Date: March 2006
Summary: Culture shock becomes too great
Status: Complete, oneshot
There was a time, long ago, when disease, warfare, devotion, and countless other qualities ruled the majority of the earth. While this has not been so for nearly a century in the United States, Ares Demarkos was not from the twentieth or twenty-first century. He was at one time a general in early Spartan history, a short blurb in a history book, whose reputation served as the inspiration for the god of ruthless war.
However, Ares was not content in this time. After sharing one night of respite, he came to realize that, this place, these people, he would never be able to learn to fit in. They were advanced beyond his knowledge, his time. Children were generally more learned than the average man, and countless times, the man had to fend for himself in order to keep alive on the streets. He was a beggar now, a far cry from the glorious man that he was at one time.
Which was why, now, he sat crouched in a dingy alley, sick once again from whatever ailment thrived nowadays, a small blade in his hands. Things had become too much for him. Sighing heavily, he took the kitchen knife he'd stolen and pressed it against his arm. Sweet pain flooded his forearm as he cut not horizontally across his wrists, but vertically, at jagged ngles, cutting open the artery located there.
It was a quick ordeal, and as the end came, Ares felt nothing. The man died, but the immortal legend lived on.