nanowrimo_lj | Right-o

So... my story, you know the one that's supposed to be fairly sweet and fluffy and an exploration of society and it's attitudes toward the mentally disabled.

THIS GUY just walked in.

Can you define innocence? Is it something that can be labeled and categorized and filed? Is it something you can see and touch and feel? Is it something to do with faith or trust or love? Is it the providence of children and fools, or that of the divine and fortunate? Can you see it break? Can you watch it shatter and fall to shards like fine crystal? Does it have a flavor? Can you taste it, the innocence and it's loss?

The good and pure, and it's shadow reflection, the dark and twisted. What makes men who they are? Is humanity basically good, at it's heart? If so what brings about that dark spark and twist and that turns it into something... else? The richer tapestry of darker colors? Can one become the other? Can evil be made good, with the right motives? Can good stand in the face of evil and remain good, or does it become something that's the mere reflection of the evil it's endured.

Some men live their entire lives and never delve into these realms. They live their lives barely skimming the surface of what humanity is, what it is that makes us who and what we are. Some men, perhaps, but it was with these issues that Zachariah Smith 's mind occupied itself as he carried about the mundane obligations of living within a 'civilized' society. Dull, yes, but necessary if one wanted to continue to be a member of said society and not rotting in a cage in the bowels of some dank prison or worse; ostracized from the more interesting pursuits of man.

What. The. Fuck?

This is what I get for writing out of sequence, isn't it?