Now…now could be a chance to change that. If my will could take infinite power to annihilate the firm, then could I not give one life for another in my one true penance, a passion.
Passion is nigh impossible to describe or define simply. Women and men seek a mate who is passionate, who is devoted and loving, caring and selfless in terms of applying to the other. However, this excludes so much of the meaning of the word. It is treated with the same disrespect that the term "love" has or even "hate" for that matter. Passion was once held with such great esteem that it became the only word fitting to describe the endless suffering and sacrifice of a human considered God. One might say, therefore, that the being equal to love can only commit passion in the suffering that love causes. So then, a passion would be caused by love, a boundless love, which exceeds all expectations without being asked. Love is kind and passion is the willful offering of one person for the sake of love. Some would go so far as to claim that passion is a state of mind, a sort of overriding change equivalent to that of the survival instinct. Affection of timeless care and sweetness, a singular truth which has such great wealth that it exceeds the power of anyone to hold.
And here, the conclusion. An action must be taken. The craftsmen works had to create the design and perfect the idea. And with a grand gesture he reveals to no one in particular the completion of his perfect idea. Witness, as the wood is placed carefully. Chosen for their shape, their strength, and color, the wood comes together and creates his masterpiece.
For me, this will not be a masterpiece. This is merely a recreation. A sick and pathetic imitation of actions already taken. I know full well exactly what it is that I must do.
I shall take the winds and slice open my wrists. Let the blood rain down and wet the emeralds, letting them know my deepest and darkest desire. With this act, a ritual of the canabalic heart, I will surrender all that I am to him. His body has fallen and with this power I will bond his soul to his body again.
I doubt I can survive this again. Heh, I'm peaceful now. My rage has subsided, and life has meaning. Too bad I didn't realize it until I was to meet my end.