A hopeless trudge through the sea of green is interrupted for a time, as a wistful breeze rolls over our lives, taunting us to leave, but we know it is impossible. I carry with me nothing now: the same as my past, but different.

Gray notes smoothly soar from the mansion, somberly strolling across raven-feathered clouds, destroying much. The notes are the same: lustre-lost, perfect, boring notes, laughing at our servitude. But then a change. An angelic harp, strumming melancholic, sleepy chords. A time long gone, a time only remembered.

Flowers brightly blazing, birds cheerfully chirped, and my life in harmony. I was free, in the greenery of life, listening to the sights around me, taking in much. Fading leaves fell fadingly, lovingly accepted by the ground, joining its companions in blissful death.

My chair was made of brown wood from the nigh-pristine Ardenian Forest, and it had little nicks here and there, scratches of my youth, my blessed youth. I would always rock back and forth on that thing, thinking of nothing, living in the moment, hypnotically driven to sleep.

On that day, a mere year ago, I picked a white flower. Of all the red and green, the white spoke, and its beckon never lifted. It has its petal open, and there was a little smattering of yellow in its hearts, smelling of love, of a time past, of a time only remembered.

She was playing a harp, on a grassy hill, wind breezing in her hair. This was our life, a life of nothing, but happiness. Blond streaks flew through despairful sky, lighting the ocherous sunset with light-lines. On the horizon lay sweet nothing.

Darkness fell upon our lives then. Stomps of war stormed our land, each step taken a step towards our deaths, never to be free. I was taken, awoken to the banality of equality, which makes some more equal than others.

I don't know where she went. But all that matters is our vanished times, our vanished lives polished over by the glitzy veneer of eternal slavery, and we will never end our lives with the calm so prized.

I scatter seeds across the land, and I know they'll grow. They were all once different, but engineered to be the same. But as I throw the future, the tide of hope washes over me, and the future may have light, or at least the sunset.