Mother used to tell stories of a world where hope and promise of a better tomorrow were common themes discussed in daylight, not prophecies whispered to shadows in the dark. The signs of civilizations downfall were abundant, but ignored in the pursuit of self-indulgence and an obsession with instant gratification. Humanity had lost its capacity to communicate, to discuss their differences in a cordial manner, instead embracing extreme ends of broken ideologies. We drifted from our origin to embrace soulless creation. Such fools we were. Perhaps if wisdom had been a common virtue our dismal fate may have been different. But the reality of our fall was far worse than ever imagined.
As for me all that mattered was moving towards the Source, regardless of the personal consequences. A familiar presence lingered in the subconscious of my distracted mind, willing me in an unknown direction of inevitability. Everyone I had ever loved had been stolen from me like flesh being slowly ripped in the dead of night. Their loss was my true penance, not my shortsightedness that gave birth to abomination. Perhaps if I had known sooner what I represented, my tortured soul would have been free to transition with the others. But dreams were hard to come by in those days. No. Only the Source could re-balance the damage that I had caused. And it beckoned and called, driving me to the cusp of madness.