Evil, or Confused?
I look around at the pure darkness that surrounds me. Or is it pure darkness that is outside me, not inside? This darkness is only the darkness of deep space. The true darkness comes from inside me. The emptiness and darkness around me is just the dark of space. Inside me is the darkness of evil. And I know it.
Yet I am ashamed. This evil, this is my choice. I could have chosen to be good. Kind. I could have done something with my life. But no, this is what I choose. Indeed, I am truly ashamed. Yet I still continue with my evil actions, my evil plots. I continue to hold this evil soul. Why? Because it is too late, and my foolish choice cannot be undone. I am to stay this way as long as I live.
I have just fled from defeat. How truly cowardly. But is there anything else I could have done? No. Not then. Cowardice had overcome me. Oh, how could have cowardice defeat courage, the courage I had from within my evil? But could you even call it courage, if it is conceived of only pure evil? No, I have never had courage. Only evil. Pure evil.
I remember the very battle, the very pain that had coursed through this very body, if you could call it a body. I remember the face of the hero, the savior of all in Popstar's solar system, as he launched the final attack that brought me down. How determined he was. Those angry, blue eyes, that voice, sounding the final battle cry, and that pink. That pink, that silly, pathetic pink, made me confident, yet now it brings my spirit, if I even have one, down to the dumps. How horrible, that I, this foolish, worthless, nothing, am taking this poor hero's childhood away. He is but a child, yet he is powerful, oh so powerful, and taking his fun, his freedom, his laughter of childhood breaks my heart. Or, it breaks the heart that I don't have.
The moment he struck me with that last blow, I fell. The pain was unbearable. How could such a young child inflict such horrible pain, come up with such a strategy? Perhaps it is the good in his heart. The good that I could never have in the heart that I never had. That moment, through the pain, the horrible, terrible, destructive pain, was when cowardice overcame me. That was when I fled. But why flee? Why flee, when there is nothing else for you, nothing else you can accomplish with this life that you are wasting away, nothing better for you to do but to die? I don't know. I am too ashamed to think on it. And knowing that I would have murdered him, ruthlessly, a child, and that he would have left me, it's too much. I cannot live this down. I am the lowest scum to ever step upon Dreamland's soil. And I just say that metaphorically, for I cannot step. I float, I drift, I fly. It is yet another thing that I have, yet do not deserve. Do I deserve life, after all I have done? No.
Looking back on that moment would bring tears to my eye, but I cannot cry. I was created to be evil, and therefore tears cannot come from this soul, this soul who has nothing but the evil that has possessed it. Yet grief can snatch me with its horrid, gripping, terrifying claws. Oh, how grief has grabbed me, crushed my in its clutches, it has caused more pain than anything, even more than that young, powerful child Kirby.
I feel ashamed and full of grief with all I have taken from Kirby, yet I feel a strong, eerie hatred towards him. This hatred... it is not something I can explain, even to myself. I try to rid myself of this hatred, yet it will not give in. It fuels me, and when I try to rid myself of it, I become weak. I give in, I surrender to this hatred. I know that it is this hatred that makes me evil, that makes me Dark Matter, not Matter or Light Matter.
But why? Why? Why can I not rid myself of this hatred? This hatred confuses me. I know that perhaps... perhaps there is a chance, a chance that I could rid myself of this hatred, and in doing so, perhaps rid myself of evil. I wish I could. Perhaps someday I will become good.
But is being good what I really want? No, perhaps not. After all, when I allow this hatred to remain within myself, I am fueled with energy. It feels like I can do anything, I can destroy, demolish, wreak havoc! This hatred, this evil, they excite me. This is how I fight every battle, and it feels good, using this power!
Yet I am unsure of whether I truly want to be evil, or if I want to be good. And I ask myself: Am I truly evil, or am I just confused? The answer lies within myself, and so deeply buried that I shall never, ever find it.
(Author's Note: This was supposed to be written from Dark Matter's point of view after K64. I know, I know, "He's evil! What are ya talkin' about?" But come on, give the evil guys a break. No one ever writes about them, and who knows if they're evil or just confused? (Perhaps they're insane.) So I hope this wasn't too stupid. I'll get back to writing Summer at Orange Ocean as soon as I get to the computer that its saved onto.)
