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lighter and flame snakes to life, he considers the idea that the bodies moved themselves. They knew that tonight would be like this, every remaining night on this earth, in all the lakes around the world, and they knew that it would be lonely, and not so worthwhile to stay. He has an obligation to speak for these people. They are owed their immortality. But that too is sophistry. He can tell of events, of the very emotions that tear at his soul, and in the end, they are merely his. The peculiar smell of a person's breath, the imperfections in complexion or posture, the odd synthesis of a person's appearance, speech, and deeds that compels one to love or hate - these are all destined to die with him, and someday a reader will hear of this hero, or that villain, and imagine a truth that in no way 
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resembles the original. Indeed, hate may replace love, vice versa. Today's hero, tomorrow's villain. Every generation believes in absolutes, the warrior muses. Our common fallacy is that we believe that no other set of absolutes can exist. It would be impossible, reprehensible, wrong. The lake stretches before him like a broken claw. In the distance, a single bird cries out, but the only answer it receives is the crackling of the warrior's fire as he touches lighter to twig. The mutilated signs are burning, the sight somehow more devastating than that of a thousand corpses in flames. The words For a brighter future ignite, spark, and he thinks of the fire- crackers that once soared above the lake, their explosions mirrored by the placid surface. And he hears the voices of those around him, friends  |
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