Parallelism
What was reality? Why did things happen as they did? Why did suffering exist, and could one escape it?
Countless musings crossed Yien's mind when he saw his home, his motherland, burned to ashes on that fateful day. Many things did he think when he witnessed the destruction of all that he held dear, the invasion of the Terrans; the things he believed to be true and many more that he loved were taken from him, revealed to be nothing but untruth, nothing but temporary comfort for a lonely individual.
Yes, many things he saw, and many more he pondered upon during his long life: that the mistake of trusting oneself is greater than the mistake of trusting the world. For because the world was full of unreliable, limited individuals with narrow perspectives, it seemed to regulate itself, albeit not perfectly. But how could one trust the view of one single individual? Yet, the world itself was controlled by very few individuals, who imposed their perspectives on others and created favorable outcomes for themselves. So what could possibly be trusted?
No, it seemed that he did not learn anything at all. All he believed even now was false; how can one believe in oneself, knowing that his perspective is limited? What, then, can one believe?
Reflecting upon his life, Yien stood up from his chair, pacing the room. He remembered the tragic end of the United Races Federation, the invasion of the Terrans, who lit the entire world on fire. He watched as scenes of violence from his childhood resurfaced: the death of his mother to the hands of a starving madman, the annihilation of his entire village by a great, massive sun, the terror associated with the loading of what he now knew as a laser gun, an almost silent, high-pitched humming. Although he survived by the mercy of a Terran Hijacker, all those he knew were reduced to a pile of ash or slavery.
He could not blame the dead for that which they did not know. He could not blame them for their ignorance, and their foolish belief that they could rebel against the Magnum Imperium Anglicaini, which drove the dwarves and skylanders to extinction. Neither could he blame the past for not going to war against each other, nor for the Great Bloodfest that rendered the Fleigo and Psiyjia continents barren wastelands. But he could not help but regret the past, and regret the lies he had been fed since the very beginning. That the power of a civilization can overcome anything.
He believed he had overcome the past, but did he truly overcome the pain in his heart? Was his detachment and his distrust simply a product of his denial, his pride in refusing to move on?
He sighed, finally crashing back into his rocking chair. He was tired. Confused. Sad. Angry. Yet, he did not know what he truly felt, or what he truly believed. Who was he? What did he stand for? What should he stand for? And would that be true—would it be real? And what was any of this? He did not understand. He could not understand. Who was he angry at? What angered him? Did his own self anger him? Then—when? What did he do?
He shook away the doubts and thoughts he had. There was no need to answer any of these questions. The fact was that he was here, and that is all. He only knew too well, how too many questions lead to misery.
Countless musings crossed Yien's mind when he saw his home, his motherland, burned to ashes on that fateful day. Many things did he think when he witnessed the destruction of all that he held dear, the invasion of the Terrans; the things he believed to be true and many more that he loved were taken from him, revealed to be nothing but untruth, nothing but temporary comfort for a lonely individual.
Yes, many things he saw, and many more he pondered upon during his long life: that the mistake of trusting oneself is greater than the mistake of trusting the world. For because the world was full of unreliable, limited individuals with narrow perspectives, it seemed to regulate itself, albeit not perfectly. But how could one trust the view of one single individual? Yet, the world itself was controlled by very few individuals, who imposed their perspectives on others and created favorable outcomes for themselves. So what could possibly be trusted?
No, it seemed that he did not learn anything at all. All he believed even now was false; how can one believe in oneself, knowing that his perspective is limited? What, then, can one believe?
Reflecting upon his life, Yien stood up from his chair, pacing the room. He remembered the tragic end of the United Races Federation, the invasion of the Terrans, who lit the entire world on fire. He watched as scenes of violence from his childhood resurfaced: the death of his mother to the hands of a starving madman, the annihilation of his entire village by a great, massive sun, the terror associated with the loading of what he now knew as a laser gun, an almost silent, high-pitched humming. Although he survived by the mercy of a Terran Hijacker, all those he knew were reduced to a pile of ash or slavery.
He could not blame the dead for that which they did not know. He could not blame them for their ignorance, and their foolish belief that they could rebel against the Magnum Imperium Anglicaini, which drove the dwarves and skylanders to extinction. Neither could he blame the past for not going to war against each other, nor for the Great Bloodfest that rendered the Fleigo and Psiyjia continents barren wastelands. But he could not help but regret the past, and regret the lies he had been fed since the very beginning. That the power of a civilization can overcome anything.
He believed he had overcome the past, but did he truly overcome the pain in his heart? Was his detachment and his distrust simply a product of his denial, his pride in refusing to move on?
He sighed, finally crashing back into his rocking chair. He was tired. Confused. Sad. Angry. Yet, he did not know what he truly felt, or what he truly believed. Who was he? What did he stand for? What should he stand for? And would that be true—would it be real? And what was any of this? He did not understand. He could not understand. Who was he angry at? What angered him? Did his own self anger him? Then—when? What did he do?
He shook away the doubts and thoughts he had. There was no need to answer any of these questions. The fact was that he was here, and that is all. He only knew too well, how too many questions lead to misery.