Prologe

Time.

It's there one minute, then gone the next. Once it passes you, it's gone, over, finished, and will never come back. Sometimes, even just a harmless second can leave you mourning its stale trail.

Many look back upon their once youthful lives, as they absent mindly wondered about how all those memories, oh those dear memories, how they seemed to be only yesterday, yet reality quaintly corrected them that it was indeed so long ago. So where did the time go? Had it been recycled for future use? Or had it disappeared into the empty nothingness of some dark abyss left to wander?

Questions like these confuse and agitate even the most precise minds, which often led to the dark and unknowing road of uncertainty, bringing forth the fear of which to the mind cannot comprehend.

Will time swallow us all into it's forever shifting tides of long expired rememberings that for only a moment, brings joy? A joy so full of completeness that sheds some sunlight on the frozen soul, fitting into the torn heart like a key so pure, that it fills the lock of shattering sanity and soon fades and resumes its shaded place, hidden in a shy corner carefully tucked back into its comforter of shadows deep within your mind.

History.

Someone once said that life is nothing without your history. But if we all focused on our pasts, how can there be hope for a new day when the night plagues your mind? How can there be change in a life of routine when no one is making history? That is a line so delicate that one must use extra precaution around: remembering the ways of the old, or give birth to new customs. History is a mass of romance, betrayal, love, pain, discovering, and forgetting. If you pull out a scene from history, you will always see accomplishments and failures. You will see people that persisted, and people that gave up. History is everywhere, for it is time's very own son.

Life.

Life is a cloudy vision all on its own. We are all given life. A blank piece of paper, if you will, and with that paper comes a limitation. Your paper will only survive for so long before time consumes its once new appearance, making its smooth white surface to a fading crumpled and torn sheet. But with this blank sheet, you have the power to do anything with it. Customize it to your needs, mold it to your desires. Some look upon their empty page as a burden and they seek to destroy their masterpiece just as it begins. And it is them who have created a burden of sorrow on their own shoulders, for they will never experience the joy of flight, or the cruel intentions of the world, because these are the memoirs that shape everything; time, life, and history.

Without these you will fall prisoner to the black abyss of exhausted time, and you shall be nothing but an empty shell, a hollow vessel.

These are the only rules. The only true ways that will exist, and forever forged in stone.

Authors Notes

I finally figured out how to add stories!!!! Yay me!! Please update and tell me what you think of my prologe??