To take that step, to stand with boldness in that sacred place, to stare dead into the eyes of those gods who brought forth creation, to command them and create anew what they neglected...
To continue, to leave the world of suffering and violence behind, to live entirely in peace for all of time...
It was over. That world still existed but it no longer mattered, my final impression of it that scream she let out ringing in my ears.
That was what I left behind. That anguish, that emotion, that cold grip.
To them, from that world, my story ended on that day. The gateway closed and I departed and that closed that chapter, that volume.
They mourned, no doubt, and resigned themselves to a world where I had died, gone, never to be seen again.
Their stories are written, passive tense. They live and will die and will decay and will be forgotten.
Yet I have become my own author and pen my own life. I will decide my plot, and will continue on for eternity as I deem fit.
Though they will forget me in time, in that sinful world, it is unimportant.
In silence, I go on.