Regularly to everyone, including you, I am a normal person who possesses what any normal person has; a name, an age, a home, an education, people to love, people to hate, anything imaginable; but in truth, deep down, I am nothing more but a child without a name, who grew up to be the hand, the hand that serves and protects, the hand that breaks and destroys, the hand that pities and envies. Every time I look at myself, I do not know if that is truly me I am looking at or not, whenever I look different in the mirror. I look more different in a photograph, and I cannot tell if the image everyone around me sees is the same or not; I am my own mystery, an enigma in life never heard of and never will.
Why am I here? Am I here to watch over the ones I love and cherish? To shield them from the agonizing environment of life? I carry the responsibility to do so, for it is my purpose, it is the purpose of someone like me, that of a knight, a pawn that stands and fights for its master and home, the question remains, can I handle it? If it is truly so, if my purpose is correct, then I would kill on demand, for the ones who believe in me until there is no more breath left in me.
Life is based to me of choices, whatever choice taken, shapes the future ahead, as well as the everlasting sentence. Too many people made choices, which helped lead them to greatness and happiness, which can be either rewarding or punishing. Too many people made choices, which resulted to eternal agony and suffering, with or without pity and sorrow. I have made many choices, but sadly, none of them I could ever comprehend.
Why do I feel so strong in the inside, and so weak on the outside? What difference does it make for me to bear? Is it because I am so special? Is it because my path is way ahead of everyone else? I don't know; my blood is a grim secret, commanded by total chaos of unlimited epistemology.
I never wanted to believe this, all my life I was criticized for better or for worse, it was all a single block, placed before me step by step, showing me the way to the secret of my existence, it shocked me, raped me, but I was forced to believe it. I am cursed.
Forever was the curse of my powers hidden within me from the day of my birth till the day I have discovered it, and little have I learned how much it had tormented my life. I never wanted it to swell my pride more and more, I never wanted what I believed in to turn me into something I am not. My beloved ones are my greatest treasure, the crown I have chosen to obey for the good of its existence; I never expected anything in return, nor have I ever wanted it, but eventually it comes to me, and as time runs like the invisible wind, it loses its balance on and on and on. It is such a sinister price I can never bare to withstand.
It is carried out by my two worst and simultaneous allies and enemies; love which gives or takes away life, a powerful force that favors the wisest and despises the wicked; and pain which saves or destroys a life; if it exists, it is loved by the soul, if not. there is no soul. Mine is tortured between the two, they're both like spawned arms covered in spikes and fire, gripping me hard from both sides, and pulling me out with great force, I breath hard, I cannot feel anything, I had nothing.
I wasted my life bearing this agony and imprisoning my emotions with awe and frustration, I surely would've fled from this reign full of sadness and anguish, but I couldn't. The time I pressed my feet on the ground, I made an oath, to never ward my destiny away, and stand against all circumstances to do what is right and protect what I trust. So I stayed.
Many have always wished me to be who I was in their own image, they dreamed of me being whatever they wanted me to be, but because of my weakness and my negativity, all I gave them instead, was sorrow, and for that I pray they forgive me for it, I pray they forgive me for leaving them in fear, in anguish, in doubt. Because of my unreasonable selfishness, there will be nothing, all there will ever be, are dreams thrown into silence, by my own hand.
My hand may have destroyed, but it will still be the hand that served and will serve. Even if they won't see that it is me, it doesn't matter to me, nothing matters to me anymore, if it is my destiny to be alone, to be cursed forever by my own abilities, and to withstand any pressure and any force that stands in my way and my beloved. So be it.
I am a Sapien that is torn between my honor, that of the promise and honor I have made for my creator and my ancestors, and the true love of my life, that of the ones I have loved and have come forever to cherish. Everlastingly have I prayed for both, prayed for forgiveness, for mercy, for redemption, and no matter how many times I do so, as the years pass, I ask myself the very questions over and over. Are they denied?
So many times I had dreams, which I had hoped to come true, and awaken to life, but they were easily broken and sacrificed in front of me, for the sake of the ones I loved, and those I was forced to leave behind. All the years I have spent were passed on like a flash of lightning, from then have I met many and known many, those who work and succeed, and those who fight and fail, and so far I wonder, who are the noble and who are the wise.
I've made a lot of good in my life, but I've always made mistakes, mistakes that can be fixed, although I believe they cannot. I lie down in the shadows, my arms shackled by my fears, me feet tied down by my doubt, my body cold from shame, my head heavy of the question I keep asking my hand every time I lay my eyes on it.
"Will all my sins be justified?"