[center][h2][color=purple]Richard West[/color][/h2][/center]

Location: The Compound

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The day started with a somber tone for Richard. Not for any particular even that happened but more of a mood that comes and goes from time to time. With little to do, he often elected to think philosophically about the situation. This could vary from the grandiose ‘What is the purpose of life?’ to ‘Why are things the way they are?’ with many topics in between. Currently he was having a bit of an existential crisis. What is the meaning of [i]his[/i] life? It is simple to think of the purpose of life in general as, in a sense, one removes themselves from it. It is thinking that applies to everyone. But when one thinks of their self, the connotations can get more frightening. 

Does his life have no purpose, and by some random chance his life had to have this condition? Was his life merely a game of chance, one that he lost (or won, depending on the perspective). It is quite depressing to think that because of this unlucky hand he was dealt, he is in his present circumstance. Confined away from a society that hates him merely because he exists.

Or is there a purpose to this madness? Is there some forgotten prophecy of old that he is somehow meant to fulfill? Was this all designed by some unseen hand? If this is his fate, can he defy it? Or is he only able to succumb to it. If life is a play, is he the actor that plays the role that is assigned to him or is he the writer that can alter the story?

All those prospects were equally unnerving to him, though others might have a favorite. As much as he enjoys philosophy, this topic tends to leave a feeling of hopelessness and despair. Looking for an exit, he decided to head for the plaza. It is a sunny day, and he woke up in his usual cold, cramped ‘room’ (which was more like a closet given his size than a living space). There are a few places he likes to bask in the sun and do a little more thinking. After a short saunter to the plaza, he found one such spot in full view of the sun, near the center. Flanked on one side with a short two foot wall, and a large indention in the stonework big enough for his body. After a brief stretch, he lied down like a cat would when taking in the sun’s warmth. Except this cat would be much, much bigger than you and could probably rip your face off in one swipe.

Given that appearance, most people tended to avoid him, walking around if he was near rather than risking a collision with his path. Despite probably just about everybody in the area at the very least knowing of him, few bother to interact with him. Maybe it’s just his monstrous appearance, or maybe it’s that he appears to lack any way to talk that deters people. Most people were oblivious to the fact that he actual could communicate (after all, physical contact is an action most would rather avoid with him), something that spooked just about every peacekeeper he ‘talked’ to resulting in multiple accidents. 

Satisfied with his position curled into a semi sphere and with the sun on his back, he turned his thoughts to something a little more upbeat.  Focusing his vision on the crowd around him (though with little movement of his head), he wondered what everyone else was doing. They all probably have stories of their own. Some of them were probably content with the life they had, others no doubt still harbored the same malice over the last 13 years. And there were doubtless more in between who did not care anymore or had little hope beyond just living. Some of them hurried along their path, others took it slow, and there were even a few who clearly were trying not to draw attention to themselves. Before letting his mind wander, he wondered if anyone would try to talk with him today? Probably not, but who knows. Maybe today is the day something interesting happens. Perhaps there is still more to add to his own story.