Chapter 12
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This was it, then.
The end of the story. The darkness had come, and with it, a deep and sinking sensation as if all hope was abandoned into the gloom of the night. Into the nothingness and void flew all sense of being and joy for life.
There was no hope; there never was.
The One To Trust was somewhere out there in the blackness. Was he aware of what was happening? Was he conscious of the lack of hope, the pressing abandonment of all that was dear to You? To You this mattered a great deal; this could not end so foully on a note so resoundingly dull. You had failed the hero’s journey; there was no victory, no final conflict, and no resolution of conflict.
You had brought along friends for this pointless endeavor; they were dead. The Chronicler was probably spending his last few moments ripping his neck apart in an attempt to chronicling You’s final thoughts. You could not help but feel he had failed the Chronicler by his inaction and his foolish decisions, and now You’s company had splintered and fallen apart. There was nothing more You was capable of doing; he had no legs, no arms, no body or presence of being, merely a fleeting thought in an otherwise incomprehensible emptiness.
You had freed the sun from its prison, You had heard the rain’s song, you had defeated the drapes of heaven’s door and You and his allies had challenged The One To Trust only to meet in resounding failure. Was this life worth living, thought You? Had he lied to that To Be?
You.
You…
Something was wrong with that. From out of the unimaginable blackness the laws of the universe cried out in retaliation against that statement; You. It was wrong, You was not some nondescript identifier, yet the Chronicler’s writings bore evidence that he was You. He even quoted it as having been You; had the Chronicler made a mistake? His name was not You.
It was Yuo.
His name was Yuo.
An epiphany of sorts beamed from the void and seemed to push back from the depths of despair. Why had the Chronicler written it as You? Because he wanted it to be related to. To consider the events and occurrences as having occurred to the outside viewer and the story written - the chronicle detailed about Yuo - might be understood from the reader’s perspective.
Now from the recess of the void beamed a resounding ray of hope as the meaning of the Chronicler’s words came freshly to mind. None of the chroniclers who have come before could have had so many things to say about any one person than about you - You. Yuo had simply been a gateway; a jumping-off point for a greater series of novels and stories about… You.
At that moment the veil of nothingness had lifted, and far above the hollow where he sat stood a man much unlike The One To Trust. He seemed dazed, a bright blue glow coming from his head, which was obscured by the rest of his body. At the other end of the void there stood a man much like The One To Trust, who seemed to be visibly incomprehensible. The first figure seemed to be unsteady, as if he did not notice his surroundings, and it was clear he reacted very unhealthily to the world he was now present in.
The man was also missing his left arm. Perhaps he’d like another.
With a thought the unidentifiable man suddenly tossed something at the one with the glowing head. The latter caught it, seamlessly connecting it to his elbow. It was one of the Chronicler’s arms.
The two figures faded away, and so did the rest of the world. But now somewhere in some story there would be the Chronicler’s hand, ceaselessly writing the stories of countless people, reading these words which may be Yuo’s last. His story ends here - but he lives on forever, thriving in memories of encapsulating script devoured by the eyes of many. Perhaps even in yours.
These are the writings of the Chronicler, who detailed the story of Yuo, and by an ingenious series of devices ascended himself and his story from the depths of this world to directly affect the one beyond it. In these pages are placed metaphors and statements meant to inspire and challenge You in your writings and your life, should you care to reread and find them.
The Book of Logic.
“Move only if there is a real advantage to be gained.”
― Sun Tzu, The Art of War