Work Text:
Basil, the world isn't hues of pink and greens anymore, it's red and grey and no art is needed when there is no eyes lively enough to breath in it.
Your brain is filled with countless of those useless colours, that you fail to acknowledge the doom we are heading towards.
"I advise you swim out of those colours and look at the time stilled world for what it is instead of what it used to be .we are no longer certain that the sun will rise tomorrow, but we need to survive even if it did not.
Thus, I suggest you prepare accordingly to live another day instead of mulling mindless over a lost culture or your soul, as you described ".
I'm saying this as your friend basil..
And with no room for argument, he walked out of the corridor we were stationed at with a sigh indicating how exasperated he was feeling with my repeated rants about arts, poetry and colours. .beauty.
Iam Basil hallward and he is Henry, eastern wing commander for zone 3 espers that deal with minor dungeons and B grade monsters.
Years ago this was a world that created troubles of its own to satisfy its thrill , as I remember since I lived through those days and died but the fate played tricks on me and my soul in this lifetime retained the memories of the past that it wandered as I did thus the dead passion of an artist reignited itself in me to torment me once again in a world where the living faced the warth of the gods and battled the angles and satiated theirs whims to survive.
Even endured enough to veild abnormal powers written in fantasy books and played in operas, there are horrors beyond human comprehension, death looms around everyone in a comforting lull reminding that it's perfectly alright not to see a comrade the next day or forever.
But I still fail to acknowledge any of this reds and greys as Henry stated then again he wouldn't be so persistent in getting me back to senses, if it wasn't for the fact I'm an sclass guide that is a precious asset to the government or for the humanity itself.
To keep the vielders of the gifts of certain angles grounded, it was nature who nurtured herself in some of us as a last helping hand she stretched out for the humanity that wrecked havoc on her.
Her love prevails. .
And thus art which is one of her gifts to us.
Should still be alive but to no avail.
My efforts did not come to fruition, no music, no painting, no word entices the eyes that are running away from death and consequently running away from life itself.
If this is the cycle, what's the point of surviving when thats nowhere near better than death.
I see no point.
If we were meant to die then so be it.
Says the soul of a man who's nearly 60 year's old in a 24 year's old body.
Pretty concerning.
But don't blame me.
You should probably blame my circumstance and surroundings and people.
People, basically espers.
That I tend guide and kiss. .
I hate the smell of blood and the blues and greens of monster remains in their insane state the espers they cling so desperately on me rubbing the horrifying traces of battles on me, my white coat like a canvas gets splattered with the tragedies and misfortunes faced by many each and every single day, instead of pink skies that I cherish in my memories and painted again and again in my past life, the me now craves freedom from this tiring mess of tragedies painted on me though none of it is my fault, neither can the esper "painter " be
blamed for.
My predicament will overflow as a rivers of complaints to Henry but there is nothing he can do about it then call me a fool for denying duty over the ugliness of the espers and their pitfull state.
Which I must say can also be one of the reasons.
I lived in victorian era as a English man visiting parties more than churches trying to fit in standards set by everyone for me.
This dull world makes no sense to me nor do the men and women who fail to adorn themselves with beauties till their soul lurks on this land as a grand gratitude for greed of any human being with eyes capable of .
As my mind reels back and forth between memories and present settings of timeline , I reside in.
My body listlessly proceeds with its basic settings for the past years, old habits die hard but new routine lives hard.
Thus, I find myself hugging a bloodied mess of a body that desperately sucks in my lifeforce in order to live hardly caring about my feelings at all for that matter espers aegnor crushes me with his big hands.
And it continues as I struggle to shutdown my brain orelse, I'd run for life from him.
Tiring. .
Colorless. .
In my depressing telltales I developed a habit of looking at people in disfigured doodles and splattered colours missed turning black and purple in that process instead of their faces and that makes me more comfortable as I omitt the fact that I'm surrounded by people all the time instead of paints and canvases.
But unaware of the gaze of a young man directed at me, I struggle throughoutthe day and end the night on the note of horror as the next registered thought or the plot twist of my book is that I ended up being tied to a chair gagged and blindfolded.
Huh. .what a pleasant surprise. ..
Authors note.
Basil !!!pleasant surprise indeed. .