Riddle me this: how does one define his or her strength compared to the vast majority of the universe? In fact......what does it mean to have strength at all? The ability to survive cannot be all there is to strength, for all creation would suffer to bow to their knees as utterly weak when put up against death itself? Her mighty armor and keen tactics allow her to be practically indestructible, and thus forcing man to be seemingly defenseless against her. It seems as if Death herself is strongest amongst the lands, yet the idea of a prolonged life, and a attempt to rage war against death still lingers in the minds of even the greatest of philosophers.

    As you know, I am on a journey to find the one who walks around these parts and claims to be ideal. The ideal one must be able to fill every ounce of wishful inklings within my pitiful soul, and if not then he can not be deemed ideal, but rather, human.
    I have been traveling for about 18 days now, and have crossed almost everything imaginable. I have suffered the grand open trail, filled with loneliness and regret. I have climbed everlasting mountains that have rewarded me with only fear rather than accomplishment. I have taken the bite of a snake, and sworn to the gods above that I saw her majesty standing next to me in all her death and despair, but yet still to this day, not one thing has seemed, at the slightest, ideal.
    I cannot return to my town and to her majesty without a valid answer! To be quite honest, it is not as if I do not have an answer, but rather that the answer I do have, I am not satisfied with! I wish to taste more, and since my taste-buds can desire a taste greater than what they have already tasted, I must believe that their is something greater to taste!
    Those examining this journal of mine would attempt to question, "why is this fool babbling on about his desires and wishes, and not telling anyone about his journey?" Well, my dear reader, there is a terribly daft answer for that, and that is that I.Am.Lost.
    Horribly and freakishly lost...no one to turn too, no road to turn off of, just the dark forest ahead of me and a small lamp to guide path. I have stopped to write, because I am sure that I have heard creatures whispering in the dark, crying out devilish things, like "kill yourself" and "die today, not tomorrow." What these things could mean, I haven't the slightest clue! But I am sure that next time I write I will be in the light! I will be walking towards the sunrise on the hill of a green valley! I know it must be true, because I have wished it! I have dreamt it! And I believe that one's wishes and dreams shall come true through grand pursuit! I must stay calm and focused! I will make it to the ideal one....I just need to....keep...on walking...................
        I can hear the creatures calling again.............they call me by name....they say they want my heart....................I am not a coward.........I am...not....a coward.........I will....write....soon. Sincerely.......yours truly.....the diary of.......Frank Mogsley....
   
 
 
Morning's always felt the best, depending on what had happened the day before. I could not tell you how many times I spent my day listening to her high-pitched screaming throughout the day, just to go to sleep and wake up to a new day of silence. I could not tell you how many times she would lure me over to her dwelling place in complete indignation towards her behavior, and yet still manage to get me stuck in the trap. If you did not live in these parts of town you probably would have no idea what "the trap" was, or how it even looked like. You, my friend, would then be knighted by all that's good in the world as ideal.
     I laugh at the thought of one being, "ideal." Oh the things I could do with all that power! Just think! The strength of a thousand men, the laugh like a clap of thunder, and the grace like a million little sprites all floating together towards the sun. Now, there is talk around these parts that there is such a thing as, "idealism." I do not know if I believe in such a thing, but I'm writing because I am on a journey to find this so-called "ideal" lifestyle.. I am not afraid to spend the rest of my life in search for what could be a better life.
    The itching possibility that the reason I can even fathom  the thoughts of an ideal life must be because there is something greater than myself. I mean anything is better than a life surrounded by "her majesty's" death defying cries and ear-pinching fingernails every night on my bedroom walls. She has no love for even her most loyal of subjects, and no love for her most closest of friends. She hates. Oh, the most disturbing kind of hate! The kind of hate that wakes you up at night, grabs you by your body and allows you to feel the pouring out of her cold and poisoned heart.
    I have woken up to her at night before....and it is sad to say, but I have also even found myself going to bed with her at night. The one I  have attempted to flee and fight against with earth's strongest and toughest brigade of soldiers, and yet in the end have only been encouraging her to keep ravaging on in her pursuit against life itself.
    She has seduced me...and no doubt on this journey will seek to seduce me again. The venom on her tongue has become more than addicting, and she has learned how to grasp her claws around my throat to get me to follow her will. But, what if there were something greater? Something greater than life and death itself. What if idealism was greater than what I could imagine? What if the only way I could find it was through the ideal opening my eyes to see it?     There is not much else one could ask a man to do, than which he already has done and already has experienced, unless, his experience was everlasting and could never perish -- this is what seems to be what man finds as most ideal.
 

    Author

    My name is Ben Carter and I like to write. This is going to be a long continuous story about a man on a journey to find what and who is "Ideal" as he fights to escape the evil clutches of one who has that of a similar resemblance to death itself..

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