Series 1.1 - A Prison Built of Light and Agony
He's been here a thousand years; perhaps many more than that. And there is the very real possibility that it's lasted only a few minutes. How could he ever truly know? Time wasn't something that prevailed in this place. The only thing that had purpose here, the only thing that ever triumphed, was pain. His world was one of agony. For though so much was uncertain here, this fact was not. He wasn't born to it, he had a different purpose, but it had become part of him now. Somewhere far in the past, life took a turn and he found himself there, in that awful, horrid place.
The past. What does that even mean now? The person I was before is lost. Everything is gone now, because I gave up the thought of it. I used to hold it close, but somewhere I lost my grip.
In a world built on woe, time is not something that you can afford to focus on. But time was the only thing that allowed him to remember where he came from and what he was forced to leave behind. And with the surrender of time, he gave that all away. A tortured soul can only handle so much before it begins to tear apart and become something different. It loses any sense of what or who it was before. That happened to him long ago and now the light and the pain it brought was all that mattered.
Wave after wave has washed over me for so long that I've begun to move with it. It stings and burns, yet cleans me. These barbs of piercing thorns twist and tangle around me as I go, but I find myself unable to do anything but continue forward. I already know what is waiting for me on the other side: darkness. But I have to keep pushing through; I have to keep feeling.
This actuality was the reality in which he had become a part of, regardless of when, and it was where he'd forever be. He couldn't even recall who it was who first brought him to this place, but every few hundred years he sees flashes of them looking on from someplace above. He could only remember the paleness of their face and the emptiness where eyes should be. Though, the emptiness may just be in the place that compassion is found in most beings.
I used to harbor a deep hatred for them, but I owe them much now. It was they who introduced me to this place and allowed me to transcend what I was before and accept my existence here. Without them, the wounds would mean nothing; the torment would be without purpose. I would be consumed by the dark.
Another few decades pass as he continues to traverse through this world of never-ending suffering; though it may just as well been seconds. The darkness bled into the surroundings like ink being shot about without reason by a mad artist. The blinding white, that had originally hurt so much but had become comforting to him, was now being threatened by something much worse. He could only barely remember what it was like to be afraid of something so new and so different, but it was enough to worry him.
Nothing was ever right here, but I began to see what it's purpose was and allow myself to be part of that. But whatever this is, whatever is happening, is something much worse than this place ever was. I can't let it take me from here before I'm finished on this path. I've only just begun to accept the pain and allow it to cleanse me. I was created once before, but it was never as important as this is now. Before...I remember that time. Or, at least, I remember some of it.
And now the world around him was erupting with barbs made of black that resembled lightening strikes. It was as though with every fissure of black on the background of white, a memory of who and what he was came rushing back somewhere in his mind. He could remember where he came from; a world that feared the pain, not accepted it. It was a place that he coveted more than any other. It was his true home, not this barbaric wasteland he was drifting through endlessly all this time.
This was never the haven it appeared to be; it was a lie that forced it's way into my mind. Forced in by them. It latched onto me like a wild animal and injected me with a poison. A poison that caused me to abandon what I was forged to protect and believe.
Time began to have meaning again and the torture of that place no longer felt right. He could make out the blinding white of their faces burning with anger and confusion as more of the bright cosmos turned somber and murky in the sky. He could remember who those faces belonged too now and what they had done.
They invaded our world and forced this fate upon every last one of us. Accept the pain or be sacrificed to it in the name of the bright. The Sunder. The alien annihilators of my entire star system. My home. My family. Everyone and everything.
The ire was building from somewhere he had long thought was lost and was replacing the anguish that had lingered there. The shadows had descended around him and yet he was without dread. It had gone against all that had been driven into his mind for ages. The Bright was meant to be his salvation; he was created for that very purpose. But it was only now that he remembered that though he was conceived to adopt the Bright and harness it's power, it was to be used against the invaders. They forced him to bend to it, but now he could see the truth once more. And he could see something else, something different. Another face, but not one like he had become accustomed to seeing here. This face was like his own. And it was calling out to him from the shadows; compelling him to find her.
The past. What does that even mean now? The person I was before is lost. Everything is gone now, because I gave up the thought of it. I used to hold it close, but somewhere I lost my grip.
In a world built on woe, time is not something that you can afford to focus on. But time was the only thing that allowed him to remember where he came from and what he was forced to leave behind. And with the surrender of time, he gave that all away. A tortured soul can only handle so much before it begins to tear apart and become something different. It loses any sense of what or who it was before. That happened to him long ago and now the light and the pain it brought was all that mattered.
Wave after wave has washed over me for so long that I've begun to move with it. It stings and burns, yet cleans me. These barbs of piercing thorns twist and tangle around me as I go, but I find myself unable to do anything but continue forward. I already know what is waiting for me on the other side: darkness. But I have to keep pushing through; I have to keep feeling.
This actuality was the reality in which he had become a part of, regardless of when, and it was where he'd forever be. He couldn't even recall who it was who first brought him to this place, but every few hundred years he sees flashes of them looking on from someplace above. He could only remember the paleness of their face and the emptiness where eyes should be. Though, the emptiness may just be in the place that compassion is found in most beings.
I used to harbor a deep hatred for them, but I owe them much now. It was they who introduced me to this place and allowed me to transcend what I was before and accept my existence here. Without them, the wounds would mean nothing; the torment would be without purpose. I would be consumed by the dark.
Another few decades pass as he continues to traverse through this world of never-ending suffering; though it may just as well been seconds. The darkness bled into the surroundings like ink being shot about without reason by a mad artist. The blinding white, that had originally hurt so much but had become comforting to him, was now being threatened by something much worse. He could only barely remember what it was like to be afraid of something so new and so different, but it was enough to worry him.
Nothing was ever right here, but I began to see what it's purpose was and allow myself to be part of that. But whatever this is, whatever is happening, is something much worse than this place ever was. I can't let it take me from here before I'm finished on this path. I've only just begun to accept the pain and allow it to cleanse me. I was created once before, but it was never as important as this is now. Before...I remember that time. Or, at least, I remember some of it.
And now the world around him was erupting with barbs made of black that resembled lightening strikes. It was as though with every fissure of black on the background of white, a memory of who and what he was came rushing back somewhere in his mind. He could remember where he came from; a world that feared the pain, not accepted it. It was a place that he coveted more than any other. It was his true home, not this barbaric wasteland he was drifting through endlessly all this time.
This was never the haven it appeared to be; it was a lie that forced it's way into my mind. Forced in by them. It latched onto me like a wild animal and injected me with a poison. A poison that caused me to abandon what I was forged to protect and believe.
Time began to have meaning again and the torture of that place no longer felt right. He could make out the blinding white of their faces burning with anger and confusion as more of the bright cosmos turned somber and murky in the sky. He could remember who those faces belonged too now and what they had done.
They invaded our world and forced this fate upon every last one of us. Accept the pain or be sacrificed to it in the name of the bright. The Sunder. The alien annihilators of my entire star system. My home. My family. Everyone and everything.
The ire was building from somewhere he had long thought was lost and was replacing the anguish that had lingered there. The shadows had descended around him and yet he was without dread. It had gone against all that had been driven into his mind for ages. The Bright was meant to be his salvation; he was created for that very purpose. But it was only now that he remembered that though he was conceived to adopt the Bright and harness it's power, it was to be used against the invaders. They forced him to bend to it, but now he could see the truth once more. And he could see something else, something different. Another face, but not one like he had become accustomed to seeing here. This face was like his own. And it was calling out to him from the shadows; compelling him to find her.