The struggle inside of each living creature taking up a vastly underestimated amount of space to coexist with the ignorant and arrogant is war.The struggle to continue breathing despite the choking feeling that is more figuratively painful than physical damage, is war.
The fight between truth and desire to conquer the darkest of times is war.
Violence in politics conceives a superficial consideration. No one cares about the government; their battle is not our battle, and the battle of their people is of minuscule importance to those in power.
In honest and completely unabashed truth, nary a place escapes the label, regardless of its population’s misguided belief in the existence of contemporary effective nationalism, religious freedom and conclusively inauthoritative free speech.
And the fictionally accurate tale that unfolds within the sequential, mildly related, pages of the compilation of my own creations will either be well-written or famous, possibly neither, and unlikely both.
But, at the very least, I will try to manage to escape becoming an attention-seeking sell-out who is celebrated for drivel that caters to an audience with the mindset of a hormonal child trapped in a whimsically unrealistic daydream.
Would that I become a writer to end all writers, a novelist to novelize revolutionary reads, a creator of plot line to be added to the seven, but ah, perchance to dream.
But I do appreciate the stereotypical arrogance that depict me alarmingly un-charming in the previous sentences.
Oh, how the tones of story-telling devolve.