The white noise although loud and obtrusive is calming and still. It crackles, pops, fizzes and dances in the ear. The sound, ever present is a dichotomy. Useful in its interpretation, utterly useless in its practice. This sound allows him to escape into a place where he is safe, yet he fears the indifference of his surroundings.

For as long as he could remember he could go there and escape. Lock out the world that caused him such strife and be alone. He preferred alone and it probably stemmed from the characteristics of his upbringing. But even the calm of solidarity made him edgy. As he escaped deeper and deeper into this haven, loosing himself in the sound a gnawing fear of the safe place would nip at his heels.

Shadows of doubt cast over his heart as he longed for a truer place of sanctum. Endless days that ran together like  one long exhausting dream  sapped  his hope slowly at first.  In this noise he lost his sense of time and orientation  to the world.  Deeper and deeper he forged hoping to loose his pesky pursuers whose aim seemed to be bent on ruining his safe place. But with each step forward the niggling pursuers hastened their pace and dug deeper at flesh.

Finally he stops  to rest.  His heart beating  at an alarming  rate, sweat beading on his brow rolls to his chin. He sits longingly on a fallen tree, his hand positioned in fists on his cheeks. He thinks the tree on which he is perched is like him. Surround by those who had stronger roots he has fallen from the forces that be. Encompassed on all sides by those who would seem more adept to the trial of wind and the ferocity of lightning, they seem to mock him in this debilitated state.

A cool breeze rustles the leaves and the noise intensifies. He thinks thinks he is safe as the rustling of the leaves drowns out the nervous beating oh his heart and the wild panting in his breath. But as he removes his hands from his face to observe this new place he realizes the danger he is in.

Suddenly from a new vantage point he is a moth fluttering above the scene, yet this is only in his mind. If he could fly far away from here and flee he would but he can only sit still, paralyzed without words or movement. He removed his mind from the situation and can see that the fallen tree is in fact himself. Uprooted, and stiff, he is helpless to those who have persued him.

Again a murmuring from the spectators rises in volume and the wind blows sharp now. He can hear the voices but is unable to pick out a single one. All that is heard is the white noise. The limbs of the taught towering trees reach out to one another and embrace as if to pass a secret between the circle of spectators. The main event is poised to begin and he is still left with out privy information as to what will happen.

From his aerial view he screams to himself but the words are logged in his throat. His heart beats faster as he can now see what will become of him, yet still he is unable to yell. He no longer wishes to be above it all a spectator to his own demise, but he knows not how to return to his body. The tears stream down his face and his body convulses at the fact that he can not escape this, he is left only to watch.

They emerge from the crowd wheeling axes as the wind blows even harder still. The noise is deafening now and like a child he covers his ears hoping to avoid it all. He wishes he could escape to another place. Somewhere where the noise is not so loud and the premonitions less brutal. It is at this point he stops everything coursing inside him and closes his eyes. As he inhales deeply and lets out all of the fear pent up inside him, he finds his peace.

The ax men dig deeply into his soft flesh, exposing very few rings. He is young yet, but is haunted beyond  his years. They chop and they hack digging deeper and deeper into his being. Slowly taking pieces of him away. The noise is still as loud as ever, but he does not pay it any mind. Still calm in his approach he understand now the way of things. He accepts his fate and realizes that he is given a unique perspective on it all.

The wind has calmed now and the noise is nothing more than a soft lull. The crowd has grown bored with the tail end of the event and goes back to their motionless drone. The ax men have gone and left little bits of him strewn about the arena. And he is still floating above with his eyes shut, like an Esper to his remains he gather whats left.

This is his peace he thinks. They take what they will, ravaging him to satisfy their needs. Leaving in their wake only scraps that are barely enough to nourish him. But he rises and floats in this breeze. The same breeze whose potential and penchant can change without notice and drive the mass into a frenzy or topple those who have not the deepest roots. But this all allows him to garner a different view and move more freely from place to place. Always with that same white noise.

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