By VictorGrey 6 Comments
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Alright, not sure how to start this off, not sure if i'm doing this right either, but I should be talking about this. My therapist said I needed to write a letter to myself, talk about everything I want to say, all my problems and thoughts. So here it goes.
Well, Park's death has come to pass about a fortnight ago, and here I sit in my apartment. Once I was filled with Denial, anger, my therapist says i'm at the fourth stage now, depression. I no longer deny Park's death, Park's gone forever. His life was wasted, but his sacrifice was not in vain. Friends and family now know about the man that once was Park. His greatest moments, my greatest moments spent with him. Now i'm segregated from the world, never have I felt so alone, but i'm trying to
forget. Forget wouldn't be the right word, accept is more appropriate. I need to come into acceptance, I once pushed the people close to me away, but now I know better, you only live once, but it's what you do with it that counts.
I used to see him, not literally, but to feel him. But that's just the feeling of familiarity every time I enter the Park. I should be out into the world, making new friends, us immortals are not used to death after all. If any olympian saw me now, i'd be put to shame. But i'm beginning to accept that Park is at a better place now, i've given it some thought, and Park wouldn't want me to blame myself. But it's the truth, it was my fault, but it opened my eyes.
Everything's changed now, I see the world differently, realistically. Long have I had a loose outlook on life, joking my way through every situation, disregard those around me to an extent, not strive for the best. But now I need to excel, more than ever, in my state, only the best can keep me alive. I can't settle for second grade skills, it'll just get me killed. I need to practice my every move, hone my ever skill and learn every art. I need to be a killing machine.
Luckily for me, when I first came to earth, I was a weapons crafter. I have experience in weapons from testing out every single gun i've crafted and the knowledge of the inner workings. I can apply these skills in the battlefield, how long before my enemies come for me? How long before I miscalculate a step and be on the edge of my life. But that'll have to wait for later, Park's armoury has all the research and resources I need.
Charmix, the name haunts me, who is this witch Alceus spoke of? The memory is clear as day, two sets of memory in my head. When I try to recall the last memory of my mother i'm at a bridge, unable to differentiate from what happened that day. It's like this: the memory of Hera's death is clear as day, but how do I convince myself it's not real when it's there? Cemented into my brain. Healing magic did me no good, i'll just have to live with it, accept it over time no matter how much pain it causes me every time I remember it. The trauma is real, it feels real, and that I can't change.
I hope this is what I was supposed to do, I hope this does me good. So that I can finally confront myself . . .
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The old-fashioned inked pen ran out as Victor shook it, trying to get more ink out of it. To no avail though. Having confronted his inner demons, it was time to dispose of the note. Throwing the note into the lighting chimney filled with dancing flames, Victor lay on the couch once more, closing his eyes and hoping for the best tomorrow.
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Victor continues in After the Fall RPG!