This
narrative tires me. The end is clear and in sight, and I hope my own
death is on the horizon that I walk towards with sore feet and weak
legs. Marie-Lynn refuses to leave my mind; she haunts me for what I
have done to her. Her echoed and ghostly voice pleads for me to
continue telling our story, but I feel as if little will change if I
decide to heed to her wishes. The tale of two doomed lovers has been
told before, and we did not learn before our time had passed.
Nonetheless, the need to express my folly draws me as a wandering
pen, recording not what is, but rather what has been. In the flames
of ruin I throw my hands, hoping to feel again the warmth of
Marie-Lynn, to feel her essence, only to become burnt and suffer
while I scribble these endless words. Too often do I feel as if they
will outrun me, outlast me, and outcast me. The memory of Marie-Lynn
has become more powerful than my own existence. And here I go once
more, into the annals of time to bring her to life.
As I
had written last time, I did not contain in my heart the courage to
speak to the flame-haired girl, who, in the passing of time, had
become a young woman. I suppose I, too, had become a young adult,
although it was much less apparent in my behaviour. Sure, I was a
published author, but I was a child in reality, with a great deal of
what I had learned being lost. Even my familiarity with sunlight had
to be relearned, and this process of becoming part of the
waking-world again was one that very few people dared to get involved
in. I understand why. I was strangely childish in my social
interactions even though my physical appearance was one of gradual
experience. It took some time, but I made process that felt
dreadfully slow. All the while, I was without my dream-world, as well
as Marie-Lynn.
One
day I grew passionately hateful of my own cowardice, but I was unsure
as to how to go about getting in contact with Marie-Lynn. I was still
a social baby after all, and I was without a caretaker in that
regard. The day I speak of now marked my first experience being a
wanderer in the real, waking, world. The city that had once been my
home was forced back into that position as I wandered each and every
street. I knew that I wanted to find her, the flame-haired woman, but
I had no idea where to look. The city was vast, and held more secrets
than I could ever hope to discover. However, amongst all that it
held, I only wanted to find one piece of information, where I could
meet Marie-Lynn again. It seemed like a pointless struggle against
something that was beyond me. Whether or not I would find flames
amongst the tamed cement jungle became a question that overshadowed
my efforts. It tempted me to resign to passivity, but there was
nothing else for me to occupy myself with. It was my only action, and
so I became a true wanderer, one who experiences thirst, hunger, and
exhaustion. Yet despite the endless slew of days spent searching, I
found nothing. It was as if she had never existed. It seemed that the
city, as an entity, could essentially paint over one's footprint with
the cement of anonymity.
Finally,
after what felt like a decade of wandering the streets, both empty
and not, I came across a very distinct idea. This idea threatened to
call me a fool, as it dared to suggest that I had wandered with
absolutely no chance of finding Marie-Lynn. It claimed that she had
left the city prior to my search. I feared the idea's validity, for I
sensed that perhaps it was an ultimate truth. I was unsure as to
whether or not I should have continued. Through all of my searching,
Marie-Lynn only seemed to be further and further away. And for all
that I knew, she could have lived next door without my noticing. Her
presence could not be felt in the physical world, but it was all too
real in my mind. She was unshakable, although not quite as much as
she is now. I wanted to return to my fiction, for it was safe to
pursue imaginary figures in it. With ease she could have been a drop
leaked from my imagination into reality. Contrary to that, though,
was her incredible dominance of the physical realm when she was near.
And so, I was left to wonder, and to debate with myself, whether the
search for the flame-haired woman was worth the effort I had put into
it, or whether it was not.
By
the time I had decided on relinquishing my wandering in hopes of
finding Marie-Lynn, I had developed a strong bond to the act of
wandering. I had become a wanderer in essence, but I still wished to
find her. So I considered her many speeches about the world, about
the places she would like to go. Cities in Western Europe were the
most commonly mentioned, although she always complained about not
having the means to make such a strip. However, there were cities
much closer that she spoke about going to, usually in order to visit
family. This provided her with a place to stay and a community to
begin in.
I
discussed my choice to move to my family, who were rightly shocked.
Money was no issue for me, due to my incredible luck to have been
born to a wealthy family. Everything was arranged rather quickly,
which I was grateful for. Many of my papers were left behind as
remnants of an ancient era. I was to travel by train due to my own
personal preference. As I boarded the train, I hoped that I was
leaving to the correct location.
After
all, I was in search of Marie-Lynn, as well as myself.
-Zero
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