To Himself

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21/1/2043

Alone, he walked.

Desolate.

At each step, he, to himself, questioned.

The questions that ran through his mind, were ones only he could answer, but his brain was silent only motioning to ask more.

"Why do I like them so much?

Great, now I'm talking to myself aswell."

His thoughts became vibrations of the throat.

"I asked for their help and haven't even started the search"

He was visibly annoyed, most likly with himself.

"My friends are right, they are a serial killer, but maybe, with time, I can fix them.

Yet how?

How can a man with vengeance based at the root of his actions, fix someone, no different from him?"

His questions ached his heart,

"why did i ask them to join our hunt?

I know what I told them, that I needed their help to search, but did I even try?

I desired their presence, yet I don't know the real reason why."

He had to look deeply within himself,

"was I feeling sorry for them?

Maybe, I'm not sure."

Still unsure, he changes his train of thought,

"My friends, they doubt my leadership, they question my choices, they think I've lost sight of what truly matters.

Maybe they're right.

They don't, however, understand the importance of my actions."

He was getting slighty agitated from the memories of these previous conversations,

"I try to be kind to them, to lead them whilst allowing for freewill.

Maybe I need to be firmer, more opinionated, more tyrannical.

But is that me?

No, maybe, I don't know, I guess things change, I guess I need to make a point in the only way they'll understand."

He continued his thoughts onwards, as he wandered home.

He wandered alone, still conflicted.

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