They sat apart, disgusted with the rest of the world that they looked down upon from their enlightened perch. They sat, because they saw nothing to stand for, nothing worth committing themselves to, except their own ideals, which had no use but to judge the world with.
While they sat, the world moved on, unmindful, precisely because it had no mind. They were aware of this, there was no way they couldn't be, and it was possible that this was at least partly the source of their disgust. There seemed to be no way of saving them, in fact, it was quite obvious they didn't consider themselves in need of saving, and perhaps they were right. There was no knowing, either way. It was much easier to let them be, however pathetic they might seem.
They were immortal, in that their rejection of this age and any other lent them a sort of detachment from time itself. They had no beginning worth tying themselves to, and no end worth fearing. Looking down at the oatmeal-coloured history of the world, they believed that they could see the distinct lack of pattern that everybody else had been content to wade in all their lives.
But they were also acutely conscious of their mortality in the more mundane sense of the word; their dialogue betrayed a sense of loneliness and acceptance of a fate quite terrible. The shared space they found themselves in gave them no sense of camaraderie, each sitting enamoured in a mirrored dome, and seeing only the desert with themselves in it.
Nothing surprised them any more, at least not since they realised that they knew everything - what they did not know must have simply not been worth remembering. The laughter and tears that seemed to make up the lives of those around them was met with scorn, although they could not be sure themselves if yearning was not mixed with it.
In this plane, courage had no place - the apparent sameness of all options removed the possibility of violent upheaval and the need to face or flee it. Looking at meaninglessness in the face required only the inability to feel despair, which came naturally to them.
In these circumstances, there was only one way to react - so they laughed. The world moved on, unmindful.
They were immortal, in that their rejection of this age and any other lent them a sort of detachment from time itself. They had no beginning worth tying themselves to, and no end worth fearing. Looking down at the oatmeal-coloured history of the world, they believed that they could see the distinct lack of pattern that everybody else had been content to wade in all their lives.
But they were also acutely conscious of their mortality in the more mundane sense of the word; their dialogue betrayed a sense of loneliness and acceptance of a fate quite terrible. The shared space they found themselves in gave them no sense of camaraderie, each sitting enamoured in a mirrored dome, and seeing only the desert with themselves in it.
Nothing surprised them any more, at least not since they realised that they knew everything - what they did not know must have simply not been worth remembering. The laughter and tears that seemed to make up the lives of those around them was met with scorn, although they could not be sure themselves if yearning was not mixed with it.
In this plane, courage had no place - the apparent sameness of all options removed the possibility of violent upheaval and the need to face or flee it. Looking at meaninglessness in the face required only the inability to feel despair, which came naturally to them.
In these circumstances, there was only one way to react - so they laughed. The world moved on, unmindful.
hahaha xx
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