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Fictional Writings of Elleander Grey


  • “Good luck.” Elleander really couldn’t think of much else to say. He couldn’t find a meaningful phrase for the situation. ‘Good luck’ was all he could muster up. Elleander had been having a tough time finding meaning in words for some time now. He couldn’t shake it; the constant overwhelming subtle emptiness which social interactions now offered him was embedded in his life. His friends and those he used to consider friends no longer aroused emotion in his being. All of a sudden his mechanical response to strangers became his loving response to friends. Regardless of friends or strangers, Elleander was always one easy to accept another being. No matter what their interests or what their purpose, 'friends' may well be strangers in his heart. Elleander quickly extracted a person';s concept of reality. He skillfully snatched meaning behind words and phrases to create a character like the one before him in his mind. Eventually Elleander’s amiability seceded, and so did his ability to decipher character. But the loss of his ability did not come without the acquisition of a greater power. Sociality caused Elleander much pain and hostility, but now Elleander could create a landscape of an entire world within his head. He gained all that he had given up, and so he was inwardly content. He no longer cared to express an outward appearance of happiness. He had forced himself to be socially acceptable for too long. He no longer cared. It was impossible to convince anyone else of true inner-happiness. And so Elleander was happy. You could feel it when you shook his hand. When you looked into his eyes and the sorrow of indifference crept upon you like the shadow of a stranger as he walked behind you. His power contained his indifference, and his indifference shielded his heart like a bottle of wine contains its blood.
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