Identity

[Theoretic]

Identity

The air was crisp , but not to cold out . The sky’s Where clear And the moon full. These where the nights he waited for. Nights where he could almost forget all that had passed, all the things that had been and where no more. things that at the time had seemed so solid. Almost.
In his younger days he had thought that the world was as unchanging as he, but both had been proven wrong in the fullness of time. He sat alone ,as always, and who ells was there . Who would chose to sit beside one such as he. if they knew.

He lay back , resting his head in the soft green grass. he loved looking at the stars. in this new transient world they where all he had. the only thing unchanging since the beginning. Yet even that was not true any more. his fist techers had supposed them the souls of heroes past . later they had been the angles of the new religions , and finely the only proof of a thousand thousand tiny worlds spinning of in to virtual infinity.

All things had been ground beneath the heal of the humans progress. It saddened him to know that his world was irrevocably gone , and not likely to return. Even if the plague of humanity some how disappeared, they would leave him with there legacy of knowledge . Perhaps , he thought, even he was not so unchanging.

The last millennium had been the worst. So much had happened in such a short time. It was hard to keep up with. Some times it seemed to him that there short lives helped them to deal with all that passed, but that was a luxury he did not posses. I They had been like a butterfly emerging in to a new world after spending so long as the meandering caterpillar. How long they had spent crawling around in the dark in fear of there gods, which he himself had seen no proof of even in the early times, only to throw them of in the pursuit of certainty. They would be grate , he knew that now. They would spread far and wide , into the heavens the so loved. Even master there mortality. Then where would he be . Would they be as he was now, ever lamenting the past . No he thought, they would not. For them it would be a triumph.

The sound of foot steps distracted him from his reverie. He had been expecting them of course. It happened every now and then, but if there if there was one benefit of this new age, it was that it happened less frequently. Man had become blinded by there logic , and in that had lost all knowledge of the things they once new to be certain. As far as they new , he did not, and could not exist. It had become his shield. letting him live among them without fear of discovery. Still there where those that had seen in to the dark, and seen him looking right back.

The man before him wore scruffy torn jeans and a jacket. He carried a silver blade he thought would end it all. It would not, it would barely even hurt . The scruffy hunter could not know that the idea had been his own. Passed in to the world centuries before, in books and tombs penned in his very own hand . The look the hunter gave him was hatful enough to sting even his jaded heart. He was considered evil, and for the briefest of seconds he wondered if it where true , but that was there morality. All he wanted was to live. He had not asked to be born as he was, but live he would , and no ambiguous concept of morality was going to change that .

They did not speak, there was no need. The hunter was a fervent believer in the evil he saw before him , and there was no convincing him other wise. He had tried once , and it had still ended with death. So sure they where if is inherent wrongness. Regardless that he had preceded them. Compeered to him they where yet children playing in his garden.

The hunter was getting restless , ready to make his move , but fearful of him still. It was wise to be afraid , he had killed to survive a many times and would do again should the need arise.
Slowly he stood , the movement fluid and relaxed. His body toned and strong. But he had spent a very long time perfecting it . The hunter never stood a chance really.

He resigned himself to the act that was to come, and wondered if it was worth it. It could all be over if he let it . He knew he could die , he was sure of it in fact , but the will to live was to strong. He did not want to die.

The hunter lunged and a life time of servile pushed him forward . In his time he had played a thousand rolls , been a thousand men, and the experience had stayed with him . His muscles responded fluidly , as always , Carrying him up and over the hunter . He landed lightly on his feat and kicked his opponent in the back . The hunter stumbled and fell ,Dropping the knife as he went . It was as good as over. He knelt on the hunters back , pinning him to the earth. Leaning in close he whispered softly.

“was it worth it “

He gave him no time to answer and snapped his neck , absorbing the life energy as it fled. His world would change again . He would become some one new , In a new place , with a new name.

He lived.

[acheron beach]

This really needs a thorough cleanup for spelling and grammar. As-is, it's difficult to read.

If you'd like me to do a quick edit to point out the grammar and spelling errors, I am happy to do it.

