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Wandering For The Ocean


JustMeMorgan
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Wandering for the ocean


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The Cliff

Along the cragged cliff the mali wandered, slowly approaching the edge he planted a staff into the ground and sat himself cross legged on the turf beneath him. Peering shly over the edge he could see, what must have been around two hundred feet down and from there shuffled himself a good metre away from such edge - he was not intending to plummet today.

 

 


The Sea

The mali had sat for a short while, watching as the sun rose. The gentle bask of its light washing against him with a firm wave of heat. He pondered for some time, thought, and debated within his mind before shaking it all off. A deep exhale from his chest would have been heard as he fixed his posture.

 

Soon enough he decided it was time to give peace to his aching mind, his breathing began to slow as he focussed on his mind. He began to treat his mind as if his element, the one he had spent centuries bonding with. For his mind was like the ocean and his life so far has had plenty of stones tossed in with no avail at causing waves, though it was never the small stones that got to him. 

 

It was the aches and pains of watching the cliff tops he had so loved crumble and fall, it was the boulders that toppled from these cliffs that crashed against the ground that caused more than ripples and waves that had gotten to him. For the mali had seen much in his life, he had seen lords rise and fall with or by his hand, it was the great evils of the world that he had so longed to fight but soon shortly fell in line with, it was the waterlogged homes he lived in and the friends he lost from such grottos that he so dearly missed.

 

And so he thought, what was wrong with going over that cliff?


 

 


The Sky

Soon still in the sun’s bask, the mali shook his head. “Those who fall over the edge are those who gave up too soon.” He said to himself, a simple elf’s simple philosophy. Life comes at a price and danger at every angle, perspective and truth. He shook off his regret, his doubt, and his past. For he turned his head to the sky seeing the gentle blue canvas with the splotches of white and his clear mind spoke again with a powerful and firm voice now, no doubt assured and surely no questioning.

 

“We are not built to struggle, we are built to endure it.”

 

And so he picked himself up with a tug of his staff, the mali’s smile coming back to him as he’d look back in land, for when he was on the edge of the world by it’s throat, he looked below and looked in front, but it was what above him - what he could reach - that had saved him.

 

 


 

I am writing this while slightly intoxicated, this is more so a personal piece of character development and more rather writing practice for myself in the attempts of improving and developing my own voice. I hope you all appreciate this short story as I did. I'm essentially trying to play around with imagery, oxford commas, as well as some other techniques

Edited by JustMeMorgan
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