The last of its kind

Right now, time didn’t matter at all, he was living outside of it, time was merely a consequence of himself. Traveling from one end of the galaxy to the other, through the depths of the chilling darkness, he was searching desperately for someone, eagerly trying to find anyone like him.

He found himself at the birth of a new eon, he could name it anyway he wanted, since he was the last of his kind. He became harbor of history. He desperately moved from one world to another through veils of mist of the past lost in a long forgotten memory, a mystery claimed by no one. The thought of all these ancient worlds was hidden in a tear somewhere, a melancholic drive for an ancient nostalgia. He saw that all these spaces which once belonged to his race remain just a void now. Humans are not what they once were, they’re no longer anywhere to be found. Never finding the wisdom within him to realize whether this is a good thing or a bad one… it could be both, symbiosis hidden somewhere in some elusive heavenly values.

This entropic barrier which is moving time in a single direction was useless for him, because in the essence of his humanity lied the chaos of mixing tenses. The future was entangled with the past, and his present felt like a resentment with a feeling of nostalgia left behind… a nostalgia for the oblivion and all the first beginnings.

The nature of his thought became wicked in madness, it was twisted from a distant cry, a faraway calling. This calling echoed a presence buried deep inside every strain of amino acids in his blood. In this state of awkward enslavement of oneself, he remembered a youth before he started to conquer his dreams. Then there were hopes, ideals, emotions, other people. Now, for the first time in his ancient life he was denied of everything, and this became a cause for spiritual exile which lied in the foundation of his curse. His hollow shell was void of humanity, filled on the edges only with hungry demons. His fear was woven in pain, and bred in sorrows and empty despair. His breath was heavy, old from exhaustion.

And he stood there across the abyss of all human fears and sufferings.

With a pride of a solitary sole, he found out that he was condemned to his marrow, awaken from nightmare just to enter another.