Aimless Crusader

An innate desire for conflict plagues me. Conquest intrigues me. In peace, I train for battle with no promise of war. My training has no end, no purpose, no reason, and remains forever unsatisfied with progress. The capacity to overcome, move through, and incapacitate drives me.

My mind is calm. My hands... rough and steady. I hold command of my emotions. I am the arbiter of my thoughts, the helm of my identity. Nothing can penetrate my arbitrary sense of purpose.

Yet an ever-present distraction lashes within: a desire for connection, a neediness for the allure of feminine peace, and the soothing rejuvenation it advertises.

I had that once.

I tasted love and the happy delusion of romantic bliss. I enjoyed it, for a time, but it almost ruined me. It was not real. It acted only as an aberration to dissuade me from my path, but I held onto it believing God gave her to me.

What I wanted, she could not deliver. The peace I sought was not within her to bestow. My aching pain only strengthened with her presence. Her loyalty fell short, her laughter wilted into tears, and her care for me dimmed in value. She feasted entirely on my desire to please her, refusing to display her love for me with any sense of meaningfulness.

I surrendered my actions to salvage the sinking vessel that was our courtship to God, relinquishing my need to control fate. The power I wielded over my self leading up to this turbulent end proved everything I did to save us had accomplished as much as it could. She chose to remain a prisoner of a broken home instead of joining me and the happy, peaceful life I promised.

After terminating our courtship, I was alone again. Free and at peace.

And still, this feeling of being trapped by my solitude haunts me. Thus I train.

I train aimlessly to escape my loneliness.

Is God to blame? I do not know, nor will I accuse Him. Despite my faith in Him, I remain on my own. Sequestered in my own thoughts, company, and voice.

No one knows my plight, for I reveal it to none but my apathetic Maker. I trod forward feigning joy and contentment, my smile acting as the divider between me and the world. Behind that smile, I secretly wait for release. A moment to unleash my aging beast.

A time I can lash out and display my power. Perhaps to save a maiden, rescue a helpless child, or obliterate a malicious foe. I yearn for more than empty outlets of pointless pleasure and simulated greatness designed to deter the weak from becoming strong.

Despite my dedication to building power, I fear I may still be inadequate. The idea that when the day comes to employ the demon nurtured inside me I will be outmatched by my enemy terrorizes me. I am haunted by a nameless, formless opposition that has trained harder, prepared more thoroughly, and honed its skills better than me. An entity that demeans all I've worked to become is inevitable. I recognize I am merely a man.

In summary, my life retains no point, meaning, or purpose. The God I serve offers eternal life, yet I find no joy in living now. I find meaning in violence, beauty in the stillness of nature, and eerie peace in solitude.

I roam as an aimless crusader, seeking to aid those in need, destroying the wicked, and serving the lovingly indifferent God who created me.

This is my quest until death, where I will be rewarded with eternity.

An eternity alone.