Whats Left??!!??

Look outside of the the window and notice a frailed man limping to the end of his destination. All the obstacles that were put in his way has taken its tole on him. Shattered bones and a lacerated wrist, from the torure that his fellow me inficted upon him. Was it worth the fight. Lost everything, the truth of his feelings were long lost,even in his mind. The sheer dertrmination to finish what he started drives him to his oblivion. Will he find his solace there, or should he just swallow his pride and undertake a failed life that the rest of the world lives. The haunting screams of the people forgotten on his way still flashes under his eyelids as he makes room for rest. Insomnia has taken over his body, tireing slowly, will he make it?? There is a void where his heart once used to be, torn into fragments with the very same hand that fed his decrepid body. No one to trust, solitued is inevitable. Everyone he once knew, he put aside, "trust no one" were his words. Are we not social beings?? And is existentialism so desperate!! Unable to decide he hangs his head low in despair and continues on he neverending path. To get this far he axced everything behind, and infront all he sees is darkness. Can't go back now, he will be beheaded and hung by his toes till every drop of blood is expelled from his pale body. Kneeling down he begs for a sign. Help me someone I've lost myself in my own pride. Can't ask god, he stabbed him in the back years ago. No where to hide, no one to trust, and no where to die... All thats left is solitude...


Just something that went thru my head after reading a few chapters of "One hundred years of sloitude." Its got nothing to do with the book, well maybe it does a bit, but just a reflection on the word itself. Is there no compromise between our dreams and the people we trust?? Must we leave it all behind??