2 perspective pieces

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ko ko
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Re: 3 perspective pieces

Post by ko ko » Sun Mar 27, 2011 6:32 pm

for those who like linky

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6850298/1/D ... estruction" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

for those who like read on blue background

Death or Destruction


Just how equal are the terms death and destruction? About half the time they go hand and hand. War. War brings death to people. It destroys the material around us and destroys the lives of those who are left in the realm of the living.

And what of the war's participants? Some of them meet their death. Others meet their destruction. But to meet your death, must you always meet your destruction? Is it possible to be the bringer of death and destruction without destroying a small part of yourself?

What did I lose? Obviously not my life, so I have not met death myself. I have shown the door to others. I have shoved them through knowing full well that they will never return. Death is not a path. Death is a destination.

But is destruction the path to death? It can't be. Everything is a path to death because death isn't just a destination. Death is the ultimate destination. No matter what we do, it is unavoidable. And what do we do as children when faced with something forced upon us? We reject it. We try to stay away from it as much as possible. And that's what we continue as adults. We avoid and ignore and fight death, but we all know full well that we shall arrive there eventually.

It takes a truly enlightened person to accept and welcome their fate.

I am not that person.

Do I know anyone like that? I might have known a few, but I will never be certain because I can't ask them.

Destruction is not death's equal. There is no equal to death. While death is a destination, destruction is an act. Destruction can bring death, but death cannot bring destruction. Things, acts, they bring destruction. Destinations cannot bring destruction. But destruction can bring destruction.

I have met destruction.

I have watched the one I love meet death.

But I have not met death, and she never met destruction.

Some may say that the war killed something in each of us, in our souls. But I can't believe that. You can't kill someone's spirit without actually killing them too. I think that you can only destroy a soul. That's what happened to me.

It's hard enough to not know who you are, but when you are thrust into a world in which you no longer even know what you are, how can you expect to remain whole? I was so lost and confused.

I still am lost and confused. I once thought that I would figure everything out over time, but there is some sort of mental barrier. I simply can't make that mental leap. Perhaps the barrier is a giant pile of what was once my mind before it was destroyed and in order for me to move on I have to rebuild my mind with the left over pieces.

That's destruction, isn't it? There are remains. Things can technically be rebuilt, but never in the same way because some things are permanent. Like death, but not like death. Some say that life replaces death. I get it, but I don't really get it. The life elsewhere that seemingly replaces those that are dead, they aren't the same.

The war killed Rachel. No one would ever argue that. But I can't bring myself to say it destroyed her. It changed her, yes. It allowed her to unlock something primal from within herself. Or maybe she didn't change. She must have had it in her the whole time in order for her to be able to do the things she did. I doubt I could have pulled half that stuff off.

When I look at Jake, I don't see the living dead. Cassie says that's what he is, a zombie. She says that Jake is just going through the motions of life. She says Jake breathes eats, sleeps, and even works now. But he isn't dead. His spirit is destroyed.

There has to be something out there that could restore him. Just like there has to be something out there that can restore me. Or maybe that thing that could save us is already dead.

I can't speak for Jake. I can't say that I'll ever know what goes on in his head. I only know what I see. Actions speak louder than words. While I may never forgive him for his final order, I can't be angry at him. A part of me knows that Rachel was strong enough to say no if she wanted. And the other part of me screams back wondering how she could want death? How could someone so in love with life actually want death? Once again, I can't say that I'll ever know what went on in her head.

I know what she wanted. She wanted me. She wanted me to want her the way she wanted me. I'm not sure I accomplished that. I needed her like I needed my wings. But she never wanted to be needed. She wanted to be wanted.

She couldn't seem to take being needed. To be needed was too much for her. It was something I never really understood. For her, want always overruled need. And if something needed to be done, she made it so that she wanted to do it.

I think that is how she avoided destruction.

But not me.

And not Jake.

I don't know about the others. Marco only ever needed himself. He had his stupid little jokes. Ax now had his people. He used to share his thoughts with me about how he wasn't even sure if he could return after spending so much time with us humans. It seems to me he went back just fine. Cassie always had her family and nature to comfort her. Even the loss of Jake wasn't enough to shake her. She seemed to cling to whatever ground she had left after the war managed to destroy some of her morals. For her, the world will always be black and white with only a little bit of grey.

But for me and Jake, the world is all grey. We have lost our ability to see colors. Maybe Jake has been able to move on a bit. Maybe he can see more than just the faded brown stains that never seem to wash away.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it shouldn't be about what I need. Maybe it should all be about what I want.

What do I want anyway?

I wanted freedom. I got it. I have my wings.

I wanted her. Or did I really want her or did I need her?

I think I needed her. I needed her in order to keep connected with humanity. Was she right? How much did I actually want her? How far was I willing to go for her?

I'd like to say I would have given up my wings for her. I'd like to say that I'd have stayed the two hours simply holding her hand. I'd like to say I'd move on and never look back.

But I can't. Because she's not here.

I'm here. Jake's here. Cassie, Marco, Ax, they've left us behind. Jake and I, we can't seem to move forward. We are in the land of grey destruction.

