The Lost Land of Arcadia: Part I

It’s been about thirteen years since the genocide — I estimate. A knavish genocide like no other, as I have no memory of it happening. It must have happened while my eyes were closed. I frequently question myself how I missed the destruction. This quick single thought of speculation unceasingly spiraled out of my control. The light wonder of what happened soon became a plague that weighed heavy on my existential shoulders, consuming me. Accusations swallowed me within a blink of an eye, devouring me like the genocide itself before I could even open my eyes. Who got in? Who did this to the ethereal paradise that once was? When did the celestial wonders get swept up by forsaken ash? I wrack my mind with how I missed the plunder of a city so golden. It must have happened while my eyes were closed.

This havoc can not happen in a blink of an eye. It happens slowly, then abruptly manifests all at once. Along with each blink and idle into slumber, minute treasures are purloined. It happens swiftly, as if by a blighting serpent or Ignis Fatuus, and goes unnoticed for decades. You will close your eyes at an unworldly time that no clock can depict, and come to the realization that everything that once was, is no more. You will not be shocked, scared, or sad. Instead, you will observe, numbed and apathetic. Let your eyes oscillate across the horizon, from right to left, drowsy and indifferent. Do not inhale too deeply, for drifting ash will irritate your passages.

Listen to the dull howl of the current as it sweeps the right side of your body. In the distance, the never ending hills are now grey and no longer infinite. The sky is no more, along with the empyreal light that would percolate the enchanted forest. The grey surrounding you closely matches that of the hills, that of the ash, that of the omnipresence. You will involuntarily stand still as concrete, with the grey catatonia to match. You will look, but you will not see. Engulfed in your mind — the genesis itself, the thought of how you could not protect your sanctuary is more devastating than the genocide entirely. With all temperament, vitality, and benevolence depleted; the numb vacancy prohibits you from exuding any sentiment, despite the turmoil. With Utopia turned to cinder, like a phoenix burst into flame, there is revival from the ashes — remember Arcadia…

— TSW