A character composition for Unknown
He fell slowly--one glance, one step, one choice at a time. One sip of the draught.
He numbed himself to the changes. He told himself to take just one more step--just one more, and then he would be free.
Just one more step into the dungeon to loose his chains.
Of course it didn't work. How could it? He straddled death to save his life, sold his soul for a chance at Heaven. In searching for the truth, he lost it; in searching for a path, he fell.
He needed a hand to save him, but in that place there was none. The only ones he could turn to were those already fallen further than himself. In that place there is no saviour. Those who could have seen him turned their eyes away. Those who could saved him refused to touch him. He had nowhere to go but further down.
Entropy. Three syllables expressing infinite truth. The universe tends to disorder; so too does the human life. When given the choice, the path leading down is easier than the path turned upward. When given the option, the soul lies to the mind, until the spirit must break and fall. We sit under the stars and admire them; we stare up into the infinite portrait of what could be, but isn't.
We look up because we're afraid we're falling down.
Yet the sight only gave him agony; how could it have done anything else? For a man whose fate is sealed, nothing pains him more than paradise lost. The infinite void of space and time, the vast potential of the human existence--lost, relinquished, vanished; the knowledge makes the sight that much harsher.
Still, he told himself it was too late to turn around. He told himself the only way to go was forward--downward. Perhaps he was right; perhaps he was wrong. But the only voices surrounding him assured him it was so. Those who could have lifted him up again pretended he wasn't there.
Just one more step into Hell to reach Heaven. Just one more sin to wipe his transgressions clean. Just one more lie to reach the truth.
Just one big lie to steal his soul away.
But all eyes were shut, all ears were covered, lips bitten and bleeding to distract from the knowledge that he was there. Those who had not yet fallen walked the tightrope blindfolded, choosing rather to risk their own lives than reach down to save his. The only ones who saw him were those yet more desperate than himself. There were no lifelines, no rescue boats--there was no way for him to be saved. Still, with eyes closed and ears covered, everyone told themselves they did not care.
Just a little more balance lost to keep standing on the tightrope. Just one more sense stifled to keep on walking straight. Just one more soul abandoned to purify the world.
And we gave him no second thoughts.
We thought ourselves superior, for we walked that tightrope still. But we lied to ourselves just the same way he did; we never saw that the rope, too, was pointed down.
It was all just one big lie, for which we sold our souls and his.
It was all our blind denial of the fall.