Could it be that when you've had so much destruction that all there is left is death?

Is that what Rachel saw? Is that why she agreed to go? Is that why she wanted to go?

But no, she was never destroyed. She was only changed, evolved in her own manner. She only caused destruction. She never met destruction. She only met death. She met Death and they walked away, hand in hand, through the door of no return.

So what is left for me?

A pit of despair? A wasteland made up of the ruin that was once my mind? Possibly.

I go through the various degrees of torture daily. When I sit on my branch overlooking my meadow, there is little to stop the flow of memories when the prangs of hunger have been satiated. When the hawk mind sleeps, there is nothing to protect poor little Tobias.
me and the shift key, we had a falling out

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Re: 2 perspective pieces

Post by Sassy_Cat » Wed Mar 30, 2011 2:30 pm

:good:
"Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can't try to do things. You simply must do things."
- Ray Bradbury

My amazing blog- http://yasreadyas.blogspot.com/

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Re: 2 perspective pieces

Post by SamilinCorrathGahar » Sat Jun 04, 2011 9:40 pm

<Wow.>
<Yes, it is I, Captain Samilin-Corrath-Gahar of the Andalite ship Ascalin, and ruler of everything .>

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ko ko
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Re: 4 perspective pieces

Post by ko ko » Wed Jun 15, 2011 6:19 pm

omg, i decided to write more, which i'm not supposed to be doing. i'm supposed to be figuring out why adobe premiere isn't working! if you like i write more and you know how to fix adobe, PLEASE help me.

uh, so here is the link:

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7077652/1/Waking_Moments" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

and here is the paste:

Waking Moments

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to a great thudding sound, like the heavy pounding of an enemy crashing through the walls. I jump out of bed and begin to morph. It's right about then, when I start to focus and concentrate that I realize exactly where the sound is coming from.

It is the beating of my heart.

I collapse back onto my bed. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is enough to make me feel a little lightheaded. I hold my breath for as long as I can, slowing my heart rate. The thudding sound remains, but it is now subdued and more rhythmic. You would think that since this happens so often I would know what the sound is already. But I never seem to remember before I start to panic.

In the time before I drift back to sleep, my mind wanders.

What is it that causes my heart to thunder?

Is it the nightmares of old? The ones where I'm being chased by hordes of Hork-Bajir endlessly through the woods and my seemingly boundless endurance for running as a wolf is finally draining my last bit of strength? No. I simply roll over at those. I know I'm safe and that I'll never have to run for my life again.

Is it the heartache of old? The ones where my heart is being torn as I watch the boy I love being stripped of everything he once knew and thrown into a reality where the laws of nature do not apply? The ones where my heart is pounded into the dirt as I watch my friend, as close as a sister, drown in the depths of war and buckle in the tide of young and misunderstood love. No. I simply wipe the tears from my unopened eyes and dream on because that is the only place left where I can see those I've lost.

It should be obvious what is left.

I fear the future.

The only thing about myself I've ever really been certain about is my love for animals. But when I look at the ground, I have no idea where the line is. Rachel always said she knew where the line was and that she'd never cross it. She did many things that I could never do. There were some horrendous acts that none of us could do. I'm not even sure Ax would have done them. But, at some level, they were justified. Weren't they? What would we have done if she hadn't been there? That's one question I refuse to answer.

Maybe that is what drew me to her in the first place. Everyone, including her, wondered what in the world drew us together. How could two people that were such opposites be the best of friends? She wasn't like the other beautiful blondes I knew. Maybe it was her infamous dark side that the fighting drew out of her that set her apart in the first place. I know she struggled, but she always emanated total certainty and confidence. When she was overwhelmed with emotion or the heat of battle, she was most intimidating. But whatever inner conflict she experienced, it seemed like she knew what she knew what she was doing. Maybe that was what I saw in her.

I don't know. How can anyone know? That was what I loved about Rachel. She always seemed to know what the future held. And even when she didn't, that was the one thing she didn't let bother her. She always knew we would win the war. The real thing that the war changed about her was her certainty in herself. That cocky attitude towards gymnastics carried over to fighting. But she didn't know what the future held for who she was. That was the real thing that scared her. She knew her purpose. But she didn't know if that was all she was.

I balanced her out for the longest time. I had my morals. I'm the one who had the patience to deal with any situation. I was the one who always seems to know the right thing to say to calm things down. We leveled each other out. She helped me come out of my shell and I helped her to slow down to appreciate the little things.

That is what I face a future without. I face a future without certainty, without confidence, without courage, without balance.

I don't know what to say anymore. I say things and I instantly regret them now. The words come out, but they no longer seem to fit. There are things that I know. Those are the things about animals and how to protect and take care of the environment. It's only things that could be written in an encyclopedia or science textbook that I have the mental stability to maintain sustained conversations about. The only times in the past I found myself at a loss for words was when I would talk to Jake about us. We were both at that awkward stage; neither of us was willing to voice our feelings. Our lack of experience left us wondering as to what to do with each other. That feeling is perpetual now.

