fallenwarrior64
Member!
- Joined
- Nov 13, 2002
- Messages
- 24
- Reaction score
- 0
- Location
- Wandering Battlefields
- Website
- fallenwarrior64.diary-x.com
This is how my alter ego "The Fallen Warrior" came to pass.
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I am who I am. Nothing more and nothing less. I don’t know where I came from and I don’t know who my parents are. I just know that I am and that I cannot change that.
I do not know why I am writing this. There will be no redemption for me once I die, the blood on my hands is too red to be cleaned away by the grace of God. I don’t even know if there is a God, religion is not my thing. I believe there is a Hades and a Heaven, but a God who shows infinite mercy and grace, sounds like a childs fairy tale to me.
I have no name. I am a nameless wanderer. A man who has no place to call his own and that cannot escape what he is. I just started out my life like I am. I have not aged a day that I have been living. I look like I am in my late teens or early twenties, when I am really close to eighty years old, or that is when I consider my birth. The first thought I had was myself in a room laying on a bed. I sat up, looked around and did not know who, where or what I was.
I have fought many battles. That is how I can move from place to place and not have my secret found out. I fight in a battle and then become “missing†during a conflict, never to be seen again by former friends. The truth is that I go into hiding for a few years in another country and then return to the United States. This way no mortal finds out my secret.
I call human beings mortal because I find myself to not be mortal. I have been shot many times, but not died. I have even been shot straight in the heart and healed within hours. I look and bleed like a human does, but once I am shot, all I need is to simply remove the bullet or whatever has been shot into me and the wound heals. Of course the wound does not heal instantly, it does take some time, but it leaves no scar. I think the only way to kill me is to either take my head off or put a bullet in my brain.
The last time I went “missing†I came back to the U.S. was just after the Desert Storm conflict. What a boring war. I was bored very quickly and decided to relive myself of the wasteful time of fighting a pathetic enemy. I do not know why I like the U.S. so much, it may be the people, so frail but so eager to stand up in what they believe in. They intrigue me, how they can be a nation edging on the brink of destruction but still believe that they are right.
Today, I am an assassin. A very good one I might add. Over the past eighty years I have honed my body and skills to where I could jog and still beat the worlds fastest man. I can see a crow riding the wind from a mile away. I can hear the drop of a feather from a mile away, also. My legs and arms have impeccable strength. I can simply leap over a ten-foot fence with ease. I can punch through a man if I wish, but then my shirt has a nasty mess on it.
The weapon I use is not a gun. Guns are for cowards that have no spine. Guns are also so impersonal. That is another thing about me, I love to see a man, woman, or child die in front of me, to see the life drain from their eyes. I love to hear the sounds of a persons last breath and then the limpness of their entire body. I cannot tell you why I am like this also.
The weapon I use is a sword. The finest ever created, forged from pure titanium. It is razor sharp. With enough force, I can cut a diamond, contrary to popular belief. It is maybe three foot four inches long, slightly curved, and very deadly. I have sent many a souls to Heaven or Hell, whatever you believe, with my sword. The stain of blood runs like a river from my sword.
Why am I telling you this you ask? Why would I want anyone to know what I am and what I do? Because I do not feel anymore. I have lost all emotion of caring and loving. I just want to feel again. I want to see if a person will see past my blood soaked hands and not see me for the monster that I am. But I do know this will not happen so I know my efforts are in vain.
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I am who I am. Nothing more and nothing less. I don’t know where I came from and I don’t know who my parents are. I just know that I am and that I cannot change that.
I do not know why I am writing this. There will be no redemption for me once I die, the blood on my hands is too red to be cleaned away by the grace of God. I don’t even know if there is a God, religion is not my thing. I believe there is a Hades and a Heaven, but a God who shows infinite mercy and grace, sounds like a childs fairy tale to me.
I have no name. I am a nameless wanderer. A man who has no place to call his own and that cannot escape what he is. I just started out my life like I am. I have not aged a day that I have been living. I look like I am in my late teens or early twenties, when I am really close to eighty years old, or that is when I consider my birth. The first thought I had was myself in a room laying on a bed. I sat up, looked around and did not know who, where or what I was.
I have fought many battles. That is how I can move from place to place and not have my secret found out. I fight in a battle and then become “missing†during a conflict, never to be seen again by former friends. The truth is that I go into hiding for a few years in another country and then return to the United States. This way no mortal finds out my secret.
I call human beings mortal because I find myself to not be mortal. I have been shot many times, but not died. I have even been shot straight in the heart and healed within hours. I look and bleed like a human does, but once I am shot, all I need is to simply remove the bullet or whatever has been shot into me and the wound heals. Of course the wound does not heal instantly, it does take some time, but it leaves no scar. I think the only way to kill me is to either take my head off or put a bullet in my brain.
The last time I went “missing†I came back to the U.S. was just after the Desert Storm conflict. What a boring war. I was bored very quickly and decided to relive myself of the wasteful time of fighting a pathetic enemy. I do not know why I like the U.S. so much, it may be the people, so frail but so eager to stand up in what they believe in. They intrigue me, how they can be a nation edging on the brink of destruction but still believe that they are right.
Today, I am an assassin. A very good one I might add. Over the past eighty years I have honed my body and skills to where I could jog and still beat the worlds fastest man. I can see a crow riding the wind from a mile away. I can hear the drop of a feather from a mile away, also. My legs and arms have impeccable strength. I can simply leap over a ten-foot fence with ease. I can punch through a man if I wish, but then my shirt has a nasty mess on it.
The weapon I use is not a gun. Guns are for cowards that have no spine. Guns are also so impersonal. That is another thing about me, I love to see a man, woman, or child die in front of me, to see the life drain from their eyes. I love to hear the sounds of a persons last breath and then the limpness of their entire body. I cannot tell you why I am like this also.
The weapon I use is a sword. The finest ever created, forged from pure titanium. It is razor sharp. With enough force, I can cut a diamond, contrary to popular belief. It is maybe three foot four inches long, slightly curved, and very deadly. I have sent many a souls to Heaven or Hell, whatever you believe, with my sword. The stain of blood runs like a river from my sword.
Why am I telling you this you ask? Why would I want anyone to know what I am and what I do? Because I do not feel anymore. I have lost all emotion of caring and loving. I just want to feel again. I want to see if a person will see past my blood soaked hands and not see me for the monster that I am. But I do know this will not happen so I know my efforts are in vain.