There was a time, way back in the dusty past, where no man has ever set a foot. It was then, when a carrion, or a stone, or a crow, or a snake has perished. The wish of the dead is a very respected thing in Bardo, so when it stopped the whole game of existence, it wished a last wish. It was very bitter, you see. And the wish was to be reborn as something apart, something detached, something that would never feel connected to the capitalised Others. And there it went, weeks of haunting and timeless whispers to the living from the wind. And while it happened, they carved a statue, a statue made of gold and ivory and stone. Gold that nobody wants, ivory that is worthless, and stone that is never washed by rivers. And the erected monument reminded one of the new species, the big novelty, of humans. The statue, taking a sip of Bardo, took in the soul that slowly understood, that its whispers are not to be heard, its existence is mere fiction. With a mind flowing in to its carved and empty lungs, the statue stood still, not knowing if that would change a thing at all. And then the material, the worldly, the cage began to growl with hunger, a hunger that could only be satisfied with the ones that at least remind one of itself. So people came rushing, covered in flesh, pulsating with heat, children of the day and joy and life. They reached the statue and then it realised - one thing it's able to do when it comes to motion,  leave. So it ran away,flew on legs that hurt,but did not move, floated away on the wings of the wind, unknowing, uncaring, without the knowledge that remorse existed. Then more people came, explained it the world, and it understood. The patterns, the codes, and the mechanics. So it mourned the fleshlings left behind, it mourned the fleshlings that surrounded him, and mourned the ones that were about to. It left them, swiftly rushing through woods and skies and tears. "You're such a leaver, " they've said. how right they were, how exact, be it fate,or curse, or casual comment. And then every time it'd left, more humans grew around it, their seeds heavy with its craving for them.Then it left and kept leaving, until a time when they appeared only slowly, grade by grade, as if fearing to close. The ones that got near tried to touch it, feeling a burning, torn sensation that was evoked by the strange fusion of the materials in it. They all got hurt, and left behind. It was told of morals, it was lectured on manners, and dualism. It never knew how to keep them, questioned them, while fleeing. And so it would be alone, for good, for it cannot be touched, it cannot touch, but leave. It has no business with the fleshlings. And if you'd cry out loud so in the distance, it would hear you, saying "What are you?", it'd only whisper with the sound of the wind "A leaver."