the evolved state

I have forgotten many along the way, I was forgotten by more. Within each dying memory shall I remain till at last I become the shadows, and from within the darkness forget myself. While Rome was not built within a day it took a mere night's blaze for her to burn. Such is mortality such is man such is I.

***

The air is infected with the smell of mildew. The trees fight endlessly to strangle the light from the sky leaving the small snaking dirt path void of all color. Everything is masked within shades of grey as if to hide hope itself. Each step away from the light into this dark world is slow the air around you feels thick, mockingly it weighs down his body slowing his moments trapping him with the thick dense taste of death that only can be found within swamps. Each creature has its own song; they join together in a desolate sonata somber with the memory of the times before the dark. This is a place long lost to the world, home to no one. Each breath leaves a foul stench upon his tongue, slowly his lungs struggle in and out, breathing itself has now become a chore, he is not sure if it is from the thick air or if his body itself has turned against him. He tries to remember the light. The pounding of his heart drowns out all songs all sounds die away to quiet echoes. His body screams out for the touch of the sun to remember… to remember… to remember what? Hope drains from his eyes all is lost all is forgotten. He considers staying joining in the desolate choir adding his song to their pain.

"I must not stop this is not the ending, this is the beginning I must continue through."

His voice sounds strange, foreign, and the words ring hollow to his own ears. But yet he manages to keep moving forward each small step bringing him further within the darkness. The hope he once felt in the light is now dead as the entrance is now no longer in view.

Then all at once color explodes through the scenery, pushing back the blackness that seemingly bogs each of his steps down. Life is once again permitted to breath, and the first breath his soul takes is a deep one, as if to push the fear further down until it is all but a memory. Hope comes back into his step as he escapes the last clutch of the darkness and thick air. He walks a little faster, more content like a spoiled child after they have gotten their way, without a thought as to what it took to get it.

***

The world around him suddenly changes the smell of mildew is replaced by salt and sweet grass. The stagnate dead air has become a gentle breeze. The rhythmic beating of the tide against the bottom of the cliff can be heard far below, and comfort is quickly found within the ocean's pulse. Looking across the edge you can see nothing but blue at some far away point the ocean and sky kiss but the merger is not noticeable and they seem to continue on forever as one.  His steps move with more of an urgency as he sees the shack on the edge of the cliff, "yes, this is what I have came for." he quickly reminds himself.

"For what, have you so soon forgotten?" his mind responds mockingly. Forgotten? Forgotten what? He asks himself. The answer seems to hit him, and is just as fast forgotten. Slowly the look of urgency is replaced with acceptance as his eyes shut. He is momentarily lost within the world before him; he feels the gentle wind embrace his face. Within this world of light he soon finds a moment of complete peace, but like so many moments before it ends much too soon. As the sounds of shouts can be heard bellowing from the shack he is awakened from his moment and quickly remembers the importance of his task.

"I must witness I must see, or it all has been for nothing."

The shack looks out of place in this world of light; it would fit much better within the boundaries of the dark swamp. The boards do an adequate but incomplete job of protecting the possessions within. They curve each in their own way, and have long since turned black, with patches of green mold. He finishes his walk down the winding path and open what passes for a door. He enters now into a third world, not one of light, or darkness. This world was different it had a sorrow to it a pensive nature that was hard to explain. He quickly feels like he is intruding upon something that while being too personal to interrupt, is much too important to ignore without a sound he finds himself a seat and watches as the story begins.

***

His entrance goes unnoticed by the two figures deeply immersed within the battles before them. The two men sit across from each other at a table within a space clearly set aside for a kitchen, but not burden by walls. The first man can only be described as average a face easily lost within a crowd, nothing about him seems demand your attention. Nothing about him seems to stand out except the completely benign nature of his appearance. His brown hair is neither short nor long, as it is neither straight nor curly. Everything about this man, seems to be somewhere in between something else. You would not describe him as a particularly tall man, but he is not short, neither large nor small, attractive or repulsive. His movements are slow and strained as though the injuries of his past made each of his moves overly thought out as if to avoid pain. Within his grey eyes nothing, no emotion no movement a far away look as though something once lost may come again from any direction but close. Then that all changes as the words seem to heat up between the two men, a flicker of passion ignites in his eye, his face is animated. Only now does he appear to be human. His mediocre cheeks turn red as he shouts; spit flies from his mouth as he pleads.

The second figure seems to be without form he is sitting in shadowy corner, he makes no motions; he makes no sounds. Nothing escapes this man, even the light seems to die in his presence. As our first man rages on, no emotion is expressed within the second. The first man screams and shouts towards his companion but to no benefit as no reaction takes place within the second man. His arguments slow and become less sure until at length his voice stutters and his words fall to the floor heavy with emptiness. Just as quickly as his passion came to life they die. He slowly strains to take his seat, the red drains from his check and strength leaves his eyes. He bows his head, as his hands rise to hold it in place as though his thoughts have become too heavy, and his neck is no longer able to bare the burden.

