World of Wars Part 1
Thursday, December 14th 20th century of the Obsidian King, (2006)
Multi Suffix and Prefix King.
I hate. It.
I've survived wars. Centuries. Civilisations.
Hardened my heart. Removed it. Replaced it. Enough to topple competitors and proclaim myself the finest.
I am immortal now. Or pretty close.
But yet. With no heart I still succumb to be a victim of love.
This rare feeling that no one can explain. Philosophers debate it's existance and it's purpose in the continuity of our people.
Scientists study it they understand the chemicals involved. But can't reproduce it.
The world is democratic. Every last dictatorship has fallen. Even I have given up my throne because I hated to rule.
Living as one of ordinary men the race of us immortals have long been forgotten. I met her.
Years ago. She still breathes. She still walks. She still rejects me.
I still contemplate it. I can make no move on it. One of the world's finest strategists can't even handle his own love affairs. Embarrassing.
Ah. A knock. It's time to begin.
The last gift from her. A picture of us. Taken as a memento for the time we've spent together.
It's time I leave it I think. For good.
My men need me to win.
I open the door. And aides stream in. Bringing files, equipment, charts, graphs, maps, specimens and everything and anything that I may need.
They don't say anything seeing my expression. They know better.
It's time. To continue, the games.
And hopefully I'll win this time. But I have to get rid of it.
I can't have it now.
Multi Suffix and Prefix King.
I hate. It.
I've survived wars. Centuries. Civilisations.
Hardened my heart. Removed it. Replaced it. Enough to topple competitors and proclaim myself the finest.
I am immortal now. Or pretty close.
But yet. With no heart I still succumb to be a victim of love.
This rare feeling that no one can explain. Philosophers debate it's existance and it's purpose in the continuity of our people.
Scientists study it they understand the chemicals involved. But can't reproduce it.
The world is democratic. Every last dictatorship has fallen. Even I have given up my throne because I hated to rule.
Living as one of ordinary men the race of us immortals have long been forgotten. I met her.
Years ago. She still breathes. She still walks. She still rejects me.
I still contemplate it. I can make no move on it. One of the world's finest strategists can't even handle his own love affairs. Embarrassing.
Ah. A knock. It's time to begin.
The last gift from her. A picture of us. Taken as a memento for the time we've spent together.
It's time I leave it I think. For good.
My men need me to win.
I open the door. And aides stream in. Bringing files, equipment, charts, graphs, maps, specimens and everything and anything that I may need.
They don't say anything seeing my expression. They know better.
It's time. To continue, the games.
And hopefully I'll win this time. But I have to get rid of it.
I can't have it now.
