There is no truth more certain to me than that I shall die one day. It does not matter when or how, as I am certain that if the instability between Humans and Gifted does not end quickly, it may be sooner than later. The inevitability is absolutely crushing when the enormity of it catches me unready. Rather, I am caught off guard when I begin to think of it during my day to day activities. Because of this, I don't understand how my body does not simply give out from the stress, and with it, any questions I may have about what happens after dying, from my perspective.
I am creative and motivated. I am curious, and read whenever I can to further add or modify to what knowledge and opinions I have. I am a hard worker, who happens to be messy and disorganized at times. I create anything and everything I can, with no one to tell me I can't. Some tell me I'm social. Others think I'm not quite social enough, and I'm not sure if I care either way. I like to think I'm a pessimist, but I think the reality is that I'm actually a little optimistic.
There is plenty to me, as you can see. Well, perhaps merely writing a list of attributes does not convey the entirety of my mindset. The point remains that there should be enough to distract me from thinking about dying, but it does not seems to be enough. It's always a lingering thought in the back of my mind, sometimes changing my mood quickly and with little warning. This has not prevented me from hiding it from those around me, to some degree; I'm more up front about it with some more than others, a fact that should be obvious given that I'm writing this at all. So, to pass time, I've taken up various hobbies, switching between them before melancholy sets in, and thoughts of death resume.
However, I should mention that I am not debating with myself the meaning of life, nor am I in the process of deciding which religion I should be 'saved' by. Being stubborn, it takes fact to override opinion... but not to accept possibilities. When I try to explain this to people, the most common response is nearly useless to me, as they misunderstand how lonely it is to have answers for myself. I'm not looking for answers anymore. I have mine. And they are probably of no use to anyone else, save the curious.
All I need now is to make things better for the rest of the Gifted. While I am content, surely my sister cannot even begin to understand the tension that could await her. Whispers of civil war have reached my fathers ears, and it's not as if such a thing is impossible now. I need to make sure she can grow up unafraid, proud of who she is. Of course, in order to do that, I need to master my “Inner Black Mage,” or so my teachers try to tell me...
Zenith Ignatis stopped writing, tapping his pencil against the slightly textured paper in his pocketbook. As irritated as he was over having to write out his thoughts, it actually seemed to be helping. He admired his father for his experience, albeit not before questioning him endlessly about the how and why.
“It's not as if anyone at the Academy notices the difference,” Zenith sighed to himself.
The problem with my father being right, of course, requires that I do the work. He thinks that if I continue to write down my thoughts, they don't overwhelm me when I sleep, and attract unwanted attention... I think I seriously upset someone last night. He got pulled into my dream-state and wasn't too happy about it. I bet he'll try to fight me today over it, just like the one from last week... well, hopefully this one doesn't even remember it had happened.
Sighing again, Zenith snapped the book shut, stuffed it and his pencil into his pocket before turning down the road that led to the bus station. All at once, the sounds of the slums regained significance in his ears, and his focus returned to the walk ahead. Something in the distance caught his attention, someone he recognized...
“Oh crap, it's him!” Zenith ducked behind a dead tree in front of a derelict house, hoping the man he had pulled in to his dream-state from the night prior didn't see him. Not sure whether to run or to keep going, Zenith peered cautiously out from behind the tree, down half a block to the muscular figure, who appeared to have stopped as well.