He wondered, how could a person of such magnitude fall to the sounds of birds? How would a person, rather something the opposite, a Thjucha, a combination of letters which mean nothing its witnessed, be created? Upon a thought, a human as witness, would concur, it would furrow its brows, it would retreat to a protective measure.
I arrived upon the dead, looked into its eyes as it looked onto me with a blank, emotionless expression. I touched him, he showed no resistance as a contrast to myself, how much I was attracted to him, a force moving my own without my own control. I watched and felt, falling into a weep as he touched my hand, gripping it lightly with a feeling of doom and lock. My knees became weak but unable to rest, unable to stop as the figure continues, as Thjucha continues to guide me toward the vapid air. And with a blow of it it graces my skin, as a peaceful and warming comfort, for how evil I was to think he was.
How would I describe such a man? Or lack of man, the dullness, the lack of acknowledgement at others and itself. It simply stood there, naked with nothing to cover for its morbid, prickled body which looked more like a cordon than the protective shell of a body.
I now rest here, looking over the village of which I live in. Another day awaits the suns rise as the people of the streets continue moving, the worry of currency as a concern with no regard for what lays above us, what awaits for more than the sun. How pitiful, how forgetful. Throughout my memory, a single occurrence dawns upon me, that Thjucha isn't a thing, a singular entity, it's in all of us. Like a parasite, a parasite not needing to latch on for survival but simply for pleasure, for the enjoyment of the suffering of other entities, objects.
Are we humans, the greatest entity to ever grace the Earth, really that? Are we the greatest entity to ever grace the Earth or are we simply an entity? Well, such questions may be answered another day, for I have returned to the mind of a layman. One which cannot be bothered by the intelligent of something more than myself.
Apologies Reader, you shall not worry as no such thing as Thjucha has existed. This is simply a piece of my mind and as such, is simply the story or memory of an ignorant peasant with no further aspiration than to consume what I desire.
Thank you, Rudson.