So as some people suggested, due to the fact I have been reading a lot of Poe lately, I decided to make an attempt at writing a short stort comprised of journal entries. Kudos to those that figure out what happened. (Note, one line in between is a new idea, four is a new entry, some are not dated, do not be confused.)
The Eagle So here I am, at the gathering of my relatives, while everyone is inside having a magnificent time with their friends that I have previous recollection of, but decided to supress my memory, as I am the dissapointment. I stand outside, on the coldest night of the year, a new moon, and not a star to be seen. It is the witching hour, without a cloud in view, but by some impossible probability, there isn't even a twinkle of light. Silence is beautiful, and I enjoy my quiet solace. I am the unwanted one, but still I am invited, possibly as an example for the youngers of what not to become, yet, as I ponder this, I realize, that I don't... Care. I feel nothing about my predicament, nothing but... Anger. Not towards them, but towards my immediate family. Daily they curse me; the injuries I suffer, purely by chance, are seen to them as punishment from 'God' for being so...-as a kinder way to put it, refraining from scribing the horrors of their utterance.- Unique. It seems as if they could 'remove me' from the situation with impunity, they would. Perhaps, if I could find a place to go, I might find it in myself to leave, but I have yet to find a place where I am accepted, so I stay here, in this rotting castle, decaying myself, as the crows and the vultures call and call, circling the open ceiling, waiting for the movement to stop, waiting for my final breath, and the opening for the cowardly scavengers such as themselves. I was cast away from my family after my delve into a "Serious lack of sanity" as they put it. So now, in my fifteenth year -I assume... I lost track- of isolation from all civilization, I stay, with nothing but a tiny eagle, the runt of the litter -although still a magestic bird- sent out to die by it's family, just as I was by mine. I take care of it, while I myself am slowly turning into a skeleton with skin. I cannot recollect the last time I decided to do anything with my muscles, aside from killing rats with rocks to present to the eagle. I have not eaten in weeks, and I fear that I may soon become to weak to provide for my friend... Someone is here; I don't know why, but someone has decided to come into my abode. I only hope that they pass by me without noticing, this is when my years in hiding have come in handy; I know the dark. They tried to take my baby, my friend. I was forced to present myself... It was not the best decision on my part. They fear me. Why, I am not sure, but they are afraid. They say I should not be alive, but I do not know what they mean. They showed me a mirror, I still do not see what is the issue, aside from there being almost no muscle or fat left, anywhere. You can see this almost perfect complection of skeleton. I imagine I look like a science-class cadaver, but with skin. I don't feel I should be alive, either. It seems as if the only thing that makes me hold on is the fear that if I am gone, the eagle might die, and maybe that is what the eagle believes too, that maybe, if it is not there, I will not have a purpose to live. I wonder, perhaps the eagle is the only thing that has truly cared about me... I couldn't take it, so I ran away again, hiding, for another few days, until I had the courage to emerge once again unto this strange, new world. Maybe it is by mere chance, but it seems as if I cheat death whenever my eagle and I are together. Today, for example, I decided to visit, in this new civilization, a trade center for the world. It was very odd, for there were a lot of strange, light-up boxes running all at once; getting to the point, I had left out of confusion, and mere minutes later, I heard a loud crash, and both of the buildings were falling. I was crushed. They have taken me to what they call a "Hospital." They tell me I should not be alive, but somehow I have avoided aging and I produce my own energy. They do not comprehend, but I do. It is the eagle. The eagle gives me purpose, it gives me a reason to live. They told me my friend is three-hundred and fourteen years old. IMPOSSIBLE! I was there when he hatched. I know the date, this was before my calender, my only connection to the world, rotted. The day was August 7, 1698, around seven years after I was cast out. People visit me here and ask questions, how I have lived this long, I ask them, how could you not live to thirty? They hand me odd things to use, they teach me this thing called a "computer." I tell them something is wrong, the date says it is December 21, 2012. Other people visit too, they talk of apocalypse, and how I started it, how I am the warning and curse from god. They sound like my family. I wonder what happened to them. They bring me to the cemetary, and I am able to read their headstones, all have the same ending date on the epitaph, October 31, 1691, the day my family made me leave. Today, there is a celebration on that date, where all the children ask for candy, they say the holiday originated from the costumes people would wear to scare away the demons on that date. It is October 31, or so they tell me. I still have not eaten, and I decided to walk around tonight. Some come up to me and ask where I got my costume, I promptly question them, asking what costume I am wearing. They pull and tear at my skin, then when it comes off and they see bone and blood, they run off franticly. Such odd people, and they talk of ME being the different one. I keep asking about my friend, they tell me that he is dead. I told them he is not. They took me to his grave, to where, upon my arrival, we proceeded to hear an eagle's call come from somewhere below us. I TOLD them he isn't dead. I dug him up and held him close to me. They informed me he has no heartbeat and he is cold as the coursing river. Yet, as I present him to them, he struts around and flaps his wings, then takes off, circling me and finally coming to a rest upon my shoulder. They look at me, stupified. Now, it is September 9, 2015, and people tell me that I am "Death." That I am like a drug, when intoduced to for long periods, they can live forever, but without me, they die instantly.