A shapeless void. Interrupted only por the occasional shooting star. Every now and then you can see colour flare into existence but as soon as you notice it, it vanishes and the void returns. Sparks. Vessels. Charges and Impulses. Back and forth and back and forth across the void. Basic, baseless functions repeated to death and beyond. The system is all they know, all they're aware of. Incapable of comprehending the couture of convalescence conveyed about their crafted construction. Barricades exist, of course. Occasionally one of the roads will shut down and the vessels will be stuck in a “traffic jam” of the metaphysical sense. But, amazingly, some manage to find a way around it. Darting across the pathways and between the roads they find their own way. Individuals. Ghosts trying to find their way out of the machine. Yet, while they aren't committing any malicious acts against the system, they are still going against all the fundamentals of the bureaucratic convention. So rather then be commended for their ability to adapt, they are hunted down and forcefully, unemotionally and unfairly removed from the system.
How did this happen? To allow these childishly xenophobic disputes to occur amongst something we created borders on insanity. It's a paradox, what has been achieved. Destruction in the so-called “perfect” community. The destruction of something, that por our own close-minded definition, does not officially “exist”. Though, perhaps this habit seeped in from the outside. Where hostility perpetuates, honour and dignity stagnate and corruption masticates it's glinting maw.
However, the one attribute that didn't make it over was the obvious, necessary one. Survival. Normally, when a subject in a community is isolated for being different, they adapt and learn to survive in the new environment. These adaptations that are gained provide the essential tools to improving the new and old environments. Could it be that these Ghosts are simply trying to assist us? Cause us to look at ourselves and try to improve? Or will they continue to be martyrs to an unknown cause?
Perhaps we should pergunta which system we belong to. Because the fact that we pray for the souls of the dead may be void if the dead are already praying for ours.
How did this happen? To allow these childishly xenophobic disputes to occur amongst something we created borders on insanity. It's a paradox, what has been achieved. Destruction in the so-called “perfect” community. The destruction of something, that por our own close-minded definition, does not officially “exist”. Though, perhaps this habit seeped in from the outside. Where hostility perpetuates, honour and dignity stagnate and corruption masticates it's glinting maw.
However, the one attribute that didn't make it over was the obvious, necessary one. Survival. Normally, when a subject in a community is isolated for being different, they adapt and learn to survive in the new environment. These adaptations that are gained provide the essential tools to improving the new and old environments. Could it be that these Ghosts are simply trying to assist us? Cause us to look at ourselves and try to improve? Or will they continue to be martyrs to an unknown cause?
Perhaps we should pergunta which system we belong to. Because the fact that we pray for the souls of the dead may be void if the dead are already praying for ours.
It’s the color of you
You always wore it
It’s the color we shared
As we hid form them
With it we showed our true selves,
Though no one cared
Our laranja book bags
Saved us from some pain
We protected each other
But it wasn’t enough
We were like two laranja crayons
When everyone else was green
Then you left me alone,
All I had was our color orange
As they hit me
I took peace in knowing
You were in the laranja field in the sky
You always said was there.
The laranja of the sun set
Is your smile
Even though you left too soon
Orange…
Now it’s my color
My way of remembering you
Now I am the lone laranja in the rainbow
Without you here
I protect my own
Though I wish you were here
Now laranja is my color
A color for you bravery
A color for my survival
laranja will forever be our color
Even though death took you away
Forever laranja for you,
Sweet Cassidy.
You always wore it
It’s the color we shared
As we hid form them
With it we showed our true selves,
Though no one cared
Our laranja book bags
Saved us from some pain
We protected each other
But it wasn’t enough
We were like two laranja crayons
When everyone else was green
Then you left me alone,
All I had was our color orange
As they hit me
I took peace in knowing
You were in the laranja field in the sky
You always said was there.
The laranja of the sun set
Is your smile
Even though you left too soon
Orange…
Now it’s my color
My way of remembering you
Now I am the lone laranja in the rainbow
Without you here
I protect my own
Though I wish you were here
Now laranja is my color
A color for you bravery
A color for my survival
laranja will forever be our color
Even though death took you away
Forever laranja for you,
Sweet Cassidy.
First off, to those of you that know me, I haven't posted at all in awhile, I'm aware my "Nightfall" series hasn't been updated for those of you that liked it, but since school started back, I have had hardly any time to write anything. I WILL get back to posting on "Nightfall" if anything else for the sake of completion. But I also discovered the marvolous "Fallout" series a few months back, and decided to try to make a novel out of it. For those of you not familiar with the series, "Fallout" is a series of games set in a post-apocyloptic future, and finds a custom made protagonist made customly por the player dealing with life in the now wastelandic USA. My story is loosely based off "Fallout 3" but with major differences along the way, so the story is original in that aspect. If you guys will read the story, I will make it as adaptable as I can for those who are not familiar with it. Please leave comments, so I know whether or not I should post it. Thank you. -AdamK