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OOM: Pointless
Jun. 22nd, 2008 07:30 pmCreatures of the wild will come to you, in this place, when you are outside; creatures of the wild, with fur and paws, not doubting for a moment what they are doing. While man is all doubt, much of his life; and he would build rules, loyalties, customs so the doubt would go away.
But sometimes, one was different; when custom demanded that all should make merry, he would grieve. Such a man, Teja knew himself to be. But yesterday, telling him what day it was, the 'man-shaped tree' had taken him by surprise. As if he had forgotten who he was, Teja knew when he was sharply brought back to his usual self -- grief and loss. But, grieving for Totila now, it was sharper than ever, cutting his soul, the pain dulling out all other sensation. Even the aches and soreness that a man might feel when huddling, unmoving, among the roots of a tree, for most of the day and much of the night.
But eventually, when the moon sets, Teja moves. He gets up, hand against the bark of the tree, feeling curiously, unfittingly, light -- no armour! Suddenly, he wants that reassuring weight, familiar all his life, and starts making his way back towards the buildings.
He is more grateful for the bypass stairs than ever -- he would not see anybody, at this moment, that would enquire after his affairs, that he would have to be curt and dark to. Teja is grieving, finally, truly grieving for Totila -- but he would not inflict himself upon his friends, and estrange them. They might think he had turned into a sick fool.-
In his room, he sat in front of the unlit fireplace, once more unwilling to move; it took him long to rouse himself again from his thoughts, and walk over to the bathroom. Catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, a large, clear thing mounted on the wall, not at all like the small bronze and silver mirrors of his time, Teja noticed something he normally would not allow to happen, not even on long, hurried travel -- dark, dirty-looking stubble on his place cheeks and chin. Being pale and dark-haired, he had to be careful about it. But when he stood, face wet and razor at his throat, he found himself thinking of what might happen if he just cut, deeper and deeper -- he was already dead, but might he die again? Would he then, perhaps, reach the afterlife that Totila had gone to?
He looked at himself for a long, long while, razor at his throat. Then, he threw it in the corner, dried his face and eyes, put on his armour and went out again, unshaven.
None would see him, anyway. And he wanted the open sky over his head.-
But sometimes, one was different; when custom demanded that all should make merry, he would grieve. Such a man, Teja knew himself to be. But yesterday, telling him what day it was, the 'man-shaped tree' had taken him by surprise. As if he had forgotten who he was, Teja knew when he was sharply brought back to his usual self -- grief and loss. But, grieving for Totila now, it was sharper than ever, cutting his soul, the pain dulling out all other sensation. Even the aches and soreness that a man might feel when huddling, unmoving, among the roots of a tree, for most of the day and much of the night.
But eventually, when the moon sets, Teja moves. He gets up, hand against the bark of the tree, feeling curiously, unfittingly, light -- no armour! Suddenly, he wants that reassuring weight, familiar all his life, and starts making his way back towards the buildings.
He is more grateful for the bypass stairs than ever -- he would not see anybody, at this moment, that would enquire after his affairs, that he would have to be curt and dark to. Teja is grieving, finally, truly grieving for Totila -- but he would not inflict himself upon his friends, and estrange them. They might think he had turned into a sick fool.-
In his room, he sat in front of the unlit fireplace, once more unwilling to move; it took him long to rouse himself again from his thoughts, and walk over to the bathroom. Catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, a large, clear thing mounted on the wall, not at all like the small bronze and silver mirrors of his time, Teja noticed something he normally would not allow to happen, not even on long, hurried travel -- dark, dirty-looking stubble on his place cheeks and chin. Being pale and dark-haired, he had to be careful about it. But when he stood, face wet and razor at his throat, he found himself thinking of what might happen if he just cut, deeper and deeper -- he was already dead, but might he die again? Would he then, perhaps, reach the afterlife that Totila had gone to?
He looked at himself for a long, long while, razor at his throat. Then, he threw it in the corner, dried his face and eyes, put on his armour and went out again, unshaven.
None would see him, anyway. And he wanted the open sky over his head.-