His mouth was a rigid, stony line and his eyes flickered in red firelight. He loved a woman, and she stood ahead of him, and looked back.
“I hate you, and you could not possibly know how fiercely.” To him, her words rang out like wonderful bells on the most peaceful day. He heard her words but failed to listen, love had deafened him, and their meaning was lost on him. She jumped from the edge into endless light, he looked after, but could not follow. Like a child he was lost. He did not understand.
He wandered. For eternities he searched, confused, and drunk from love he did not know he had lost.
-
All else seems horribly meaningless, and disappears from my consciousness. Such is the power of its size, and such the size of its power. A pillar, an obelisk; tall as the highest, unseen clouds and wide as many oceans, black as the heart of the deepest hole, it does stand. He views it from afar, so as to observe its hugeness appropriately. He stands from it many years travel yet it's closeness scares him to no end, for no thing exists before it unhindered by breath-stealing, icy fear. Always, there is fear.
-
A spear will burst through a chest. Blood and passion will spill forth like many avalanches. The stench of ****** will thicken the air, and his eyes will stare at it like smoking gun barrels.
“There is love, and there is fear, still.” It will say.
“No. There is anger, and then I killed you.” He will reply, his voice a sick roar. Love will die on the ground at his feet, and blood will drip from his claws. All will be utterly clear to him, and he will be there with his back to the woman and the edge, with it's endless light; his back to the obelisk, black as the deepest hole, where always there is fear. But there is no fear here.