I've had boyfriends since the end of the war, since Jake. We have long conversations about nature and preservation, about things I like and know. But when it comes to any other kind of talk, I choke. Some of the men I've dated think it's cute and endearing that I never seem to know what to say. They seem to think I find relief in physical comfort. But it isn't fulfilling without that emotional understanding everyone seems to lack. I can't connect with anyone.

I feel like I only have one friend left, Tobias.

Sometimes, especially after a particularly bad nightmare, I visit him at his meadow. I lean against his tree, sitting nestled in the roots. He rests above on an overhanging branch where he can watch over his field yet keep an eye on me. He doesn't morph. I expect him to do so on his own accord; I'll never ask. We are both comfortable in our own skins and with each other's.

I've always understood his conflict. He couldn't give up his wings because he felt it was his duty to us and to Prince Elfangor to continue the fight. Nothing Rachel could say would have ever changed his mind. Besides, where would he have gone if he had changed? He couldn't go home. We had become his family. We provided him love and as much support as he let us. To some degree, I don't feel sorry anymore for his loss of self. He chose to stay as a hawk. When he would have his tantrums about not knowing who he was and losing his humanity, a part of me couldn't help thinking that he brought it upon himself. His humanity was gone because he gave it up; a hawk isn't human. During the war, I could never tell him that. I look back and I don't know why I never said anything. It must not have felt right at the time. Nothing feels right anymore.

I think I understand him better than he understands me. I know about his conflicts about what he is. Normally, I would say "you can't change a leopard's spots," but in our situation, we most certainly can. He simply can't settle for being a normal person anymore.

He seems to think he understands me. But I can tell from his responses that he is as questioning as I am. The things that I did trouble me the most. Although, we speak about all of our actions. I sincerely try to pay attention to the things he says, but I get lost in my own thoughts all too often. I know it, he knows it. He does it too.

Our conversations bring up countless questions. But we always return to the same central one, who are we?

I think that's why Tobias has stayed a hawk the whole time. He is a boy in a hawk's body. A lot of times, he has expressed that he feels like he's a hawk stuck with the thoughts of a boy. He thinks he would be better off sometimes if he could just forget the past and actually live like a true hawk. By staying a hawk, he can avoid having to properly answer the question. After all, he's just a hawk. All a hawk has to do is hunt and survive. His future is laid out for him.

But I'm still asking myself the question. Tobias hasn't any good answers. He has gotten extremely philosophical and introspective. He tells me to live day by day, like him, like a hawk. And I ask myself, can I do that? Can I really live that way? I might have once, but now? Thus far, the answer is no.

In the waking hours after my nightmares, my mind returns to thoughts conjured up by our old conversations. I try to trust in who I am. But I don't even know who I am. I'm the girl who hides in the zoo or the woods taking care of every injured creature I find then turns around to slaughter hundreds of sentient lives, both innocent and criminal. How can I be so hypocritical? How can I live with myself with so much blood on my hands? What must I do to repent my sins? If I can save just one, would it be enough? How will I be judged for my actions?

What matters in this world? Something tells me that life matters. But if life is the only thing that matters, then is slavery acceptable? A slave is technically alive. The stories I was told growing up tell me otherwise. The pleas I heard while in the Yeerk Pool told me otherwise. If death is preferable to being a slave, then, if that spark dies, is that life really a loss? My ancestors didn't give in though. I am a testament to that. What about the others? How many lines of life are there that will never come to fruition because of my actions?

How can I be so certain that all life is sacred when it is so easily ended? Tobias could never give me a good answer. His best answer was to take off into the sky only to swoop down and catch a field mouse. He would return with it, barely alive and say to me, "For me, the choice is simple. My life, or the mouse's. I will always choose mine."

I wish I could talk to him about that some more. Except I can't. I forget sometimes that he left with them. I can't go and visit him in his meadow. His meadow is occupied by another. He went with Jake. Jake took away another one of my friends.

Someone offered an answer once, "If all life is sacred, then no life is sacred. If everything has meaning, then nothing has meaning. So if nothing has meaning, the only way something can have a purpose is if you give it purpose and meaning." I thought at the time that that was a great answer. Maybe I could assess what was left of my life and reevaluate what had meaning in my life. My problem is that I like what nature gives us. I enjoy all creatures living. So to me, all life has meaning, which means, by my new logic, life has no meaning. So I'm back at square one.

Most nights I don't fall back asleep.

I continue my circular thoughts until light begins to peek through my window. At that point, I might as well get up and move on to my daily routine. At least that much of my future is certain. I know the minimum of what needs to be done day by day. It's just barely enough to get me by. Most people think the dark circles under my eyes are from overworking myself. I let them think that way. I would stutter if I ever tried to convey my thoughts and fears.

Walking through the world, I am retreated into myself. I have betrayed myself, the old self, the one I can no longer return to, the one I can barely remember. It is my obligation to my remaining values to continue to live. That is what I do. I live today and mourn my past every waking moment. And when I sleep, I tremble with anxiety and fear over my future.
me and the shift key, we had a falling out