God out of the Accident

“If I told her the truth…  if she knew exactly what all this was about…  Well, she would be devastated.  Utterly demoralized, because the truth is so ridiculously underwhelming.

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My Opponent (continued)

Why?  Why do I fight the battle when I know I can win the war by not fighting?  I enjoy the fight, but the enjoyment lasts only while the fighting continues, and I cannot fight forever.  True joy lies in the peacetimes, and the fighting should be in an arena, or in a tournament; short bouts designed for the enjoyment of fighting.  Why do I desire to make fighting my life, when I know that it is not?

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My Opponent

My opponent.  A familiar foe, which I’ve fought before, many-a time.  His tactics are simple, yet powerful, for he preys on mind, not body.  He has won many battles, but long ago, I won the war.  I closed my mind off from him, removing his greatest weapon, and though the war was bloody, with ages lost to the pointless struggle, I was victorious.

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All in the Cards

Echoes bounce across the cavernous hall, disappearing into the shadows and reappearing behind rich wooden pillars, as the shaken farmboy is escorted forwards by the servant of the house.  Dressed in a man’s waistcoat yet a woman’s long skirt—both sky blue like her eyes—the woman tilts not an inch of out line between the archway in the front of the room and the stone desk at the back, whereat a solitary figure is seated.  The farmboy shivers; his eyes flit from a shadow here to a deceptive piece of tapestry there.  Fear snaps at his feet, like the pups of wild dogs, heralding the true danger the sires and dams of that fear will bring.  This place, this mansion, is not right.  It’s too cold, but too hot; too empty, and yet so very much not empty enough for his tastes.  He should never have taken shelter from the storm here.  He should have pulled the cider cast with his out two hands when his horse had broken its leg.  He should have asked himself why a kindly woman beckoning him inside was too good to be true.

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Snare (incomplete)

Nature; a harsh mistress.  Plant life dominates the face of Earth more than humans by far.  They can withstand more cold, more heat, more drought, even more pollution than we can.  Where humans fear to tread, there you find plants living in ease.  We cut and we burn and we uproot, trying to carve out a small portion for ourselves, yet for all our machinations, as soon as we leave nature reclaims what one belonged to it, at a clip more rapid than we would ever believe manageable.

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