 Prospect #2
Moving forward.
Memories left behind. A new life, a new journey. I've built anew.
For mankind... for my kind.
The vessel stares back at me. From every angle, the menacing smile latches on.
Talking walls speak and spell my life story.
My past life.
The vessel sleeps beside me... the comfort breath.
Morning skin of machines, of humanity's beginnings.
Am I God? I've been called worse... drift in and out.
The vessel brings me sleep.
Hyper Sleep.
Prospect #1
Mind bending strategy game. Running though obstacles on a land never ventured.
Every night. Every wake. Alone but not for long.
The signals worked. Did I want this? I must go back and explain my reasonings. Worse things have happened: Worse things will happen.
The old atlas is found. No matter what I do it's been done... it's been worse.
This is not reassuring.
Imperfect. Improper. Extinct.
They have found me.
A new journey.
Prospect #2
I approach unfamiliar ground. Left standing with the air swirling silently.
A creepy siren, the siren of loneliness.
Twisting, falling, and screaming.
Please break out.
The crumbling starts. Inch by inch the ground takes over.
The wretched clench of my insides.
Unspeakable anguish... this fucking contortion.
Awake, mime standing.
Air swirling around me... silent.
Siren of loneliness. This is real isn't it? Can't tell these days, the longest fucking days.
Why the anger I wonder?
(The mission must stay focused. I work day in and day out.)
To create. To recreate.
Have I become a god? I have been called much worse.
Secretly that title makes me feel comfortable.
In my place. Its been a while. This god-like complex does bring me a smile.
To create. To recreate.
Down to the last seed I stand with a dark stare. Still silent, still frighteningly silent.
I must leave myself.
That's what all of this has gotten me... infinite life? Conquering of death.
The seed is planted.
Time to move on. What have I become?...
I'll make my own life seem new.
Face all of my mistakes and grow.
Must grow.
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