when they disappear, your focus broken what was there is clear as cellophane extending forth your view to the next obstacle. you beat it with your fists running on a godly power as damned as the sin of wrath but whose fuel is pure and potent. blood pumping circulating through dark passages of nerves and organs. not as blood this flows, not red and rythmic. but a spurting, murky mess of dark demonic fluid. a bubbling mass which can neither be created nor destroyed. instead it must be harvested, trained to kill only under ideal circumstances. a strict regimen that if broken a haunting executioner will pursue any rebellion. frozen to the point of annihilation, but still a mass nonetheless and will forever remain in its icy prison. or perhaps break free if the war should begin. then there's no telling what might occur. so lock up what you love and leave it out of your mind because they WILL take it from you. merciless missionaries capable of ripping the very brightness from the sky and plucking that ever present white speck from your eye. the only opaque proof that within the exterior there resides a miraculous example of consciousness. without the resilience of BEING one can feel nothing. a far fetched conundrum possible only by the inanimate. not meant to be felt because the two cannot exist in the same place at the same time. eyes cast toward the ground constantly, accompanied by a mental block. the loss of never sharing your precious flame is worth the prize of being alone with a roaring fire. you will never lose it, it can never be stolen. it has evolved to defend itself. and because of this fluke a conflict has erupted... the war will begin.
