Prologue

The young man had returned to his wooden two-story house after a short jog to buy groceries from the local retail store just down the block. He was youthful and well-kept, with a slim figure that wasn’t too buff or too lean, but just a perfect blend of what had been nice. He had dark coal hair and sea-like eyes that seemed to stare off into the abyss. It was as if he had been lost in thought, just completely uninterested in the world. With his looks, he had often been mistaken as a celebrity by many teenage girls. 

He unlocked and opened the orange wooden door before waltzing through the halls and arriving at his kitchen to address his groceries. Following this, he had left his sparse kitchen room to walk down the halls once more to enter his bedrooms. His blank soulless expression had not changed a single moment, and in fact, seemed to reflect the state of his room. Completely bare bones to the point that it had given it the depressing feels of a college dorm.

His room consisted of a few items, a black desk near the entrance of the room and against the wall, a small red mattress at the other side of the room, just touching against the wall and a black gaming chair that had rested at the side of the desk. 

Though many may posit that this isn’t much for a man to live off, this was more than enough for him. For when it came to the luxuries of the world, he did not care for it, he did not desire it. Be it a vacation and a free stay at Hawaii’s Four Seasons Hotel, or alternatively a Victorian-style mansion erected just north of London, or perhaps a small loan of a million dollars. 

He did not care for it, as he would come to politely reject all the vices of a perverted and materialistic world to instead care about what truly mattered. A man ought to live a moral, fulfilling, and virtuous life to the fullest, without being enthralled and impeded by the blind pleasures of a wicked world. 

He walked to the other side of the room, with the same blind and uninterested look in his eyes. His red 40-dollar sneakers clicked against the floor and he sighed as he stepped into the boring wood-floored room. Light flashed before his eyes before he found himself staring into the bright and brilliant flares of the morning light. He began to wedge his eyes closed, before having adjusted the curtains to no longer have the blinding light of day leak into the seemingly bleak and lifeless room.

The man stepped back to the side, before sitting in the black gamer chair of just 120 dollars. He sat in contemplation before facing his head toward the ceiling. His mind tugged and rushed with thoughts from earlier in the day. What should I have for lunch? He wondered, before glancing back to his PC of just 500 dollars. 

He continued to stare before pulling a calm and collected breath into his lungs, before leaning his body and chair closer to the black desk. His mouse, and keyboard all sat on the empty spot of the desk before him, equating to a cost of just less than 40 dollars. As his hands began to wrap around his mouse, he roped in another breath before staring off into the computer screen. His blank expression had reflected off the screen as his thoughts of lunch gradually began to fade away.

The computer clicked with confusion for a moment before a light blue screen flashed with the Windows logo soon making its way onto the screen. As the bright spark of blue light made its way into his eyes, he would lean into the desk once again, placing his knees against the desk to meet it. This act of his had been an odd habit that he had developed over his years of writing, serving as a cue for whenever he would come to write. 

He pulled his breath out of his chest and out toward his mouth before closing his eyes. Though his eyes were closed, his hands had fluidly rushed across the keyboard effortlessly as his password had been typed up. 

Enter

Retracting his right hand from the keyboard and onto his mouse, it would begin to serve to the bottom left of the page. Specifically to the green, red, yellow, and blue icon of Google Chrome which had laid just an inch away from the end of the computer screen. 

Click.

The page loaded slowly before loading a few moments into the process.

Click.

A Google Docs page manifested right before him as his sapphire, sea-like eyes sparked out into the world with a fiery passion. Residing in his eyes had been an indomitable force that set lit like a torch to a bonfire. The force that laid dormant deep inside of him began to burn with such fiery passion that it had been like a train over rails. A force that could not be imitated, much less surpassed. With his cold passionate eyes, he stared at the single line of the 57th chapter which he had written just last night.

“It’s time to write.”

He told himself as he pulled his hands into place over the keyboard. His passionate gaze became colder as he brought himself into position. It had burnt with the same passionate spirit as before but there had now been a glimpse of an all-knowing spark of wisdom that had burnt in his soul never flickering.

His radiant azure eyes sprang from one end of the 12-inch document to the other, before spiraling onto the keyboard for a moment with his eyes scanning across the keyboard with laser-focused concentration. After getting a grasping mental note of the keys he would glance at the screen as a short silence ensued as he stared passionately at the sole sentence. A silent tension erupted as he continued to stare at the sole line, it was as if it had been a prelude to a battle between nations with a long-winded Mexican standoff.

Snap.

