Origins

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 15 (v.1)

Submitted: September 12, 2013

Reads: 73

Comments: 1

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Submitted: September 12, 2013

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The world seems to be changing around me.

When I had been shown the images of rebels being murdered, slaughtered with their families. It had been through a screen. But seeing it with my eyes. It’s different. It’s staining my soul with blood and dirt. My heart decomposes along with the bodies that will not be buried, just forgotten for the earth to hold and take away in her own way. I have decided to forget what the rebel said to me. It was probably just a heat stroke of some sort. I cannot contemplate that what happened might have been real. So many impossibilities in that experience that it must be impossible. The biggest impossibility would have to have been the throne. I do not know what throne, but I know I will not sit on it. I sit on the humbler chairs, the plain wooden ones, maybe with a cushion for slight comfort. I also wish not to lead for I do not know how I will be put in that situation. Hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of eyes gazing up at me. Their trust with me fully, hanging on to every word I say and each emotion exaggerated to its full potential with my decisions. I don’t want to decide the fates of so many people.

But as everyone else does I want to matter. I want to be known.

The guards sit outside right now cooking their meat on a fire, feasting themselves with their luxuries while I sit in my small tent; barely enough room for me to lie down without my feet poking out, with my cup of soup. I learned the guard’s names today. I was able to strike up some kind of a conversation. The fat stocky one was Jamie Carfew, and the thinner but more toned one was Samuel Prescoe. It didn’t bother me too much, knowing their names, but at least now I can talk about them by name in this journal. My soup is getting cold, not that it matters, and so is my heart. How many more dead bodies will I see on this expedition?

 


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