Post by Luxord on May 19, 2007 18:16:40 GMT -5
yeah... so I write from time to time, this is also posted on DA, but it's my own attempt to follow the rambling thoughts of Zexion.
Balance
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Every beginning also has an ending. For every act of good, there is an act of evil. For every light, there is a shadow. Anyone could tell you any of those topics. Zexion knew every theory and piece of evidence behind each generalization... but that would not stop his mind from searching out more reasons and trying to trace the logic behind the balance.
Quite often, when the rain drumming outside his window would fall into a steady pattern and the fire burning in the small hearth to keep his chamber warm would throw dancing shadows across the walls, Zexion’s mind would slip away from the large books in front of him and would wander a less followed train of thought. It was then that small sections of Ienzo would return to him and he would find himself drawing in the margins of books and speaking to himself in low tones.
Humanity... so much of what they did was still based on the principals of humanity... but what was it exactly? “The condition of being human?” The ideas of “compassion or benevolence?”
They were certainly no longer human. The lack of true emotions, hearts, and aging certainly proved that to be true. Compassion was nothing more than sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others. How could beings that lacked emotions derive their nonexistence around a theory that they could truly no longer experience?
Compassion was a large thing to try to define “people” with. The Keyblade wielder was very much a human, and some would even say he was compassionate, but... if that was the case he would understand the plight of the Organization. He would help them try to regain their hearts... their lost humanity. Instead he swore to destroy every last member.
“Are we really so dark?” Zexion mused aloud. “And if we are truly that dark... is it a bad thing? Light cannot exist without the Darkness. Without beings such as ourselves... there is no point to someone such as himself existing. We define each other. Darkness to light. Nonexistence to existence. Emotions to cool logic. Passion to stolidity. Everything he does... will mean nothing without a reaction to act as a balance. Is that why we became these shells?”
With that last depressing thought, the young schemer pushed from his desk to go stare out his window into the rain. As he watched the endless rain that fell down upon his world, he could not help but think... he might never get his heart back, because that would ruin the delicate counterbalance that he made to those with hearts. Perhaps someday, a new weight would be added, allowing him to step down from the scales. Until then, there was nothing he could do but continue in the only way that a nonbeing like himself could.
Balance
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Every beginning also has an ending. For every act of good, there is an act of evil. For every light, there is a shadow. Anyone could tell you any of those topics. Zexion knew every theory and piece of evidence behind each generalization... but that would not stop his mind from searching out more reasons and trying to trace the logic behind the balance.
Quite often, when the rain drumming outside his window would fall into a steady pattern and the fire burning in the small hearth to keep his chamber warm would throw dancing shadows across the walls, Zexion’s mind would slip away from the large books in front of him and would wander a less followed train of thought. It was then that small sections of Ienzo would return to him and he would find himself drawing in the margins of books and speaking to himself in low tones.
Humanity... so much of what they did was still based on the principals of humanity... but what was it exactly? “The condition of being human?” The ideas of “compassion or benevolence?”
They were certainly no longer human. The lack of true emotions, hearts, and aging certainly proved that to be true. Compassion was nothing more than sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others. How could beings that lacked emotions derive their nonexistence around a theory that they could truly no longer experience?
Compassion was a large thing to try to define “people” with. The Keyblade wielder was very much a human, and some would even say he was compassionate, but... if that was the case he would understand the plight of the Organization. He would help them try to regain their hearts... their lost humanity. Instead he swore to destroy every last member.
“Are we really so dark?” Zexion mused aloud. “And if we are truly that dark... is it a bad thing? Light cannot exist without the Darkness. Without beings such as ourselves... there is no point to someone such as himself existing. We define each other. Darkness to light. Nonexistence to existence. Emotions to cool logic. Passion to stolidity. Everything he does... will mean nothing without a reaction to act as a balance. Is that why we became these shells?”
With that last depressing thought, the young schemer pushed from his desk to go stare out his window into the rain. As he watched the endless rain that fell down upon his world, he could not help but think... he might never get his heart back, because that would ruin the delicate counterbalance that he made to those with hearts. Perhaps someday, a new weight would be added, allowing him to step down from the scales. Until then, there was nothing he could do but continue in the only way that a nonbeing like himself could.
