[excerpt from a fic I am writing]
_______
Fundy had to do questionable things.
things that cost him weeks of sleep, but who was counting?
Things that made him wonder why he was still here.
He had become an adult long ago,
during a war he didn't know he didn't have to fight
he could leave and never look back at this server, so full of blood and pain that the inhabitants knew nothing else.
And yet
and yet
He was still here
Still fighting still lying still spying still-
...
why?
He was stuck with a tyrant who knew nothing but his own goals, he was fighting for a revolution that never bothered to remember him.
What was the point in continuing onward with this ceaseless fight when he could do nothing but get left behind, beaten, bruised, and forgotten?
What was the pointing in even being kind, when all the others aimed for his blood at their every meeting?
What was the point of even pretending to care what happened around him anymore, when no one looked him in the eyes except his own jailer?
when his own father left him for dead
When there was no one to help him be an actual person, something outside of a victim of war?
and weren’t they all victims of this fight?
Fundy was sure that not a single person on this server was still clean of the blood soaking the land, from the wounds of war, death, and the life they wanted to live.
Now they were just putting salt in the wound, continuing to fight over nothing, over and over and over again, till they were all dead and dust.
and fundy was left behind because no one bothered to call his name because no one cared to save him from schlatts rule what was the point?
