07-09-2008, 03:52 PM
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Sometimes, he wondered what real serenity was. The sun was gone, and the sky was a deep blue, lit by the light reflecting off the half moon and those from the distant stars. The sound of crashing waves was joined by a chorus of summer crickets, and the rest of the world seemed to sleep soundly. Watching from several dozen metres beyond the reach of the falling white foam, it seemed easy to believe that everything was right with the world. Everything that had ever troubled him was far away, years away in a place that no longer existed. The empty night was peacefully numbing, and it was easy to believe that he was a just faceless ghost with no name and no past, no scars. He was just a spirit, a pair of eyes in summer evening, and it felt okay.
But he could never maintain the illusion for very long, if it was really even an illusion. It was, quite simply, too beautiful, too perfect, and he had trouble investing faith in that. He had long since settled for simple contentedness; faced with the serenity that might be considered actual happiness, he didn't know how to accept it. The hybrid knew he wasn't really unhappy anymore; the neutrality had become familiar. Did the glittering ocean imply happiness? Did the glow of the moon? Or the bigger question -- was the silence in his head to be trusted? Would he really ever be able to tell whether he'd conquered the memories of the past? Sometimes it felt like he had, but there was never confidence.
An owl called from somewhere in the night. Laruku felt like singing, but it had been too long and he had forgotten all the words.
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Sometimes, he wondered what real serenity was. The sun was gone, and the sky was a deep blue, lit by the light reflecting off the half moon and those from the distant stars. The sound of crashing waves was joined by a chorus of summer crickets, and the rest of the world seemed to sleep soundly. Watching from several dozen metres beyond the reach of the falling white foam, it seemed easy to believe that everything was right with the world. Everything that had ever troubled him was far away, years away in a place that no longer existed. The empty night was peacefully numbing, and it was easy to believe that he was a just faceless ghost with no name and no past, no scars. He was just a spirit, a pair of eyes in summer evening, and it felt okay.
But he could never maintain the illusion for very long, if it was really even an illusion. It was, quite simply, too beautiful, too perfect, and he had trouble investing faith in that. He had long since settled for simple contentedness; faced with the serenity that might be considered actual happiness, he didn't know how to accept it. The hybrid knew he wasn't really unhappy anymore; the neutrality had become familiar. Did the glittering ocean imply happiness? Did the glow of the moon? Or the bigger question -- was the silence in his head to be trusted? Would he really ever be able to tell whether he'd conquered the memories of the past? Sometimes it felt like he had, but there was never confidence.
An owl called from somewhere in the night. Laruku felt like singing, but it had been too long and he had forgotten all the words.