The year 2012 has been nice to me so far. Aside from small college issues and the rising turmoil involving the SOPA and PIPA bills the congress wants to pass, the year has, for the most part, been devoid of anything extreme.
Well, except for what I'm about to tell you.
As you are probably well aware, writers get new ideas all the time. Ask any accomplished author, and they will tell you that while they may have ten books published, they've got hundreds more stuck in the wings of their imaginations, waiting to show their talent on stage.
Well, as for my own ideas, I've got about twenty that I've recorded over the years. Some fantasy, some psychological, but all really fun to write in their own right.
But this new idea might just take the cake. I've written more than I have in past month in the past three or so days. It may just be the one . . .
Here, I'll put an except of the prologue to part 1 below, written from the perspective of a relentless, yet honor-bound, assassin. Enjoy.
There is no cure for the plague that is consuming this city. From the vast networks of twisting streets and darkened alleyways, to the astonishing glass citadels adorning the immense spires that span the horizon, no one, deprived or privileged, can avoid their coming end.
I’ve seen it with my own eyes, many times over, every moment more intense and painful than the last. It amazes me that so few have opened their eyes. To make matters worse, those who should’ve seen the problem straight away, were no greater than the men they ruled over. The blind are leading the blind, and this can only point towards one, conclusive end: death.
Death is an escape from the mortal constraint of life, a lifting of heavy hearts and souls, a lightening of the burden that all mortal beings are cursed with carrying. In a way, death is pleasant, precise, and calm. It comes when it is due, and fades away when it is done. Most people never even notice when it has come for them. Those who are fortunate enough to see it coming are blessed souls. They have time to pay their dues, make amends with their enemies, say their goodbyes to their families, and when all is finished, they can greet their death with open arms. These fortunate may often die alone, but they are never truly lonely.
My betters say I’ve cursed my way of thinking by dwelling too long on the end of all things. They dare to say that if I heed the words of my philosophy, I will no sooner lose myself, driven insane by the atrocities I believe in, and rush my death ahead of schedule.
If it is my fate to die today, than so be it. If it is my fate to die tomorrow, I’ll greet it with a smile on my paling face. But until that moment comes for me, I will fight. I will fight until my last breath has been wrested from my rasping throat. With every part of my being, I will fight until the arms of death envelop me in their warm embrace.
I am the silent shadow of the glass spires, hidden in plain sight. I am the Harbinger of Death, the servant of my lord Athanas, his messenger in this accursed city. The night grows brighter. The moon is rising overhead. A soul is just now rising to meet his end. Whether he will welcome it, or run from it, is yet to be seen. But one way or another, no man can escape his fate . . .
- Silas Ossara
P.S. I apologize for the strange font. I swear, technology hates me sometimes . . .