I look around at the pure darkness that surrounds me. Or is it pure darkness that is outside me, not inside? This darkness is only the darkness of deep space. The true darkness comes from inside me. The emptiness and darkness around me is just the dark of space. Inside me is the darkness of evil. And I know it.
Yet I am ashamed. This evil, this is my choice. I could have chosen to be good. Kind. I could have done something with my life. But no, this is what I choose. Indeed, I am truly ashamed. Yet I still continue with my evil actions, my evil plots. I continue to hold this evil soul. Why? Because it is too late, and my foolish choice cannot be undone. I am to stay this way as long as I live.
I have just fled from defeat. How truly cowardly. But is there anything else I could have done? No. Not then. Cowardice had overcome me. Oh, how could have cowardice defeat courage, the courage I had from within my evil? But could you even call it courage, if it is conceived of only pure evil? No, I have never had courage. Only evil. Pure evil.
I remember the very battle, the very pain that had coursed through this very body, if you could call it a body. I remember the face of the hero, the savior of all in Popstar's solar system, as he launched the final attack that brought me down. How determined he was. Those angry, blue eyes, that voice, sounding the final battle cry, and that pink. That pink, that silly, pathetic pink, made me confident, yet now it brings my spirit, if I even have one, down to the dumps. How horrible, that I, this foolish, worthless, nothing, am taking this poor hero's childhood away. He is but a child, yet he is powerful, oh so powerful, and taking his fun, his freedom, his laughter of childhood breaks my heart. Or, it breaks the heart that I don't have.
The moment he struck me with that last blow, I fell. The pain was unbearable. How could such a young child inflict such horrible pain, come up with such a strategy? Perhaps it is the good in his heart. The good that I could never have in the heart that I never had. That moment, through the pain, the horrible, terrible, destructive pain, was when cowardice overcame me. That was when I fled. But why flee? Why flee, when there is nothing else for you, nothing else you can accomplish with this life that you are wasting away, nothing better for you to do but to die? I don't know. I am too ashamed to think on it. And knowing that I would have murdered him, ruthlessly, a child, and that he would have left me, it's too much. I cannot live this down. I am the lowest scum to ever step upon Dreamland's soil. And I just say that metaphorically, for I cannot step. I float, I drift, I fly. It is yet another thing that I have, yet do not deserve. Do I deserve life, after all I have done? No.
Looking back on that moment would bring tears to my eye, but I cannot cry. I was created to be evil, and therefore tears cannot come from this soul, this soul who has nothing but the evil that has possessed it. Yet grief can snatch me with its horrid, gripping, terrifying claws. Oh, how grief has grabbed me, crushed my in its clutches, it has caused more pain than anything, even more than that young, powerful child Kirby.
I feel ashamed and full of grief with all I have taken from Kirby, yet I feel a strong, eerie hatred towards him. This hatred... it is not something I can explain, even to myself. I try to rid myself of this hatred, yet it will not give in. It fuels me, and when I try to rid myself of it, I become weak. I give in, I surrender to this hatred. I know that it is this hatred that makes me evil, that makes me Dark Matter, not Matter or Light Matter.
But why? Why? Why can I not rid myself of this hatred? This hatred confuses me. I know that perhaps... perhaps there is a chance, a chance that I could rid myself of this hatred, and in doing so, perhaps rid myself of evil. I wish I could. Perhaps someday I will become good.
But is being good what I really want? No, perhaps not. After all, when I allow this hatred to remain within myself, I am fueled with energy. It feels like I can do anything, I can destroy, demolish, wreak havoc! This hatred, this evil, they excite me. This is how I fight every battle, and it feels good, using this power!
Yet I am unsure of whether I truly want to be evil, or if I want to be good. And I ask myself: Am I truly evil, or am I just confused? The answer lies within myself, and so deeply buried that I shall never, ever find it.
(Author's Note: This was supposed to be written from Dark Matter's point of view after K64. I know, I know, "He's evil! What are ya talkin' about?" But come on, give the evil guys a break. No one ever writes about them, and who knows if they're evil or just confused? (Perhaps they're insane.) So I hope this wasn't too stupid. I'll get back to writing Summer at Orange Ocean as soon as I get to the computer that its saved onto.)