[Theoretic]

I would be grateful if you would take the time to do that. Sadly there is only so much a spell checker can do. Thank you

[acheron beach]

Theoretic

The air was crisp, but not too cold out . The sky’s skies Where were clear Aand the moon full. These where were the nights he waited for. Nights where he could almost forget all that had passed, all the things that had been and where were no more. tThings that at the time had seemed so solid. Almost.
In his younger days, he had thought that the world was as unchanging as he, but both had been proven wrong in the fullness of time. He sat alone, as always, and who ells else was there. Who would choose to sit beside one such as he. if they knew.?

He lay back , resting his head in the soft green grass. hHe loved looking at the stars. iIn this new, transient world they where were all he had.; the only thing unchanging since the beginning. Yet even that was not true any more. hHis first teachers had supposed them the souls of heroes past. lLater they had been the angles angels of the new religions, and finely finally the only proof of a thousand thousand tiny worlds spinning off in-to virtual infinity.

I don't have time to do all of it right now (sorry!) but I'll get back to this within a few days. Remember that you don't put a space in front of commas, just after them.

[acheron beach]

Theoretic

All things had been ground beneath the heel of the humans' progress (or you could say "the heel of human progress" ). It saddened him to know that his world was irrevocably gone, and not likely to return. Even if the plague of humanity somehow disappeared, they would leave him with their legacy of knowledge . Perhaps, he thought, even he was not so unchanging.

The last millennium had been the worst. So much had happened in such a short time. It was hard to keep up with. Some times it seemed to him that their short lives helped them to deal with all that passed, but that was a luxury he did not possess. I They had been like a butterfly emerging into a new world after spending so long as the meandering caterpillar. How long they had spent crawling around in the dark in fear of their gods, which he himself had seen no proof of even in the early times, only to throw them off in the pursuit of certainty. They would be great, he knew that now. They would spread far and wide, into the heavens the (???) so loved. Even master their mortality. Then where would he be? Would they be as he was now, ever lamenting the past? No, he thought, they would not. For them it would be a triumph.

The sound of footsteps distracted him from his reverie. He had been expecting them, of course. It happened every now and then, but if there if there was one benefit of this new age, it was that it happened less frequently. Man had become blinded by their logic, and in that had lost all knowledge of the things they once knew to be certain. As far as they knew, he did not, and could not exist. It had become his shield. , letting him live among them without fear of discovery. Still there were those that had seen into the dark, and seen him looking right back.

The man before him wore scruffy, torn jeans and a jacket. He carried a silver blade he (The narrator or the man?) thought would end it all. It would not,; it would barely even hurt. The scruffy hunter could not know that the idea had been his (The narrator's?) own, passed into the world centuries before, in books and tombs penned in his very own hand. The look the hunter gave him was hateful enough to sting even his jaded heart. He was considered evil, and for the briefest of seconds he wondered if it were true, but that was their morality. All he wanted was to live. He had not asked to be born as he was, but live he would, and no ambiguous concept of morality was going to change that .



They did not speak. There was no need. The hunter was a fervent believer in the evil he saw before him, and there was no convincing him otherwise. He had tried once, and it had still ended with death (Again, the hunter or the narrator? The subject/object are confusing.). So sure they were of his (Is this what you meant?) inherent wrongness. Regardless that he had preceded them. Compared to him they were yet children playing in his garden.

The hunter was getting restless, ready to make his move, but fearful of him still. It was wise to be afraid; he had killed to survive a many times and would do again should the need arise.
Slowly he stood, the movement fluid and relaxed. His body was toned and strong. But he had spent a very long time perfecting it . The hunter never stood a chance, really.

He resigned himself to the act that was to come, and wondered if it was worth it. It could all be over if he let it. He knew he could die, he was sure of it in fact, but the will to live was too strong. He did not want to die. (Again, which he are you talking about?)

The hunter lunged and a lifetime of servile (? servile is an adjective; it does not work here) pushed him forward. In his time he had played a thousand roles, been a thousand men, and the experience had stayed with him. His muscles responded fluidly, as always, Ccarrying him up and over the hunter. He landed lightly on his feet and kicked his opponent in the back. The hunter stumbled and fell, Ddropping the knife as he went. It was as good as over. He knelt on the hunter's back, pinning him to the earth. Leaning in close, he whispered softly.

“Was it worth it?“

He gave him no time to answer and snapped his neck , absorbing the life energy as it fled. His world would change again . He would become someone new, in a new place, with a new name.

He lived.

I'm sure I missed some, but these are the errors I spotted.