Whispers of the Lost Spirit

Whispers of the Lost Spirit

Dusk had settled its heavy cloak over the land. For most, it was the signal to return to their hovels, seeking whatever assurance lay in the company of others. But for me, it was the first breath of freedom. The shroud of twilight granted me the invisibility I sought from my fellow human beings. And so, I walked.

The path ahead was lined with sentinels of stone – weathered, gnarled figures that seemed to once resemble something like hope. Now, they unwittingly chaperoned the souls that trudged through the valley of despair. Their ghastly, twisted visages mirrored the desolation that marked this land.

In a world where spirit is the currency, an innate and quantifiable measure of worth, the power of truth had long been abandoned. Here, a burning desire for vindication overcame all other inclinations, and I have seen firsthand how this lust for validity ravaged the very nature of man.

To grasp that which evades them, humans had taken to the most insidious methods of extraction. They had been taught to dilute and distill the essence of spirit, to suspend it in a liquid form that could be consumed by the most depraved soul. The price of such knowledge was exorbitant, its cost etched into the very essence of our being.

It is said that children are born with pure spirit, untainted by the darkness that pervades our world. But the knowledge of such purity was a dangerous thing. In the name of utopia, innocence was lost before it could begin; young souls were drained from their essence before they could truly live.

Such were my thoughts each night as I walked alone, traversing the path lined by those broken statues. And with each step that weighed heavily into the earth beneath me, I pondered their fate. Were they martyrs who stood tall against this corruption? Or were they perhaps symbols of warning, reminding us of what we could become should we let our true nature succumb to this insatiable emptiness?

As I reached the top of the hill, the moon held dominion in the heavens above. An endless sky, filled with stars that glimmered like ghostly whispers against the abysmal black. And by their feeble light, I beheld the crumbled ruins of a shrine – a temple long abandoned to the persecution of our world.

No longer did the people seek wisdom or solace in the ethereal, but rather they swallowed it down with feverish thirst, becoming something that resembled nothing close to a true human. I approached the collapsed walls and scattered rubble, treading where no other dared to venture.

In the heart of the ruin, a single wall stood against the ravages of time. The stone was cold and damp to touch. It seemed to weep for what it once was. Etched into its surface, a timeless tale of despair emerged as though it had been waiting for me to discover it.

The carvings spoke of an apocalypse–the fall of a once-flourishing empire, brought low by the insatiable greed that consumed it. Their very essence extracted and devoured, leaving behind only hollow shells. These empty husks wandered aimlessly, igniting terror in others with their soul-shattering gaze.

As I traced my fingers along these lines, it was as though the stone bled a profound sorrow that reached to the depths of my soul, begging me to remember what once was.

As I continued to wander further into that dark night, I felt a shiver run down my spine – as if the ghosts of that lost civilization whispered in my ear. My heart felt heavy with their burden, the weight of their memories.

But in my solitude and darkness, I found solace. In these nightly walks, I felt a connection to something deeper than myself, beyond the reach of those who would siphon the spirit from life itself.

In this desolate land of fear and ruin, I found enduring hope. Some would call me mad, but in the embrace of the night, I found a connection to a world that had long been obscured by the fog of mankind’s greed.

And so, I continued to walk alone. Every night, I sought to find what little spirit remained in a world that had forsaken its essence. In each crumbling statue, in the fragments of the forgotten shrine, in every life lost to the unquenchable thirst for more – I found my truth.

For no matter how dark the skies above or how deep the shadows encroached, the spirit still sang its haunting melody. And as long as its echoes remained, there was still a chance for redemption… and perhaps one day, reclaiming the lost beauty of what it truly means to be human.

Author: Opney. Illustrator: Dalli. Publisher: Cyber.

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