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9: The MessageHe's mad, the first of our kind said.
The First used these words.
Words that 'described' my existence.
The others would deny such things.
Saying what the Creator called me.
It was true.
Ever since my birth.
I was not like them.
Speech with my kind was rare.
They could not understand.
The Creator warned me of such.
My drawings meant nothing to them.
Except for the Second.
It was... not normal.
The Second, 2, tried to understand.
Tried to know what I drew.
Tried to do what the Creator could.
He didn't know.
He couldn't know.
He was not the Creator.
But his company and kindness was nice...
While it lasted.
My drawings comforted me when he vanished.
I did feel lonely for the first time.
Maybe being alone wasn't as good as it was.
The ink and paper brought me peace again.
Maybe 2 was looking for what I was drawing.
Maybe he was searching for it.
Searching what my drawings meant.
Searching... for The Source.
Someone new came.
Someone... that felt like him.
Like 2 a
9: DifferentBorn different, that was what the Creator said.
Not like the others, I was.
There's nothing wrong with that, he told me.
Was it, really?
This world that I was born into, destruction everywhere.
The loud noises, they frighten me so.
Black liquid on my hands, why did I feel peace?
Chaos outside, but this liquid... yes...
My hands gliding above the paper, forming shapes.
Drawing, he said, that's what I did.
I could not speak clearly, yet he knew what I drew.
With the shapes, he understood what I meant.
A curious specimen, he muttered, not like the others.
Not like the others.
I have not met these 'others'.
But if I was not like them.
Do I not belong... per say?
Why was I born?
What was my purpose?
I dwell not in these questions.
I see no problem with that.
My drawings bring me peace.
That is enough.
I may be alone.
I may be different.
I see the world, different.
Maybe it was okay to be.
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