The second figure watches the first; he allows the feeling of defeat to overwhelm  his companion before he makes any movements. Although only seconds pass to the first man it must seem like days. The silence cutting away at him, his face shows the wear of another wasted speech. He now understands, no matter how elegant his words may have been, or convincing his beliefs they feel upon deaf ears, or much worse, a hardened heart. The second figures leans forward the light seems to run in fear of his face. The heat from his breath can be felt on the neck of the first man, he slowly prowls forward coming within kissing distance of the first man's ear then stops and whisper but one word. "Forgive."

***

Time passes before either man moves; the first takes in a deep breath and after a long pause releases it. He stands and walks over to what could be considered a sink, and pulls a dirty glass from the strainer. The water is nothing like that crashing on the bottom of the cliff; it looks as though it is piped from the dark woods. It is yellow and has the smell of mildew to it, but he greedily guzzles it down. He stands a while looking toward the glass but it is apparent his mind is not there. His eyes from time to time flicker with life but mostly remain dark with pain, he thinks to himself, "How do you argue something you yourself do not believe? How can you explain emotions you have never felt? How can you show hope when yours died long ago?" He turns and looks toward his companion, he has not moved, he just sits and waits, as if he knew his friend was no longer able to continue. He thinks to himself "Why do I look he never leaves, he is always with me." His eyes begin to show anger but this quickly passes, his heart is not ready to plea yet, "I must pace myself." He reminds himself "there is always time that is the one thing I do have." He walks over to the window, he closes his eyes, and he feels the wind blow on his face from the moisture he can tell the rain will soon follow.

The fires began from the inside until they were all consuming. They burned till all that was left was black smoldering earth. The smoke choked out the sun all hope was lost. The songs of roman children were replaced with cries, and the touch of there mothers gave no comfort. Such is anger such is pain such is I.

***

He looks out the windows and sees the blacken clouds approach, this world feels right. With each crash of thunder the pain within burns. With each cry of pain the anger is stirred. His eyes grow wider, his heart more bold, nothing matters not love not hate, nothing matters except killing the hurt. It consumes him he fights it as he has done so often, it is easy to give in; it is hard to hold on. With each burst of hatred he loses a little more of his soul. He wins his battle this time, and with lose of anger, enters the pain. A sole tear falls from his eyes representing the millions that came before. He feels an emptiness that only comes when all hope is lost. He comes back to awareness; the usual sadness of the shack is multiplied as the remembrance of hope is still fresh upon his heart.

***

He turns from the window, sometimes it is better to look within he tells himself, and takes his seat. The figure is still waiting patiently. As though he knew how this was all going to play out, and saw no reason to rush things. The roof does a crude and fairly ineffective job of keeping either of the men dry, but neither seems to notice. As the wind picks up you can hear the boards on the side wall rattle against each other, opening and closing the gaps between them, Giving momentary glimpse at a world not so thick with pain. The air is now moist and cool with the rain, under different circumstances it might be considered a pleasant environment, but not with these. Neither man say anything they both sit, one thinking, the other waiting, always waiting. "How it got to this." the first asks himself. The voice within tells him "you know, you just don't want to see it, but you have always know." He picks at the loose grains on the old wooden table, lost in thought. Lost in a world of his own making.

***

Through honesty of himself others may have found a way to understand him and that was something he was unable to give. The thought of her always brought about feeling of anger no matter how deeply he tried to conceal it. He laughs out loud trying to hide the pain, but there is no one here to hid it from he knows this is a place of pain. He does not pretend, he knows his companion is a master of pain, and can taste it on the air. The dark figure stands and walks toward the wounded man, places his hand on his shoulder "Yes remember the anger, and with it the passion of life."
"There is nothing to remember, this is my life now. There is no anger here, only regret. This is where I belong this is where I choose to be." The words feel hollow even unto himself, they feel harsh and crude coming up through his throat, and even before the last sounds died off somewhere within the air above the cliff, he could feel the look of doubt upon his companion face. He feels no need to turn and see the all knowing face mocking him. Mocking him with his certainty, mocking him with his empty, and most of all mocking him with his patience. There is no argument here he knows this is a losing battle. A wind blows through the boards and the coolness brushes against his hot face. The candles in the room slowly dance, with the rhythm of the breeze. The regret is thick and pensive, his heart heavy with pain. With each moment he grows hollow, and retreats more into the shadows.  Becoming one with the world around him, until all that is left is smoldering black earth where his heart had once been, and the touch of no one will give him comfort.

***

 Upon the next morning when each rose to rebuild, they realized this was done by no enemy. Rome had burned herself. Such is man such is woman such is us all.