The end of time is where I dwell. This end of time, it is my hell.
(( My first story written out instead of acted out and improved >.> hopefully ain't too bad, kinda based on allot of things that I've been doing recently in philosophy...))
The afterlife has always been a curiosity to me, or was for the longest time. Many hours of my short life did I dedicate to uncovering the mechanics of existence. The last seven years of my life, starting when I was ten, I dedicated solely to studying as hard as I could both physically and mentally in hopes that I could unlock the secrets that death held from us all.
The results as my family claimed to perceive was that I had grown more chaotic, emotionless aside from my obvious disdain for the rest of humanity. I wasn't a goth, emo, punk or anything, no no far from. those that masqueraded as "opposition to the system" or "being unique" or "doing their own thing" were all obviously blind, everywhere I turned it was all to easy to point to twelve others that looked and acted exactly like them. The only way I saw to rise above was to cling to what had died.
Martial arts was a hobby of mine long before i held it's code close to my being. Not it's new code, but the traditional code of war and Bushido. If there was a fight to be had I was more than happy to oblige, only turning down those that were obviously too weak. The battles that I wasn't sure I would live were the ones I loved most. Pushing oneself to the point of destruction. the metallic flavor of blood was familiar already, almost a good friend.
It was this love for the old traditions and my the people which i seemed to despise that brought my end. Same as the old codes, the traditional arts of the sword and many other weapons are dying out for the "point and click interface" that modern technology has brought us. It was now more so than ever that I saw it as insulting that a classmate of mine used the techniques taught to mug and steal with others that were armed with guns.
Ignorantly I had challenged him to a duel, not thinking through the obvious results. in an even match I would have won, he was only three years in while I six years into training. He played along with the duel I had issued only as long as he thought he was winning, in the last moment i got struck down by a simple piece of lead.
It's curious to me that in my final moments I before I died, the fight was all that consumed me, the joy of battle was all encompassing and if it weren't for my hatred welling up behind that feeling blinding me, I might have survived or at least been able to move on in death. The are many assumptions about what happens when you die, I wish I could say that I had found at least some of them out, but sadly I fear I never will now.
My body lied there lifelessly, my being torn from it's mortal coil and sent on it's way. I don't quite know how it happened, but while I despised the world I was leaving behind I couldn't turn my back. My honor bound me, never to let the name of the old ways be tainted with greed, only blood should be sought.
Ripping myself out of the path which I was set on, I was cast adrift between two planes of existence. Out of time and out of space, my being dwindled to but a shadow of it's former self. The actual concept of myself seemed to cease to be, the only thing left being the will and the code of honor and blood. Eventually this voidness I found myself in began to make sense, I was external to physical existence and temporal existence. I began to wander bodiless through different places and points in history, eventually regaining and growing a new personality and being, one that fit the will that lingered.
I was reborn, not as myself, though the memories of before are still present. I was a new entity that existed outside of the natural order, not a ghost or phantasm, ans much of oddities as they are, they are not in any direct opposition to life or the afterlife, simply adrift. I was different in that I defied the natural order by only a thread of my prior self becoming a new entity, entirely outside the governance and mechanics that others are bound.
In time, I found the time from which I originally came was the only one I felt familiar to, the memories from my past life haunting me as I wandered streets i had seem countless times and watched as my own final hours played out before me.
I bound myself then by my own honor, that I would persist within this time and move with it, only breaking away when necessary, and fight to defend the honor and traditions I hold sacred.
((Bleh, read through what I put down and got confused...I'll write out more of it and get it workin' later.
))