Sitting here I realize something. My name, my identity, will be lost to the analogs of history, my life will be naught but a smudge in the nigh omnipresent void. Never to see light once I leave this plane. For I will die as I lived, a being of little accord, cursed by Eris to end with no bang, no chaos, no surprise, just death. Instant and absolute, there will be no final stand, no brave gunfire on the steps of a foreign capital, No legacy for my Kin. For that is my curse. The Curse laid at the feet of my grandfather only to be stomped out by the march of German Artillery, to be gunned down in west Berlin, to be a man that almost ended the world with the ending of a breath. But now that curse has been kicked to me. The curse of the unimportant, the fate of being forgotten, to be neither famous, nor infamous, the curse of the unknown and Unseen. Death is a kind partner in this dance of unimportance, for at least I know he will never forget me.