Like a force of nature, his hands would rush across the keyboard. Sparking up a torrent of intense crackling noise from the keyboard with the gashing noise being heard for miles. The crackling of the keys grew in intensity and number as his fingers continued to bounce on and off the keys. It was quickly reaching a point in which the loud clicking of his hands against the keyboard had sounded more like a squadron of artillery units shelling a city as deafening howls of death could be heard across time itself.

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*Click* *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click* Click*

His swift and nimble fingers danced across the keys in an act of effortless elegance. The act came easily to him, so much in fact that it had come as easily as breathing. His smooth and slick hands would dance onto and over the keys in a graceful waltz, quickly transforming from the artillery of death to the elegance of refined and prestigious noble society. 

The sounds began to transform where moments of this noble waltz had seemed to be accompanied by ecstatic fanfare. Violins, harps, and flutes all hummed in unison and harmony with one another, as the faint humming of young noble women, the laughter of young noblemen, and the clanking of glass bottles against one another preoccupied the ear of a spectator. 

The music began to shift, as the humming began to cease. As the clicking of the keyboard became apparent once again, starting the stage for a grand finale.

The rapid clicking of keys in rapid-fire succession sounded increasingly less and less like royal society. But still, it sounded quite elegant like an orchestral hall booming with song and dance with the occasional cannonball. Or two.  

In growing haste and rapidity, his hands would quicken as they marched down the row. Manifesting a formulaic yet mystical trance, he began to swoon his fingers down the keys as the keys screamed with joy and unforetold ecstasy. 

Onto and over, onto and over, onto and over the keys he went as his typing sounded more and more like music from a Tchaikovsky piece. Of the great passionate Russian composer who had involved cannon fire and all works of seeming chaotic yet controlled genius into his work. 

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The young man hadn’t even been a minute into writing the chapter, but in a matter of mere moments, he had managed to spit out 8 long paragraphs of liquid prose out of his hands, as it was as simple as trying his shoes. It was an expression of pure competence and ability… One that could only make you wonder only two questions. Who was this man? And how did he get this well at writing?

He hadn’t even been a minute into the chapter, but in a matter of moments, he had managed to spit out 6 long paragraphs of liquid prose. 

He wasn’t even a minute into writing the chapter, but in mere moments, the man had managed to spit out 6 long paragraphs of liquid prose out of his hands. It was clearly an expression of competence… One that could only make you wonder two questions. One, who was this man? And two, how did he manage to get so good at writing?

A circulation of dark and chaotic energy built into his pummeling strikes against the keyboard. Having manifested for only moments at a time, the energy had been like a fable. Appearing only when his finger fell against the keys, only to dissipate in the next minute. He channeled his inner turbulence into his craft, growing increasingly faster and more skillful as he did so. His competence in the craft had made him increasingly more so impassioned in the act of the writer, with his passion being like that of an artisan to his craft. 

He began to glance downwards to where the keys had laid, and he began to chuckle slightly. A slight smile had formed on his face, as he would continue for another half minute. He had already been done with half of the chapter, but with a growing fiery gaze growing into his eyes, he began to feel the pressure exuding from his heart. But alongside this pressure came a burning passion that he could not overlook. It was a passion that had far surpassed that which he had originally begun with. The passion burnt into him, growing into him, and ultimately became him. With will alone, he had become a force that was truly unbounded by the limits of the human flesh and psyche, becoming a passionate spirit that could engulf the world in the violent crimson flames of passion several times over. He was more than motivated, as this was him.

Passion continued to spew out of his fingers like springs of water exuding from a stream. With more and more maddening sparks of brilliant energy began to build up in his hands. Though he had been known to the act of writing, having only written for a year and a half, he had shown a mastery that could rival that of an expert writer. No… It would surpass them… No, he had surpassed humanity at large.

His deft and clever hands shifted, becoming much like that of a pianist over a piano. Increasing in mastery as he continued to improve some more, leaping over his limits. His hands were a machine that became increasingly more and more deft as he continued on with his craft. Becoming increasingly more oiled and fine-tuned to the act of typing as it continued. It was as if this had been the only purpose he had known in life.

Since that was all he had. To him writing had been all that mattered in life, after all, who could blame him if he was attracted to the sole item of transcendental being and authenticity in a gray and oversaturated world devoid of liveliness and passion? He had been born to a world where man was born without purpose or identity, fated to be sedated by the endless consumption of medication and mindless distractions of a materialist world, ruled by the gray and faceless who squander all that had been worth dying and fighting for. A world where dreams would be left forever forgotten and lost in the sands of time itself, he did not bear with it anymore. He revolted and became his own man.

His rave over the keys began to twist into viscerally betting lines, humming with conflict and drama which grew increasingly more thematic and ideological. It was as if he had been the second coming of Shakespeare or Milton with his themes and elegant prose that seemed to be unmatched under the heavens itself.

