When The NPC Speaks
They open their mouth
and the world does not stir.
No fire,
no fury,
no pulse of meaning.
Only the same hollow script,
uttered again and again,
as if repetition
could disguise irrelevance.
When the NPC speaks,
it is not guidance,
not wisdom,
not even noise worth remembering.
It is the faint rattle of a machine
built to mimic humanity—
a loop of words
emptied of thought,
emptied of spine.
They do not guard the gate.
They do not shield the town.
They stand in the ashes,
reciting their line
while the world burns
from the inside out.
A role never filled.
A duty never shouldered.
A presence so vacant
that even silence
would have been mercy.
When the NPC speaks,
nothing changes.
Nothing is saved.
Nothing is born.
It is a monument to futility,
proof that some lives
contribute only
to the ruin they allow.
Keep My Words Alive
If this poem has stayed with you, you can help keep my words alive or explore more of my work. Every bit of support helps carry the stories forward.
