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500 Words number 2! This is harder than I thought, but also kinda worth it already.
The world is black, with bits of gray. There is no light. There is no life, only remnants of nightmares.
Mother Pan wrote this world into existence. It is my job to undo her damage, to burn the pages. This is a book that should not be read, ever. In these words lie a truth too dangerous and a power too great for reckless humans.
At one time, I truly believed I was one of them. Not that they ever truly accepted me, but there were moments when I do believe I possessed mutual affection. Touch is a very valuable sense. It often goes unnoticed, but little touches influence…everything.
Sight is the most useless of them all. Sight is the largest lie. Nothing is here how you believe it is here; everything you see, I see differently. Your colors are mere shadows of mine.
Never again will I allow myself to pretend I am something that I am not. I have spent too long behind a veil, and I should not have to. There is a power in me, burning through my skin. A sun burns inside my stomach and it begs to incinerate all who cross me.
Soon, I will allow it. Every story must come to an end. It is my destiny to usher the end of this one.
Other planes existed before this one. Still more will live on after it. The beauty in them would overwhelm anyone from this time; those born in gray could not understand the beauty of gold. This planet is dirt and scum and death. It was born of dust and to dust it will return.
There will not even be one soul to pine for it. The sense of loss assumes an existence, which you will no longer have. Hold onto your memories, while you can. Stare into the shadows and think hard on how little you actually know. Recall how much the rest of the world seems to understand. None of it makes sense to you because your mind is so small, it could not conceive a logic behind the idea. So who is to say that the rest of the unknown world is not static noise created by your own mind? Perhaps you already do not exist.
At one time, even Mother Pan did not exist. The magic that weaves together to form her skin was once the dust of stars, floating through the celestial unknown. She was once a part of the great void. Soon she will be again, and I will join her.
It is my belief that I was not actually created for this world. Those with wings cannot be expected to remain on the ground. Those with eyes are expected to open them.
The mind has eyes. It sees more than even the migrating flocks, but you do not listen. You are human, and your perceptions are highly limited. Your species is a long line of cruel jokes, but I finished laughing decades ago.
