The world is made up of much more than brave heroes and spineless fools. Every person in every land, of every color, of every psyche - cold or hot, black or white, sad or glad, good or ill - are part of a great story; a rolling, thundering epic, starring nameless faces and every soul who has ever inhaled even a single breath. Invisible people you'll never meet, forgotten by time, stolen away in a gust of wind just outside of your temporal reach. We flounder about in a story built on stories, a world built on worlds, fabricated with the tears and laughter of thousands that we'll never even know. Never even think about.
Time is cruel to the untrained eye. You will be forgotten by this world. I will, too. Maybe not for a while - maybe not even for centuries. Eventually, however, we'll fade out of mind. Best case scenario, the history books will hold our names in their pages, but even that is unlikely.
But that doesn't mean that we weren't here. That they weren't here. One thing that the people of the world share is that we were, we are, we will be here. And in all likelihood, we each exist because someone died, long ago, their names smudged out of reality's memory. We exist also because someone lived, saved from the clutch's of destruction by some random act of chance (assumedly).
Were they a hero? A villain? Someone in between? Was their skin dark as night? Were their eyes hued with morning? Did their smile dimple? Did they laugh often, or would they rather think of the more unpleasant things?
They were there. Seen by but a few, they ran their race and now their names are likely carved in gravestones miles and miles from where you are. Or, perhaps, some may lie in your own neighborhood. One just might happen to be your grandfather's neighbor.
The path we walk in time is a short one. We will see many faces, each hiding dreams and hopes and humors that we will never know. They will see us. And time will hiss like sand in the wind, and we will flip on to the next page, and the next. Time waits for no man. It shows no prejudice.
They will be forgotten. But they were there. And we are here. Nameless faces to the rest of the world, but each writing their own chapter in the grand tale that is time. And truly, time wouldn't be the same without them.
This is the prologue for a book I'm going to really try hard and finish. Instead of NaNoWriMo, it'll be... PeCeWriYePro! (Personal December Writing Year Probably. xD)