The everlasting word written by the deranged hand, never does it leave. The darkness and lightness portrayed lives on, long after the creator’s demise. Sipping champagne in the meager light at the end of day, I glow in knowing that what I say today will be documented in the scrolls of the past and cannot be undone. I am immortal as my words—writing is immortality.
I may be a lesser god but I am a god, nonetheless. My words bequeath that I am listened to and understood and worshiped. Whether good or bad, it cannot be disputed that my scrawled ramblings will be idolized by tribes of the future. My words will be categorized with that of the greats—I am an author.
The troubles I created for my chosen subjects never lost in the wind. I take minds to the next level of consciousness and cause torment in souls. I crossed the waters of the mighty Styx and am no worse for the wear. Seraphim set my path and I can only obey. In a millennium, after I am but a skiff of dust, I will be there, standing, watching, smiling as my words are scanned to memory.