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Colorado Laso
The day started like most of them had that week; frightening, disconnected, disconcertedly and absoloutely bound for a hard time. He found himself waking and walking in a bleary haze most days, armed only with sheer determination but no real will to live.
That wasn't strictly a new thing but he had hoped the new vocation and location would help tame the myriad of addictions and help remove or reduce some of his well-deserved anxieties leaving the residual as something he could live the rest of his time with.
It had been this way for as long as he cared to try and remember trying but things had gotten markedly worse since Eigen's death. The world felt hollow, like all the words spoken just echoed down a long and rambling memorial hall of lost instances that more than not he didn't care to walkfor the sake of claiming a few happy minutes from the familiar numbing. Even his having learned to redirect from the constant thoughts he knew would lead him down that dark coeridor, he still found the oft-present walls filled with pictures, each day was just a meandering stroll down miles and minutes of cold and lonely corridor in which the light at the end never came. No matter where it went it all seemed the same and nothing, especially the little things, ever crossed his consciousness that it didn't tickle his senses and temp him to indulge the datkness.
It would be impossibly irresponsible to say he didn't care to live anymore or simply wished to die. Eigen would never want that and he'd done it a few times already in the past. While he had held out hope he would make it through the veil it had never quite worked out for him.
In those days Eigen was safe, people knew where he was and to care for him even when there was work to do. To have met with his final curtain then, as far as he cared, would habe been a blessing. His consciousness and conscience occupied the strangest intersection of place and time of anyone he'd ever known or knew and life had not been friendly with him for it. The days he wadn't killing, just making the...
That wasn't strictly a new thing but he had hoped the new vocation and location would help tame the myriad of addictions and help remove or reduce some of his well-deserved anxieties leaving the residual as something he could live the rest of his time with.
It had been this way for as long as he cared to try and remember trying but things had gotten markedly worse since Eigen's death. The world felt hollow, like all the words spoken just echoed down a long and rambling memorial hall of lost instances that more than not he didn't care to walkfor the sake of claiming a few happy minutes from the familiar numbing. Even his having learned to redirect from the constant thoughts he knew would lead him down that dark coeridor, he still found the oft-present walls filled with pictures, each day was just a meandering stroll down miles and minutes of cold and lonely corridor in which the light at the end never came. No matter where it went it all seemed the same and nothing, especially the little things, ever crossed his consciousness that it didn't tickle his senses and temp him to indulge the datkness.
It would be impossibly irresponsible to say he didn't care to live anymore or simply wished to die. Eigen would never want that and he'd done it a few times already in the past. While he had held out hope he would make it through the veil it had never quite worked out for him.
In those days Eigen was safe, people knew where he was and to care for him even when there was work to do. To have met with his final curtain then, as far as he cared, would habe been a blessing. His consciousness and conscience occupied the strangest intersection of place and time of anyone he'd ever known or knew and life had not been friendly with him for it. The days he wadn't killing, just making the...
