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"An endling is an individual that is the last of its species or subspecies. Once the endling dies, the species becomes extinct." [1]
Yet, some species never ought to be. So, here, 'endling' means more. Here, they are also the end of their world.
A fundamental unbalance occurs without their own kind to keep them in check. They -as they say- "run amuck."
I plan on writing next:Djinn, giantess, and dragon.
What are your ideas for endlings? If nothing else, I pledge to read them.
At your service, always.
Y. B. Grey, Esquire
Yet, some species never ought to be. So, here, 'endling' means more. Here, they are also the end of their world.
A fundamental unbalance occurs without their own kind to keep them in check. They -as they say- "run amuck."
I plan on writing next:
What are your ideas for endlings? If nothing else, I pledge to read them.
At your service, always.
Y. B. Grey, Esquire
Rejection
I forget... I forget who I am... I look around my life, and I do not recognize it. How did I get here? Who am I now? For, where I am and who I am is not who I was. I changed, somewhere along the path I became something I was not. I don't remember the change; I don't know when it happened. Yet... I know I don't need to remember. It happened. And, it IS happening. For, each day, each moment, we all become someone else, something else, someone new. Yet... Our minds reject this simple fact. We cry out for continuity of self. Our beings, like all things, do not want to be replaced. Our old-selves do not want to be supplanted by our new-selves. We look for that thread that makes us who we ARE. That undying, unchanging SOUL that would link our lives together. That would connect who we are to who we were, and who we will be. We all believe we need this thread, this essence, that would make us feel we have not changed. That we have something within us immutable. Yet... Yet, there is
Only Lies
Words are lies.
Simple symbols substituting something substantial. To think thought tantamount to truth, truly trite triviality.
Words are wind.
Rattling relentlessly at reality. Blowing bluster, begging to be. But,
Words are insubstantial.
Parading pixels pretending to present palpable practicality. Mistaken to masquerade as mass made manifest.
Words are nothing.
Yet... yet, you yield to yearning. We want words to wrap the world. Encompassing each explanation and embodying everything.
All we have; all we are; all we will...
All words.
And We Begin Anew
What once was old is new again.
We start from scratch so we can stop remembering, casting off that which clings to us.
If we are to forget shame and failure, then medals and honors must be left behind as well.
But, if we are worthy of what we leave, then we can earn them again.
Both the pain and the pleasure.
Disappointment and elation.
At your service, always.
Y. B. Grey, Esquire
© 2016 - 2024 ybgrey
Comments8
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You know what would be a good subject? Ducts.
Make a story about the last duct that is left on the planet soon to be removed and replaced with a pipe.
Make a story about the last duct that is left on the planet soon to be removed and replaced with a pipe.