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What do you do when your mind rationalizes with your heart, yet your heart continues to plague your sanity? Do you continue to live, praying for another and currently fill the void with "hope"? Do you brush her aside when she has already tapped into you like no other? Do you cast your fantasy to hell and embrace reality with no regret?



Will you be whipped and become submissive to your feelings, only for momentary ecstasy?

Will you harness control and almost be forever numb, finding comfort in isolated truth?



A battle brews and boils inside me again, between my heart and mind, one of pure feeling and one of logical shrewdness; two entities who I have recognized as Fantasy and Reality. Conjured from my soul and sanity, these two have fought a grudge since the words "I Love you" were unleashed from my lips. One takes care of another and balances out perfectly, yet the equilibrium is disturbed when I begin to grow warm towards a particular someone. For the longest time, Fantasy has been the ruler of Jerusalem. Overlooking his land, he owned everything as far as the eye could see. He feared nothing, but a solemn rain cloud in the distance that sparked his interest, but paid no mind. Little did he know that by not recognizing the cloud as an omen, he would soon pay dearly.

The Compromise, a being in a living state composed of both Fantastical and Realistic traits. One who is aware and conscience of they're existence and neither fears nor greets them, though he understands that life would become extraneous without them and acknowledges them as his perspective oversight in life. Fantasy has ruled since the time of the Compromise's birth and has reined without thought, and because of that carelessness, the Compromise has felt pain. In the mists of Jerusalem, out in a cave, was a powerful one being born; Reality. All the pain that was allowed helped shape and mold him. Maturity and repeated opening wounds fathered an anarchist, The Prophet. With time and pertinence, the rebel was complete, a knight of all knights. Mounting on his white steed that resembled his armor with a blood-stained cross on his chest, he set forth onto his divine mission. Pillaging and raping thoughts of joy and glee in a cynical manner, he reviles their true message, they're dark secret. In doing so, his means is to display their true perspective, and thus, giving the Compromise power. All the pain that the Compromise had endured through this, was numbing him, and equaling power. Reality did this to fortify a defense; all in the name to protect. Trotting his way to the Holy Land, the sanctum of my psyche, he enters the castle swiftly and undetected through a crack in the lower east corridor. To his surprise, it was a dungeon, and in this dungeon he discovers memories of long old. To each, he re-justifies and analyzes the tortured souls that wailed and moan, kept in cages and malnourished by "his majesty". Unshackling the pain, the memories dissipate, and a small quake is felt. Reality also feels the Compromise numbing; this pleases him, knowing that he is winning his crusade. Dismounting from his mighty steed, he rises up the wooden ladder that lead to his exit. On the other side of the door, awaited him the King's Royal Army; Sentries of Sentiment. With imprinted order from their king not to let the intruder come any further, for whom he has branded as "The Bringer of Discontent". As the door swung open, the liberator silently sighed at ignorance that stood in front of him. The eye-stunning glare of his white armor symbolized an abyss of blank madness that wrought pain and destruction… or so to Fantasy and his brainwashed people. Slowly walking to the four guards that blocked his path, head bowed, he reached for his head and dawdling away, he removed his helmet. Covered by shadows, he reveals to them his face, and to the shock-and-aw of the defenders, he looked just like their king. The only difference was in his face. He looked older, wiser, and with a goatee. Plus he also wore glasses. But the one most distinctive feature was that of his eyes; they were blind white. His eyes had shown an equivalent to the masculinity of his armor. Reality gazed and glided his dead eyes to each of the men, lightly kissing their minds. As he did so, his eyes had enlightened the men profoundly in reflection of the past. Finishing his recalibration, all four of the guards released their arms, and crumbled into tears. Damn their conviction, damn their king. He had shown them the horrid truths of loving someone too deeply; loving with all, and nothing to crawl back to for comfort.

Stepping over the broken men, he gains entry to the tower, housing his arrogant foe. The spiral stone steps that lay before him seemed endless with only two torches every so often illuminating the way. As Reality look his first steps up, he set free harbored depression, years long encased with pain and anger. Another rumble, this one so strong, pebbles fell from the stony walls. The stilled shadows left by his footprints bled and engulfed the blunt rocky slabs. Higher and higher he rose, patiently striding receiving grief and offering a sedated fact. Sadly though, it was of more pain, but gave insight and reasoning, opposed to thrown feelings that gave no reassurance, no supporting wall of "I understand now". The more the solider ascended, the more the walls grew unstable and the shocks were more furious than ever before. With the collect shadows compiled together, it seemed as though he trailed oblivion for a cape, a cape that sighed in relief that echoed the tower in a frightening chorus. The walls grew more and more unsteadily, violently breathing in and out as if the blocks were to explode all at once as the final steps where seen on the ever closing horizon.

At last, that absolute step was realized, and with it, the walls paused their quiver, and all at once, they soundlessly cascaded into the abyss that was left below, never hearing their crash. Reality pitied the architect's flawed structured; to base the foundation of sole heart… nothing reinforces the heart. The white crusader was at his goal. Only but a cracked door stood between him and Fantasy's Chamber. Light flashed and danced on and off. As the pearl chain mail of his hand bloomed on the dying oak, he found a silhouette of the king, outlined in flames. King Fantasy sat with his head hung; watching the fire rein up and down, like his legacy was being played before him. Sitting… wallowing… crying. The once admired and respected monarch who ruled for so long, so jubilantly, is now pathetic and feeble. Still honoring his code, the lighting knight kneels before the depressed emperor. He slowly rises and whispers the few words that would now ultimately seal his throne-ship;



"Memories do not lie, and neither do I…"



Unsheathing his judgment, he silently and swiftly made just. No more than a faint flash and red rain. The body fell with ease and the head rolled with fresh tears. A new emperor took his noble place and laid his weary-self on the throne. Plotting his new order, the skies above began to grow black and grim; the clouds blanketed the city in night. Planted and relaxed, his journey was now at fin. He noticed the head winking the light from the fire. To this point, he realized that he had never seen Fantasy's face. Odd enough, he picked up the severed head and held it in alarm and astonishment… for that Fantasy looked just… like him. Like him, in a time where he was younger and very naïve, not knowing the definition of "pain". The face was relaxed as if he knew that his time had come, and had accepted this will with all. Never to blossom. Confused and petrified he thrust the head into the fire, yet immediately, he felt like he had done a horrible wrong. Pain surged within him, up, and coughed blood… never once did he shed this red coat, up until now. This seemed very illogical and very incomprehensible to him. He feared that his repercussions of his actions were too cataclysmic. No, his purpose was not in vain. All the years that he hid under the scope, all the years he trained in covert, not once did he ponder that it was for not. Regrouping, he walks chest puffed to the only window that foresaw the land, and its people… HIS people. The liberation was over, and he spoke to the common folk on the grounds;



"My people, need not fear me, for I have come to save and liberate you. The time you have endured in the bleak light of Fantasy and his lies are over. The pain is dead. My brothers, sisters, my children soon to be, let your eyes widen to me. Do not fear the light that guides and pulls you up. Once filled with the reality, you will become numb. And when you are numb, immortality is possible!!"