He stood at the edge of the cliff–he didn’t know why. It felt to him as though every part of his life lead to that moment. Nothing else would matter, nothing he had done or was going to do, if he took one step forward. But backing away didn’t mean anything he did had any more meaning then it would if he chose the void.
The only thing he could bank on–the one hope–would be that he would have a chance to make his life matter. After that one single most important moment.
But since it was the single most important moment of his life he had to wonder. Would anything he ever did ever be as important again–would it even matter?
If he lived a thousand years, would it matter? Would he ever have a moment as important as that moment again?
I write Poetry and fiction as a hobby, I've written a full book but never managed to get it published.
I am also working on a Table Top RPG called Cryptix. And have really fallen in love with this project. As such a lot of my fiction right now is connected to the lore of this strange world of monsters.
My poems tend to be thoughtful and philosophical with a touch of spirituality.
My fiction is mostly sci-fi and fantasy but usually with twists and interesting ideas thrown in there. I have been told I don't have a solid grasp of genre, which is fair since the whole concept doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me anyways, I write what I want, and nothing else.
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