Alone. He was alone again, all had fled. Why? Why leave? He spoke his question aloud, nothing. There was always nothing. They all abandoned him, always but there was never a reason. Plenty of answers but no reason. They come befriend him, laugh with him, play with him; love him even but they all leave. His soul is a void, he has nothing there; his heart is bruised and burnt, he gave too much of it; his body is crippled and ruined, he used it too little. What is left of him? What is there to like of him?

Nothing. He is never the reason but it never feels that way, maybe he needs to feel like he was the reason. Maybe he needs the attention. Or maybe he cares too much, too little even? He lives in his own world under his own rules, here all is constant. There is no leaving; there are no arguments and no worries. No anguish touches him or his friends and all is well. Yet when he rises from that world he finds life is tatters, war struck the world while he was away. Friends war one another, the reason is forgotten they now fight because. They have no reasons, just because. Was it him? Could he have avoided this conflict?

He wallows in his defeat. He has no answer for his questions and no one to ask. In the ruins of his heart there stirred nothing, no spark of life returned to his husk – no white light filled the void within. There was nothing. There was always nothing. Why should he care? Is he someone to care about? He laughs bitterly, no. He is no one special, there is nothing for him here. He is merely there. He listens and he hears them. The voices chat and natter to one another but not to him. Sure he can enter this world and be a voice but then he is not special, he is just one of ‘them’. He sighs and hangs his head, is it really this hard? Why fight? What does it bring? Death and sadness, the two go hand in hand.

He sits and watches at the conflict rages then wanes before it falls. The silence deafens him. Is there anything there for him any more? Ages come and go, as do people such is the way of things. Is this his time? Should he follow those who precede him and pass into the void? In the depths of his carcase he feels something, heat. In the deep dark of his void a light flickers, a solitary flame defiles the darkness about. One flame, it flickers at his doubts and worries but then he looks forwards and sees that all was not consumed with flames and war. The fire grows; its light bursts forth and fills him. He has new life, like the phoenix from the ashes he arises a new born – life is not over until the reaper comes with his hourglass. That is not for a time yet.

“I will not give up.? The words echo through the void and brings silence to the voices. A light expands before him and he steps through, a new life has begun.