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Description
Ezekiel lay dying on the glass floor, a dying man's thoughts coursing through his thoughtstream.
I'm not a man, he thought. the whole of my existence I've had no love. No love from any angle.  My very experience as an abomination is an irony that almost seems fitting.  As if a pain this terrible almost deserves to be felt.  And I'm the lucky one, who gets to feel it.

It can only be a terribly deep insanity, that brings out this kind of rationalization.  But that despair only reinforces the feeling.

His killers stood next to each other, frozen and pale, next to bright and burning.  Their eyes relentless.

Reflections blazed in the close, flat, cold tiles.

Senile.  His mother was senile, no sane person could love him.  His ego was turning in on itself.  Strange visions wracked his mind as his essence drained further.

He became aware of a solitary figure, standing unseen, dark beyond dark, behind him.

I am the void, Ezekiel, and I know what you are feeling.

There can be no ambition without love.  And things like you and I, we won't get it.
Turn against them.
What good is life?
Turn against all of them, and make the world cry.
Crush them, wrench their insides until you can wrench no more.
Make them feel your pain. Make them feel your fury.  Make them all hurt.

I cannot ignore this wound, admitted Ezekiel.  But how can I stand against this?  I cannot deny the truth of my lack of ambition, but can this really be the only answer?

As life slipped further away, Ezekiel's surroundings seemed to change.  His eyes drifted back in his skull and the unusual realities of the thought world became revealed to him.

He became aware of a rock solid stone giant sitting heavily on the ground towering above him and halfway blocking out a bright light in the sky which was a sun but wasn't a sun.

It did not speak, but he could feel its granite thoughts as clearly as the cold air of the deepest cavern.

Be like me.  Don't move, dont speak.  Your strength is your silence.  Return to earth and do not think.  Be calm.  All things will end, before you do.

And it was a wearily comforting thought...

Ezekiel lay his head back on a nearby rock, and studied the field around him... and the sun that was not a sun was so insistently bright, that he could not keep his eyes from returning to it.  And as he studied it, a growing brightening feeling suddenly surged from inside himself.
White, righteous fury.  Like hatred turned inside out.
And he felt himself standing up.  It came from the multifaceted, multicolored shard that remained of his inner soul, his core self. And he told himself,

No....
Even against this, you can stand.  Discard fear, it is not needed.  Stand, be what you are, and do what you're capable of.  Nothing at all can tarnish the power of your creation.
So Create.

Description
Ezekiel lay dying on the glass floor, a dying man's thoughts coursing through his thoughtstream.
I'm not a man, he thought. the whole of my existence I've had no love. No love from any angle.  My very experience as an abomination is an irony that almost seems fitting.  As if a pain this terrible almost deserves to be felt.  And I'm the lucky one, who gets to feel it.

It can only be a terribly deep insanity, that brings out this kind of rationalization.  But that despair only reinforces the feeling.

His killers stood next to each other, frozen and pale, next to bright and burning.  Their eyes relentless.

Reflections blazed in the close, flat, cold tiles.

Senile.  His mother was senile, no sane person could love him.  His ego was turning in on itself.  Strange visions wracked his mind as his essence drained further.

He became aware of a solitary figure, standing unseen, dark beyond dark, behind him.

I am the void, Ezekiel, and I know what you are feeling.

There can be no ambition without love.  And things like you and I, we won't get it.
Turn against them.
What good is life?
Turn against all of them, and make the world cry.
Crush them, wrench their insides until you can wrench no more.
Make them feel your pain. Make them feel your fury.  Make them all hurt.

I cannot ignore this wound, admitted Ezekiel.  But how can I stand against this?  I cannot deny the truth of my lack of ambition, but can this really be the only answer?

As life slipped further away, Ezekiel's surroundings seemed to change.  His eyes drifted back in his skull and the unusual realities of the thought world became revealed to him.

He became aware of a rock solid stone giant sitting heavily on the ground towering above him and halfway blocking out a bright light in the sky which was a sun but wasn't a sun.

It did not speak, but he could feel its granite thoughts as clearly as the cold air of the deepest cavern.

Be like me.  Don't move, dont speak.  Your strength is your silence.  Return to earth and do not think.  Be calm.  All things will end, before you do.

And it was a wearily comforting thought...

Ezekiel lay his head back on a nearby rock, and studied the field around him... and the sun that was not a sun was so insistently bright, that he could not keep his eyes from returning to it.  And as he studied it, a growing brightening feeling suddenly surged from inside himself.
White, righteous fury.  Like hatred turned inside out.
And he felt himself standing up.  It came from the multifaceted, multicolored shard that remained of his inner soul, his core self. And he told himself,

No....
Even against this, you can stand.  Discard fear, it is not needed.  Stand, be what you are, and do what you're capable of.  Nothing at all can tarnish the power of your creation.
So Create.