(note this thread is not meant to be strictly comedic, though there is a rather silly paragraph. also while there's no strictly bad words, there are the implications of stuff that innit pg)
I am as the title frames me. This is a story of my life, and not a truly historical account. My name is Nwalme Fuvur, I am one of the few descendants of my father Basil; whom has changed his middle and last name many times, and due to the circumstances of my conception did not allot me his chosen family name after my birth. This story is just that: A story. I have lived much of it, but some of the details have been spared, others exaggerated, and the last I wish to do is frustrate my audience. One of the details I cannot change and feel honest with myself, however, is my own character. There are many stories, countless stories, infinite in the realms of our imagination. These stories are populated by heroes, by crusaders, and by men who may not fascinate us but who may enchant us with their moral fortitude in times of hardship.
I am callous, I am bitter, I am world-weary, and I am old. I do not like the universe, and the rules of it that pain myself and those I love, it has made me cynical and I will admit to many instances of crying despite the taboo of doing so with my set of genitalia. You may not like me, but I will try and paint the others in this story in a fashion I hope is acceptable for the general audience. While still remaining honest, mostly.
As you may rightly and correctly guess, I am a bastard. It is true in both definitions, as I am a bastardly bastard who has bastardized many things in his time; my father, too, is a bastardly bastard. He has set loose from his loins many bastards, who may or may not be as bastardly as he and I, but I'm sure many have bastardized and been bastardly bastards in the time since their bastardly births in bastardly slums. At least, such is my presumption, as I have been born in bastardly slums.
I have sired no bastards of my own, and have no intentions to. Formally, I have born children out of wedlock, and thus legally they were not conceived on a wedding bed. However, I have been fathers to these formal bastards, and would not consider them such. I love my children, though in some respects I am as good as the father who made a pyre of himself when I was fourteen, and left me to my own devices henceforth. I have never, however, actively wished ill will upon or harmed my own sons and daughters; nor shall I in my lifetime.
It is in this book, memoir, comic, or... artistic depiction? I shall attempt to come to terms with my life as I have lived it. I have made many friends, and so few enemies. Who is it, truly, that could ever be an enemy? Is an enemy not someone who just teaches us a lesson in life that a friend could not?
"I Am Smoke"
I am as the title frames me. This is a story of my life, and not a truly historical account. My name is Nwalme Fuvur, I am one of the few descendants of my father Basil; whom has changed his middle and last name many times, and due to the circumstances of my conception did not allot me his chosen family name after my birth. This story is just that: A story. I have lived much of it, but some of the details have been spared, others exaggerated, and the last I wish to do is frustrate my audience. One of the details I cannot change and feel honest with myself, however, is my own character. There are many stories, countless stories, infinite in the realms of our imagination. These stories are populated by heroes, by crusaders, and by men who may not fascinate us but who may enchant us with their moral fortitude in times of hardship.
I am callous, I am bitter, I am world-weary, and I am old. I do not like the universe, and the rules of it that pain myself and those I love, it has made me cynical and I will admit to many instances of crying despite the taboo of doing so with my set of genitalia. You may not like me, but I will try and paint the others in this story in a fashion I hope is acceptable for the general audience. While still remaining honest, mostly.
As you may rightly and correctly guess, I am a bastard. It is true in both definitions, as I am a bastardly bastard who has bastardized many things in his time; my father, too, is a bastardly bastard. He has set loose from his loins many bastards, who may or may not be as bastardly as he and I, but I'm sure many have bastardized and been bastardly bastards in the time since their bastardly births in bastardly slums. At least, such is my presumption, as I have been born in bastardly slums.
I have sired no bastards of my own, and have no intentions to. Formally, I have born children out of wedlock, and thus legally they were not conceived on a wedding bed. However, I have been fathers to these formal bastards, and would not consider them such. I love my children, though in some respects I am as good as the father who made a pyre of himself when I was fourteen, and left me to my own devices henceforth. I have never, however, actively wished ill will upon or harmed my own sons and daughters; nor shall I in my lifetime.
It is in this book, memoir, comic, or... artistic depiction? I shall attempt to come to terms with my life as I have lived it. I have made many friends, and so few enemies. Who is it, truly, that could ever be an enemy? Is an enemy not someone who just teaches us a lesson in life that a friend could not?
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