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Individualism (Part 1) – R.I.P.

People hid in shadows they called their lives. Nobody had suspected such until a madman (or woman) was born. Mad? No... it was just different. It was sane. It thought more than the moles who infested its dear planet. Numbers and colors had a story and meant something more than what sight had tales of.
Everyone was the same. It was disgusted to see every face wear the mask of its neighbor. Every album of music by the same mind and images, and every blasted religion a version of the last. No cult--unofficial religion--had existed but the first, which was the last.
"IT?" What sort of name is "IT?" WHAT is IT? Not a human, but a manifestation of the secret will within every putrid, squirming slug to be different. But why, WHY must they all be afraid to show who they are? Everyone was gifted--with the ability to pretend they were actually good at something!
Being gifted is much more than just being good at something. If someone has an uncanny skill for Mahjong but never plays, they are a disgrace to everyone who at least try toning their skill. Here, life was a void and nobody wanted what they could do or have, but there was a secret. Some wanted to escape the system and pursue something grand. These people were known as the Alchemists, Philosophers, Writers, and visual artists. Each secret faction was entwined with the next through art, and had their own plan for Equilibrium.
Soft, flowing hair grooved in front of him as she sang angelic hymns that lulled him deeper into sleep. A goddess wearing illustrious white robes and deep, red eyes swam with Sykes* as a smile spored from his descending body. Tears of happiness filled the void as memories of years ago left him innocent again. All colors were devoured by a flame, leaving his tears warm. Early morning rays reminded Sykes of how he would only remember her young face, even longer than she would. No matter how much he wanted to forget her, no matter how much the pain swelled, he had to hold on.
True, one more shadow figure was a proper tradeoff for a dream that left him happy, but Sykes foolishly never let go. Sometimes he would find himself dwelling with the happy times. Abruptly, they ended. Anger was the easiest mood to push himself into, so he began cursing himself for even thinking of how it could have been.
To escape, he would write, draw, or play the violin. Writing was for when nobody would listen, violin for when nobody would talk, and drawing when nobody was there to see; all of which were applicable at any given time. But writing was special. With writing you can make everyone hear, see, and talk, which was much easier than with music and art because most people simply make such bland comments like "nice," and "exhilarating." when it comes to such things. Sykes didn't let it get to him. Writing was more fun anyway, and needed the most improvement.
Sentences with interesting topics just combined--not perfectly, but enough to let him write the next word. "People hid in shadows they called their lives. Nobody..." was the beginning of an idea that would never end.
~~~
Kyrie of Lyrica (the Nation of Write) wrote the note, Lysander of the Neo-Alchemic Guild sealed it, Nowemo of the Philosophers dreamt the plan, and Mono of the Frame drew the new world. Two members of Baroque waited for the messenger to emerge from the mountain pass before they lept to their pursuit. With each step they drew nearer--like phantoms dressed in white suits. The messenger's horse didn't have a chance, so the messenger threw the note as far into the nearest river as possible. Both steed and man were devoured by the Baroque, leaving a soulless stain of blood.
~~~ [Switch from story > speaker]
Damn, Sykes had already made a mistake. What was he going to do about the letter; it was floating through the river. For the sake of saving the story, he left to contemplate.
In the kitchen he approached a small box and pushed "ON."

"Hello Sykes. How was your day?"
"Just another one of THOSE. Lonely and pitiful."
"Why don't you try playing outside with one of the children."
"Mom, I wish we were all still kids. You'd still be alive."
Sykes pushed the power button again, then went for the door. Right before he exited, a photo slipped out from some files in the mailbox. Sykes didn't look at the back, and he should have. On the back was written a note that was burned along with the front.

* * * [Timeshift]

A small girl gave him a hug. "What's wrong?"
"I hate everyone."
"Do you hate me?" and the girl dissolved was carried away with the wind. Instead of jumping off, Sykes walked off the bridge and down to the Hidden Beach. The true name was long gone, but "Fiora" echoed off the rocks and sheer cliffs. A great gale blew the word into his ears and swelled his body.
Now Sykes was in a hospital bed. Maybe he'll tell us how he got there after he stops dreaming.

THE END OF INDIVIDUALISM-RIP

__________________________________

Individualism (Part 2) – Equilibrium

Sykes wants you to have already thought about this, so here it is in case you didn't.

What do you know about this story? What if I told you that Sykes and i know you are wrong?
What happens when two forces know different sides of the same story? If they both know then they’re both wrong, since there could only be one true answer. It would be best for you and I to only think of what's going to happen in "Individualism" or else there is nothing that can change. Stories are like colors.
The existence of colors is arguable. Without light or perspective they cease existing. Water is clear in a glass, but green in a pond, and blue in the Arctic--such as a story changes based on who you are.
A great friend of mine once spoke some interesting knowledge. Apparently "normal" people see the opposite of what a color really is; certain color blind people see the real truth. I'm not saying that you should miraculously become colorblind, it's just a metaphor.

Now, we'll begin.
INDIVIDUALISM - EQUILIBRIUM



~~~
Alright, so obviously it's not finished considering I only got into the prologue of Part 2. Er, yeah, the name "Sykes" is from The Last Remnant, one of my favorite videogames so.. yeah. I don't own that, and I'm not using this for profit right now so yeah o.o

Copyright 2010 Vladislav Zhirnov