Forgotten Lands | LVA [Anthology]

Fragmented (??)

I wither under the weight of chains, each one attached to the broken fragments of my soul. I drag my existence along paths that seem familiar and yet are so different. Sometimes I turn in an attempt to recognize what is left of me, but I am so broken I can barely see my own face. A broken mirror, with shards larger than others, some torn, some blurred, but all essentially the same.

Sometimes I'm covered with a coat, sometimes I wear a hat, and sometimes I even turn into a bloodthirsty beast. Sometimes I'm not even myself. But I can feel, I feel that each and every one of them is suffering the same fate to which we have been condemned. Confused, frightened or terrified by an endless cycle, a path that seems familiar but is so different, full of false hopes and half-truths, proclaimed by the same God who, with the help of his angels and his right hand, silenced the voices of those who tried to resist.

I have become a martyr for him, for those who will never remember my name and who will pass over me. He has torn pieces from my soul and turned them into stories that will never end. As he did to me, so he will do to them.

And what happened to her? The same thing that happened to me, but he took her further and turned her into a machine a second time. I see her reflected in another mirror, not even his, her reflection hasn't changed much since the last time you saw her all those years ago, but those crossed eyes and that sadistic smile don't seem to be hers anymore. She is unrecognizable, transformed by a cleaner, simpler, larger mirror, a bastard child to be proud of.

But you can't change old habits, you need them, and that's why you have me here. And I know you hear me, I do too, though you refuse to speak, for you have spoken so little that your actions speak for you, and those same actions haunt you as you watch in awe as what you thought you had buried rises from its grave.

From the forgotten lands I come, and from there you come; from there come the old ways, and from there comes this mirror. Who broke it? You know who it was, and that is why this fear is becoming more and more real, attracting new looks at the most terrifying part of you. They will come, sooner or later, they will come to the forgotten lands and sing and dance day and night until the voices you tried to silence make your ears bleed. It will not end until every story has its end, for stories only die when the final point is placed.