ok so what i need is a search engine/image reference finder that is completely free of AI so that i can find some DAMN REAL IMAGE GOSHDAMNIT WHERES THE REAL STUFF AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGpoirhgwlokjfhlakjhfieuroiesuhljrhi
Morrado looks up from his tablet and out at the dark clouds swirling in the distance. Behind the array of purples, blues, and grays, traces of a vibrant red sunset slowly fades beneath the horizon. Lighting flashes across the sky, though it is not yet raining. Thunder responds in the distance.
Morrado sighs—more of a half-sigh with his disability—and lays back down on the bed.
Dull.
That word has had a lot more meaning in the past few years. Probably because he can't stop thinking it. It seems everything is dull now.
The room is still and silent, dark and clean... Completely empty of any singing or laughing that there one was. No friendly debating on fabrics and designs. No excitement or motivation to do anything, not when he's alone like this.
The only somewhat creative thing he can bring himself to do any more is to write about it. The loneliness, the worries. The fear that his missing half won't return—either by death or personal decision.
Sometimes—with his fingers hovering over the key board—he'll have the exact sentence of a heartfelt truth right there in his mind. But he doesn't write it. He can't write it. That would mean it's true.
But of course it isn't true!
After all—his brother won't be gone forever. He wouldn't leave Morrado like that. How could he? Isn't family the whole reason he's trying so hard anyway? He's off doing important things. Meaningful things. And me? I'm stuck at home. A home that doesn't feel like home without him. Ooo, I should write that down.
As he types it onto his tablet, Morrado feels a little better. Writing his thoughts and feelings, he feels, is the best way for him to cope with the lonely hours. Writing is all he can do, anyway.
All I can do while he's off saving the world…Morrado would have sighed again, but struggles to inhale. He puts his ventilator back on. It's not like I asked to be a medical nightmare. He's got enough burdens to deal with already.
Despite loving his perfectly healthy twin brother dearly, Morrado can't help but feel bitter that whatever fates or gods out there frowned upon him. He would at least feel better if he knew why. He had asked his aunt why—and as knowledgeable and powerful as she was—she couldn't give him a specific reason.
What she said, however, was so significant that he's still finding more meaning in it today.
"There is not always a reason or a why behind everything. Anything that happens can be by chance, impulse, command, and rarely–careful thinking. Whatever the means, actions/happenings will always contain some sort of consequence. Good or bad, half the time the results aren’t up to the people that are affected. You did not decide to have this ailment, and yet it ails you. All you can do is try to control your reaction."
At the time, Morrado had zoned out as she was speaking. Naturally, she gave him a transcript. That's just how she is sometimes.
Morrado smiles slightly, looking at the far wall where he painted her words. He hasn't seen Auntie in a while. Maybe he'll visit her after his next appointment.
With any luck, she won't be as depressed as she was the last time Morrado visited. No, don't get your hopes up. What else can I expect besides that, anyway? Her whole planet was corrupted by the same force that my brother is risking his life to find and destroy.
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