Free-Writing 102

Note:- This will be completely random..... I had no ideas coming into this session.

A man of No Great Circumstance, a child of philosophy and intellect, once lived and died within this world. For 70 years he worked and toiled. He broke his back so he could fuel his mind. Every day he felt older, and every morning he died a little more. His only respite were the evenings in which he could sit at his small desk, with his half burned candle and read his books and write his papers.

For 70 years this man read the greats: Aristotle, Socrates, Plato, Euripidees, Homer, on and on. He read their work til he could recite them. He wrote his own til his attic was full, and his hands were raw. But still, his body ached, and even more his mind rebelled. Thoughts they he considered tremendous in implication, and discoveries who's originality rivaled Da Vinci's.

For years he wrote and read, trying to discover some truth to life; but however long he studied, twas never enough. And all the questions he answered, he reasoned away, only spawned more questions and weighed even more heavily upon his mind.

He eventually married, and even fathered children of his own. But his mind was his world, and the Philosophers of the past were his only human companions.

50 years from now, no one outside his family will remember this soul. 100 years after that, not even his descendents will remember his name or cause. And 10,000 years from now, not even his biological make up will be a splotch within the human race.

So why did this man live, and what did he accomplish? Perhaps none but himself will ever know, perhaps not even he did.


Ps... Well.... *shrug*... I apologize for that.