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He waited patiently, silently. Looking down at the scene before him. He was not condescending, he was just watching. The hands of the people below him were stained in blood, but he looked back at his own pair of withering hands and saw that they were clean. He knew he had seen more war, and blood then the people below him had encountered all together. Which made him pondered the likeness of his own existence to the people he was studying.  The frightening depiction of their own sorrowful eyes was a burden on their conscience, and dying triumphantly now seemed liked the more cowardly thing to do when faced with a life and death situation. Grasping onto life like grasping onto smoke seemed to be human nature, but not on this night, when the air was cool and the sky shimmered, he said to himself. Looking back upon at himself he realised he was not so different after all from these people.

However, this was not enough for him. He knew he was different. It was not innocence that made him different.  After all, that would make him no different than a five-year-old. It was not the time that made him different.  To bear the feelings of another being is the one distinguishing characteristic, he thought to himself. Then he looked back at the people, and realized this was not true. Does having an enemy serve the same purpose of having a friend? He asked himself.

He then began to wonder about the war. Why does Hitler and the Germans have the right to just take what they want? I suppose it’s because, they are in charge, they have the power. Why? He asked himself. Although he had seen humans grow and evolve for hundreds of years, he never completely understood them. They let Hitler take charge, but they would not just let any old man rule. He thought about this for a second. They would let a man with all the answers take over. They would let a man who would show no mercy rule them in the hopes of finally getting rid of all the problems in the universe. It all just started with a few words, a plan, fear, and an unrealistic goal, that would achieve an unrealistic outcome. That's how faith is born, give them what they want, give them a fairytale. He just now realised how vulnerable and receptive they were. One thing puzzled him though. Not anyone could just walk up and give them a fantasy. He look back at the people in search of clarification. They were fighting with such passion and vindictiveness, but when he looked a little closer he saw quivering hands, and unused guns. This hatred and fear was already existent to begin with, the rest was easy to do when you have everyone's attention I suppose.

    He started to laugh. Chuckling to himself as if they were nothing compared to him. Chuckling at their small existence on their tiny little planet.  The tiny little planet that he was bound to. Laughing at the people that he hid from every day. Each and everyone of them had thought about him, but it never occurred to them that he had thought about every single one of them as well. Still laughing, he went down to the people.

Now walking among these people he ambled away from their gunshots and came to a small house with an old couple.  “There is a war going on, and this old woman just died utterly of old age.” He said out loud, but of course he was just talking to himself. For some reason this was fascinating to him. This woman’s death was the kind that you see on movies. She died with her head resting across her husband’s chest and everything was quiet except for soft sobbing.  Exactly like a movie except the sky shimmered. He lingered there for a moment, finding comfort in the small secluded house.  Not only to bear the feelings of another, but to bear one’s own feelings when you cannot support them any longer. He thought to himself.

He had seen this grieving process many times, and he had no intent of staying to scrutinize this particular human habit.  However, this man did something he had not encountered before, to relieve his agony through written words.  Bending awkwardly to see the words on the paper he saw this:

The Lonesome Man             

There was a lonesome man that had the power to walk among our thoughts, to whisper in our heads. He would walk into our rooms every single night whispering. He crept into every kid's bed, and tiptoed to every person's room until every brain was filled with the same thoughts.  

This lonesome man was not very important, but soon after the thoughts had been placed in every single manipulative mind he would finally become the most important man on the face of the Earth.  Like an equestrian guiding his horse with reins, this man was controlling everyone.  

However, it wasn't just at night that he would come. He would hide these thoughts In plane sight for the whole world to see. One day, this man decided that there needed to be an easier way to hide all of these thoughts and words. He was getting tired of placing each individual thought, and each individual word. Then he came up with a plan. It was a truly brilliant plan he thought. What could I do that would encompass every single word and every single thought? It started out as just a hasty scrawl, just a few marks in thick black ink, but it evolved. These black lines meant nothing to the people, until it was placed in their heads, surrounding the world hidden, but not actually hidden. The symbol was found everywhere. Until it created a thick black mark across the sky, and the ground, and it was wisped away and placed everywhere.  

All those thoughts and all those words hovering above all the people. Shielding the stars like a thick black cloud. He called it a swastika. He thought it deserves a name. A title will give it power, he thought. The black ink rested atop the eyes of each of the people. It was cradled in their eye sockets. Looking down at his work, he smiled.

It shamed him to atmit the lamentable truth. His sickening similarity to this man humiliated him. His role as the killer that does not actually kill, the attention he never asked for, the title he was given without a consensus humiliated him. He then realized the likeness to himself and the symbol as well.  He then stopped to think about this.  I am bound to humans, and I am created by humans. This black cloaked, hatchet bearing creature.  They created this terrifying creature and then attached it to my title. The world does not revolve around them.  Their fears don’t create the world, and their opinions don’t affect the universe.  I am not bound to their rules, or their thoughts. The sky does not turn gray everytime one of them dies, rain does not mean sadness, the world does not grieve with them. No one can mark the sky. Not even a man with a swastika. He was growing angry, but he was still only thinking to himself.

He took a walk across their tiny planet unable to stay at the tranquil little house.  He watched a coyote gnaw on a squirrel and he wondered if both creatures were created by the same set fingers. As he walked a little further he came across a little boy who just celebrated his fifth birthday, and then a couple newlyweds. He looked at them with clenched fists, but gradually relaxed. He was now growing tired, so he returned to the people he was inspecting originally, and it was like staring at a battle between the stars themselves. Something so magnificent and so fragile was falling to pieces. They were crumbling to the ground.  He watched and tended to them because no matter how many times he denied it, he was bound to them like a dog.

Perhaps they thought of him as a completely different creature because they would be too ashamed by his physical similarities if he wasn’t. Or maybe they just need something to blame. Or perhaps they created him in order to believe they could control him.

Maybe one day he'll gain the courage to reveal himself to them. Until then, he'll look down upon them in shame and they'll have no idea he's there.  He'll just sit there and watch them completely invisible to their tiny little planet. And he’ll have no idea how lonely he is because he thinks it doesn't quite count if it is inevitable. He has no one to tell him how wrong his statements are, but if  there was someone, then maybe he wouldn’t have thought them at all.








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