I held a small bloom in my hand, a flower of no importance that I had picked up along the way. It had been marcs since I'd plucked it, and the petals were wilting, the stem beginning to dry and curl. It couldn't last without water...and I wondered, how long can a person last without their 'water'? The source of everything that just makes their world seem safe and secure?

I wander around the tall grasses beyond Fartown, like a ghost I slip through the thin, swaying blades. For the most part, it is quiet here...a few bandits who give me no bother, a few dogs whose heads I pat in passing. But no people. No adventurers, no loved ones, no family...I could be seperated from the entire world out here, alone to the peace and quiet. Alone with the soft whisking noise of rustling grass. And at sunset, the light would filter through the yellowing grasses and make everything awash in colors of russet gold, dying greens and honey browns. And I lift my hands up, to stretch for that light above the grass...feel the warmth spread from my hands, watch it glow through my skin and feel lit from within. I let it soak through me, exultant and wild and free, and full as though fit to burst....

But then the sun fades...darkness creeps over again and my shoulders slump, my arms hang weakly at my sides as I stare blankly upwords. Who am I, base and lowly creature that I am, to try and hold the sun? This meager ant that crawls upon the earth, this ghost that slips through the grass-who am I, that doesn't belong anymore? And I think how I held that false happiness in the sunlight and ignored the dark, how I held back all the questions and fears and desires at bay, let them slumber deep.

But now I can look at these worn and scarred hands and remember times when they used to be soft and gentle. I clench the tired fingers and feel the ache spread from my abused knuckles to my burdened shoulders. How long have I stuck to duty, to work and obligation, to try and wear my body down? How long has it been now, that I have worn the body to ignore my soul? I crave it...I need to be so tired that I drop to sleep at nite instead of lay for hours agonizing, questioning, wondering. I feel like a machine, driving forward, unemotional to all around me-but I want to be that machine. Because I'm tired, tired of being resentful for others happiness, tired of wanting things that don't come true. I'm tired of the fighting, I'm tired of the drama and the pettiness. I'm tired of anger, and misunderstood sorrow and regret. I'm tired of pain. I am...tired. And it seems that the only solace I have found is in that numb state. A state that frees me from the desire to cry and scream at the skies. A way to avoid the crumbling of my mind as I throw myself at the cruel hard stone that is life.



I can catch faint snatches of peoples voices as they head north towards the mountains, but I do not seek them out. I cling to my solace and keep the vast mental crevice I have created between me and everyone else. And I wander and slip through the blades of grass with barely a sound, doing nothing, my hands not even willing to rest upon my blades hilt. I merely wonder how long I can go...how long I can wander without my 'water' before I curl up and fade away. If only I knew what kind of water this flower needed...