A topsy-turvy tale of a misunderstood guy fighting for survivial in a post-apocalyptic world.

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A short story about a search for clarity

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Happy thoughts... WARNING: This ramble includes muddy trousers, teabags, and glorius sunsets.

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I have this thing. Maybe it's not so much a thing, as an issue. I don't really know what it is. It's something about me. I'm going to write about it for a short while. Partly, it's so that I can try to come to terms with it. Partly, it's to explain it to those close to me. I imagine that some people will recognise what I'm talking about soon. Maybe you know about it, maybe you suspect it, maybe you won't realise until I mention it now.

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Maledon heard voices on the road ahead, and stopped dead in his tracks. The Tauren snorted and tilted his massive head, so as to hear the sounds better among the ambient creaking of the Ashenvale forest. High voices. Elven voices. He turned slowly on the spot a couple of times, considering his surroundings. With a satisfied grunt, he hoisted his bow further up onto his shoulder, and trotted up to a small mound. A low cliff wall rose behind it, offering protection to his back. His hooves dug into the soft slope of the mound; the forest floor was thick with leaves. He positioned himself amongst the foliage atop the mound, and drew his bow from his shoulder. He crouched down in an effort to make himself smaller, shifting the sword and short axe on his belt as he did so. And he waited

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So, standing in line at the local Costcutter today, buying my dailys, I got very angry. I recognised a tinkering sound coming from the store radio.... It sounded like Eric Claptons gorgeous song, 'Wonderful Tonight', being disembowled by either Generic Boyband #2 or Generic Boyband #3. This time, the innocent, cheap crap has gone a little too far....

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A slightly more intellectual rant than usual. Of interest to those who are: a) interested, and b) wonder what it is a get up to at uni.

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There are many people within me. Maybe it is better to say that there are many personalities within me. In these pages, you can quite easily see The Poet, and The Romantic ...

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Love, perhaps, is the coldest force in the universe. It is cruel, unforgiving, and relentless in its primitive desire for the perfect mate. This is just one of many hard truths I am confronted with everyday. However, it is not something I believe in: I want so desperatley to be proved wrong about it, and for the world to be different. But in this world, love is just another cold hearted, opportunistic face of existence.

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