Versus II wasn't sure why he was here or what he was doing but something was... compelling him to be here and to do this. He walked further into the wastelands and finally sat down on the barren earth; legs crossed, hands upon his knees, palms up. The heat was intense, unlike anything he had every endured in his short life as the giant red sun beat down upon his exposed neck and back. The skin turning a bright red and finally blistering from the heat. He was starting to comprehend why he had come here, to this place of harshness and bitterness. His mind was slowly working out all of the actions and decisions that had brought him to this... event.
Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days... his thirst was nothing but a memory and his hunger long forgotten before that. His skin had begun to crack and bleed some time ago, he wasn't sure when anymore. He barely recalled when it began, but begin it most certainly did. The blood dried almost as soon as it oozed from his blackening flesh. This was his own personal punishment.
His own decision, his own free will. Or was it? He couldn't remember anymore. He thought he had known at one point, that he had grasped the thought only to have it burst like a soap bubble on a slight breeze. Perhaps someone had left him here, for why would anyone come here of their own desires? He certainly wouldn't, he thought. But he did, willingly and without any persuasion or force. He had come here, to this place, at this time to do one thing and one thing only.
His skin clung to his bones, scabs and wounds no longer giving to the world his life's blood. It was almost gone and what was left was deep inside of him. But somehow he still clung to life, no longer knowing why. Was it a mistake that he was here? Did he deserve this fate that had befallen him. He didn't know... he knew nothing any longer. His own name was lost to him. The one thing that he knew was that he was utterly and completely alone. The man thought that perhaps it wasn't always this way, it may have been different.
Or he just thought that it was different at some point in his life but in fact it never was. He had always been alone from time forgotten. No one befriended, or loved him. No nurturing or praise. Nothing that a mortal needs to feel needed and confident in order to thrive in life. He remembered something though, something very important to him at one time. If he could just grasp the thought everything would be okay. But it fled his feeble attempts to bring it to heel and show itself to him.
He lifted his face to the sun and sky with immense effort and will. The skin tearing like paper or parchment, the bones in his neck cracking the way dry twigs do on a hot summer day when someone steps on them. He didn't feel the pain that should have ripped through him, the nerve endings had burned away long ago.
He opened his eyelids, or rather they fell away when he attempted it. His eyes were a bright unseeing white, at least they should have been. He seen everything with these new eyes, not as he did before with muted colors and shapes. But as light and energy, it would have overwhelmed him if he hadn't already been dead. And in that moment of realization he recalled why he had come to this place... he had come to die.
Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days... his thirst was nothing but a memory and his hunger long forgotten before that. His skin had begun to crack and bleed some time ago, he wasn't sure when anymore. He barely recalled when it began, but begin it most certainly did. The blood dried almost as soon as it oozed from his blackening flesh. This was his own personal punishment.
His own decision, his own free will. Or was it? He couldn't remember anymore. He thought he had known at one point, that he had grasped the thought only to have it burst like a soap bubble on a slight breeze. Perhaps someone had left him here, for why would anyone come here of their own desires? He certainly wouldn't, he thought. But he did, willingly and without any persuasion or force. He had come here, to this place, at this time to do one thing and one thing only.
His skin clung to his bones, scabs and wounds no longer giving to the world his life's blood. It was almost gone and what was left was deep inside of him. But somehow he still clung to life, no longer knowing why. Was it a mistake that he was here? Did he deserve this fate that had befallen him. He didn't know... he knew nothing any longer. His own name was lost to him. The one thing that he knew was that he was utterly and completely alone. The man thought that perhaps it wasn't always this way, it may have been different.
Or he just thought that it was different at some point in his life but in fact it never was. He had always been alone from time forgotten. No one befriended, or loved him. No nurturing or praise. Nothing that a mortal needs to feel needed and confident in order to thrive in life. He remembered something though, something very important to him at one time. If he could just grasp the thought everything would be okay. But it fled his feeble attempts to bring it to heel and show itself to him.
He lifted his face to the sun and sky with immense effort and will. The skin tearing like paper or parchment, the bones in his neck cracking the way dry twigs do on a hot summer day when someone steps on them. He didn't feel the pain that should have ripped through him, the nerve endings had burned away long ago.
He opened his eyelids, or rather they fell away when he attempted it. His eyes were a bright unseeing white, at least they should have been. He seen everything with these new eyes, not as he did before with muted colors and shapes. But as light and energy, it would have overwhelmed him if he hadn't already been dead. And in that moment of realization he recalled why he had come to this place... he had come to die.