Sitting atop the crest of a barren hill, scarred by wars fought long before even I existed, I gaze at the battlefield below, shrouded in a mist of tension and vexation through strained, impartial eyes. Armies stretched as far as the eye can see litter the once beautiful landscape with their anger and grudges. The sounds of their swords unsheathing from their scabbards echoes throughout the vast wilderness that has, for far too long, been forced to carry the burden of the selfish barbarians above. Overhead, sullen clouds composed of the darkest shade of black lazily drift about the sky with no clear destination. They obscure the view of the angelic ether standing proudly superior to the carnage below. It is certainly disassociated with the pitiful way in which 'we' live, however I am not. I cannot move to object, nor can I speak to protest. I cannot reason with them, nor can I persuade them. I cannot forget the past, nor can I move into the future. I sit atop this hill day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, and yet I am still not accustomed to the vile ways of humanity. I am but a bystander in their vain attempts to conquer all, however they do not realize that they themselves are the enemy. So as I gaze down at the battlefield bellow, atop the crest of a barren hill, the sight of the 'barbarians', that I was so sure of, distorts and alters. I now see people. Misguided, unfortunate, scared people.
So I shall continue to sit atop the crest of a barren hill, my barren hill, until they realize their foolishness.
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