talestair
It was dimly lit, but the flames in the candle did not provide a light in the darkness, but rather a mere means of creating shadows. They sprung outward, oblong and distorted, and created strange replicas of the hunched figures that stood, already altered enough by depression, over the walls. It was not the time nor the place for smiles, though the chatter that came -- albeit polite and awkward and quite uncomfortable, manners in the most blatant of terms -- was uncomfortable to those who remained silence, in mourning. The depression overwhelmed the scene.
For ages I had wanted nothing more, despite not knowing it, but to attempt to fill the vast and dark corners of my mind which were left empty, to rot, forgotten and alone in a mask of ignorance. I was not ignorant, nor was I innocent and not aware of any better, but rather I was left to think that there was no way for me obtain the more I wanted. And so, when it came the time that I might, by chance, learn something, the concept of a teacher came foreign to me.
It was dark, dank, and filled with a musk unlike that of a man, but rather a most putrid scent, vile on the tongue, one that lingered in the back of ones throat most uncomfortably. It pressed into the back of his mind, as he huddled there, eyes clamped tightly closed and discomfort obvious on his features. His heart was hammering, his mind was blanking, his thoughts were racing as if blurring and clashing against one another in their contradiction of what might be and what was happening; the fear had set in, the anticipation drove him to the edge and back, the fright of it shook him to the core.
I had forgotten once the difference between what was important to me and what was necessary. Had I remembered, on that occasion, it would have been clear to me to concentrate not on what would benefit, but on the smaller reactions, on the important little details that were otherwise overlooked: like the way I saw the world crumbling from behind those hard irises, like the way I saw the collapse of his figure in his heart, like the way he died just a bit more inside at the words slipping from my mouth; I would have noticed, rather than being concerned with myself, just how much I had damaged him.