‘Is this the peak of the human condition?’

He began to ask himself as he began to feel his soul beginning to slip and fade from his work and his body. His voice was cold and void of any real emotion, only grave suffering that had been like a piece of flint brushing up against a corner of a rock.

“No. No. There’s a lot more to be done before I would get to that point in life. The path ahead is long and I am only beginning my journey now.”

A smile broke onto his face as he continued to develop his craft. His hands waved onto the keyboard as he would begin to embrace an intense and profound mastery of the form, that it had been the perfect visualization and embodiment of the form fantasized by all masters and initiates alike. His skill and craft began to reach a level in which each and every unnecessary action, movement, and thought began to strip away from his craft. The precision present in his craft became increasingly surgically accurate and was acting with subatomic feats of efficiency. His competence with the art of writing began to strip at the metaphysical psyche of writing. Transforming more and more, becoming something that could redefine reality as a whole, due to the great meditative inductions of such a work. His work was becoming something that could tear at the metaphysical misconceptions of life itself as all notions of time, passion, and pursuits began to fade away as he began to embrace the cold, yet calm and comforting pursuits of the existential perennial dichotomous paradigm of the truth. 

With each passing second, it had become increasingly apparent that he was slowly and gradually perfecting his craft to the point of transcendentalism and ascension and perhaps beyond those points. With brilliant dreams and utopian aspirations beating and burning in his mind, perhaps there would be a day when he would reach and achieve eternal stasis and victory over the human condition. To leave a legacy so great, that it would render an end to the mortal coils imposed by the great chain of being and achieve the acquisition of a New Grand Eternity for the world and all beings. 

He continued to write, continuing to embrace his one and only passion in life. Reaching deep into the recess of his soul to see what had laid deep within. Deep within the fibers of his very being, had been a burning passion to create and rediscover the world, not as how it is to be, but what it had been. It was a plight from the chains of a decrepit and blind reality that failed to serve and nurture human perfection. 

The young man came to an abrupt stop and snapped back to the beginning of the page. The page zipped by as his enchanting azure eyes ran wildly up and down the page, from corner to corner he had read it all, as a delightful and charming incandescent expression broke onto his face. 

“Looks like my duty for the day is done. This should be enough for the chapter. 3291 words. That’s good enough.”

He said in a cold and uninterested voice, which had been oddly enough more lively than before. He stared back at the computer before rolling his chair over to the side of the room and rising up. Glancing to the side, where he stared intently at the set of black curtains that hung over the windows. They had blotched out the light of day, making the spacious room appear as dark as night itself. But his room had not been a realm of darkness, as earlier the man had allowed for the creation of a small crevice of light to form at the right side of the windows. Brilliant rays of light had peeked out from the corner of the long and elegant dark cotton drapes that had collapsed onto the floor like the hair of rich women at hair salons. 

He stared at the particular corner for a few moments before his thoughts on the subject began rolling into his mind. The scene reminded him of a piece of antique artwork made in Renaissance Era Italy. Particularly the medium-sized Italian republic of Florence, where the particular painter of this piece had lived but he would be forever lost to the annals of history. The painting had a small ship that had traversed an infinite sea of darkness, with nothing but a set of candles and a single cross on the deck. 

Although the art makes it appear as if the ship was born to a world of infinite darkness, emitting a tone of grave darkness and despair, the man had believed otherwise as he believed that the world can get messy, but it wasn’t dark and gloomy as hope was always present. A hope that had been exemplified in the form of candles and the cross present in the image. Though the ship had been the lone home to hope and light in the dark abyss, it had lived as a silver lining to the void world, existing as the single shred of hope lined up against an endless sea of dark despair that seeks to plunge man into the realm of depression. 

“Light will always seep past the darkness of the night, to illuminate the bright, and hopeful days that lay ahead for the blessed children of the stars who with upon them, every single day and night. Those who dream of a better world under the setting stars shall see their dreams realized in full…”

He spoke softly and calmly. His tone had been much like that of an emperor speaking to his subjects. He brought his hands over to the curtain and tugged them over to the side. Illuminating the entire room with the brilliant light of day. 

“So that moments like these would become the beginning of a new day. A new day for both you and me. The beginning of a bright and brilliant day that only the two of us can see. It comes as a present from the world itself, coming in the precious shell of something called life.”

End of chapter

— New chapter is coming soon —
- my thoughts:
It's been a seriously long time since I have written and published something this descriptive. Due to the intensive effort that goes into writing chapters with this descriptive and intensive style of writing, the following chapters will not be like this. Also, it should be noted that due to my increasingly tight schedule updates will be few and far between.
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