An Ode To An End
By Bonekhan123
Why am I here? Why right now? Why so sad? Why so mad?
Simple, all so simple, yet as time grows, the answer's to these questions becomes more and more complex.
I am Ender, that is for certain, an extremely gifted boy trained in the art of strategic war, but when I leave here, that will also become unclear, for this place reminds me of that everyday.
Often, I beg for an end, an end the torture, but it never comes. I will be strong, yet everyday I grow weak. I will be clever, yet everyday it becomes harder to do so.
I am imprisoned in my own body, but I must be here.
My instructor, trainer, mentor, had always's told me that I will lead the fate of the human race… but now, I am unsure that is true either.
These people around me…. Sharp, strong, agile, could they not do what he has told me I am destined for? Could they not lead the human race? They are kids, most are older than me, and show no resemblance to me, in skill, intelligence, anything.
Then why should this be my destiny?
Why, I keep asking myself, should I carry this burden?
I long for an end, but only see new beginnings. It has all become such a haze now, a distant memory, a long forgotten tale. But, alas, this is my tale.
I was the writer, although I try to believe it was always the people around me who controlled me, I always knew that was not true.
In Battle School, it was the commanders, who tried every inhuman way to aid my downfall, everyway possible to make my life a living hell. When they had isolated me from my friends, tortured my whole army with three battles a day, he had still come out on top.
Then they isolated him even farther, putting him in a new place, hundreds of thousands of miles from his friends, where a new commander tortured him. He was worst, they practiced almost every hour of the day.
And how he had destroyed the whole race of buggers, millions among millions of living beings, all but one. And how they had actually tricked him into doing it.
The list went on and on. They had always tricked him, and he had always longed for an end to it all. He had become a speaker, the first speaker to be exact, the one who had spoken the death of an entire race, who had been a contradict to his whole being.
He had killed the buggers, then, feeling remorse, he had spoken for their death, and cursed Ender Wiggins who had destroyed the bugger's: The same Ender who was speaking the death. It was a hypocrisy all it's own.
Yes, he had longed for an end, but like so many things that he had never got, it never came.
He had longed for an end, but it wasn't that simple.
It was never simple.
Each passing day, the simple grew more complex, the clear, more unclear.
It may have been natural, or a curse for his xenocide, or something he had brought upon himself: he didn't know.
He hated not knowing, more than his hatred of his commanders, more than anything else he had ever experienced. He hated not knowing, being unsure, of what was to happen next.
He could only hope, and hope he did. He hoped for an escape, he hoped for an end.
He hoped for an end from being Ender Wiggen.
-Bonekhan123