Aesthetics of Murder

[Kaze]

(( I plan to release this as a short story by my character Daegon, for now I'm stumped on the introduction right over here. It's a little bit depressive and overly realistic, so if you're not willing to look at something in a new perspective, avoid reading it. Also some Radiohead for immersion. Feedback and criticism always welcome. ))

Where one sees thriving life, nature, water, earth, I see an unending desert expanse. Bereft of meaning, light, spirit, to the point where human comprehension couldn't wrap around its very existence, and should one come close, their mind would reel backward unable to take it in. A vision so lucid, so pure to me that the sheer notion was abstract. What I understood from this vision was a mirror image of my own life. What I built my movement around, and how I carried the perceivable. This was the cartography my truth revolved around. Never did it strike my mind, not even once, that an individual was good, or that a human being was apt of change, that the world could turn to the better through one's bliss through experience, a smile, a look of approval, a person's love. Nothing was acquiescent, the term generosity applied to nothing, was a banality, a bad joke. Sex is arithmetic. Individuality has no importance. Intelligence proves nothing. Motive is circumstantial. Need accomplishes nothing. Intellect alone is weak. Justice is long gone. Fright, innocence, empathy, guilt, failure, wist, were things, emotions, that no one felt any longer. Hindsight is useless, the world makes no sense. Evil is its only continuity. Light is but another way to harness power. Love is a subject of deceit- Surface. Surface is all that anybody could find meaning in. This is the world as I see it. Huge, and brutish.

Heat rising through airless waves, I see yet another gray daybreak into my inner desert. Grit and dust flies through the stirring, permanent storm, and a child buried in sand, his defined face alike a black moon, skeletal and crackly, lies nigh lifeless betwixt the cones of cinder. Eyes unblinking, with a strangely grateful expression, shapes a simper as though the very first in his entire existence, a blatant disregard in the hearts of the infinite shadowy figures passing. The boy opens his reaping, chapped mouth, chords long dry and festering unable to release a single sound. Why is this so familiar to me? - What am I saying? This is my own delusion. I am this boy. In one way or the other...

[Stealthscout]

Can you please switch a color? I can't read this! >.<

[Flawless]

Can you please switch a color? I can't read this! >.<

But they're... contrasting colors.

[Stealthscout]

Oh yeah, for you :3 I use an IPhone app, and on the app the background is white :3