This world—the more I see, the more alien it feels.
Rules I once thought immutable; the blues of sky, the whites of sun, all are shattered by this breathtaking scene.
Streaks of auburn blur through the once-dulled sky, their dynamic rhythm shimmering as we ride along the damp crevice.
I'd forgotten the world had such color. Compared to the ashen plains that endlessly stretched out, and the horizon that seemingly never stopped in its smoking, this vision, this prestigious view is the only image I would call my morning sky.
At the canyon's end a mountain sleeps.
Unaware of our approach, he slowly stands up. Yawning with heavy motion and aching joints, he basks under the rays of bright light that manage to pierce through the clouded cover.
Lonely, this mountain has clearly been long stranded within his desolation. And Yet, he remains a gleaming edifice, holding up that very sun between his fingertips.
The closer our approach, the clearer his purpose becomes.
This valley he guards, is completely enclosed. With walls of speckled stone, and trees of vibrant colour, only the three ravines dare intrude their way inside.
Within this sanctuary, he tends to his secret garden; cultivating beauty as a balm for his eternal pain. Life flourishes: vivid blooms with heavy pollen thrive amongst the wild creatures. Despite the desolation, here, life flourishes.
From down his rocky face falls streams of carved tears, spiraling outward in paths of winding stone. Along these downward trails, the clear water flows in perpetuity, feeding the tranquil plains of their nourishment below.
Shielding my eyes from this gleaming landscape, I blink, refocusing on the more immediate scene.
Ahead, Jimson's body bounces up, shaping his tied quilt with every impact. Further still rides the boy, hunched over with his curved back he leans forward as he stares ahead.
You never mentioned that this peace could exist, Jim.
I won't forget your omission. Burying you here—is this what you wanted all along? Your presence souring a pleasant moment for the rest of us.
You truly remain vicious, old friend.
Glancing back up I see Jimson's face, surprised, maybe confused, he looks back before he growls at me to stop.
Well, I can't call you that now, can I? But saying we were only 'New friend' takes all the levity out of our precious bond. What you did for me, it really meant a lot... Should I name you as my cherished companion instead?
! ! !
Too much, then how about Partner?
His corpse remains silent. A gust blows by sweeping up leaves and bits of debris that catch in the shaggy nest of Samuel's mane.
No disagreements, I can work with that.
"Why so tense?"
A jolt. From over his shoulder, Tim looks back, something clearly ingrained across his face.
"Myself?" I call back, pausing for a second.
"Just... thinking."
Flickering back to his father's body, he shift back into a comfortable posture continuing ahead. His silence, damning.
Reaching over, my fingers hunt for urgent relief, scraping at the irritated skin across my back.
However, the relief is short-lived; burrowing itself deeper from inside my nerves the unease makes itself welcome forcing my heart to respond accordingly.
Pound pu-pound.
Pound pu-pound.
Gallons of thick but ripe blood travels through my arteries up to my brain, as such, my thoughts become increasingly disturbed.
"Killer.
Killer.
Killer."
Yes, I am; I was volatile, agitated at death, but, our life was in jeopardy—I won't pretend it wasn't.
"One taste..."
And what, I was supposed to just let it happen.
"Is all it takes."
It was just a dog!
"Would you have enjoyed it more otherwise?"
That..
If something had brought me to kill again, I would like to think I did it as the last possible—
"Liar."
Why am I even engaging with someone so mindlessly stubborn.
"I am Yo—"
Tim now has become the center of my attention. Shifting in his saddle he reaches forward and adjusts his father's quilt.
Those hands are gentle. Reverent.
I look away, my cheeks burning.
"In my old world," the words escape to address the distant corpse, "my actions would be unconscionable. What was right was so clear. But now..." I drift back into thought.
Should I live by those same standards? Does my reincarnation prove there is a god—one I've just renounced?
Stupid.
No, I won't forget. I've seen the suffering that is the result of their designs, In whose world would I ever be thankful for that?
? ? ?
Don't look at me, you're already dead.
. . .
I said stop it! My chest tightens, my face falls into my empty palms.
"Life happens," the words dribble from my mouth's corner; I wipe it up.
One moment I was instructing the people how to construct their well. The next—ffft. Bag over my head. New places, foreign languages. Then the hunger. The dark. The endless days of bashing rats for their nightly meat.
? ? ?
No, not those same rats you are familiar with; even smaller, more pest-like. Like hamsters. Do they even exist here? Anyways that's beside the point Jim. No, I don't feel quite comfortable talking about it.
. . .
"Fine, but I won't make a habit of repeating myself, ahem." I clear my throat.
After being captured then cursed, my life changed, rapidly; priorities shifted, pain endured and somewhere along that pointless line, is where I finally began to have some clarity. Those lessons taught me the fundamental truths of the natural world.
Ones that I never really considered, ones I didn't want to discover, but, from my own very eyes I saw monsters in those men.
They starved us, beat us and even found it fun.
Even my so-called moral world had this natural law. The weak perish, the strong survive, this uncomfortable acknowledgement grew with every breath, and now that I've learnt it, I won't ever forget the golden rule.
It is sinful to be weak.
Not because you'll go to hell and there be punished, but because in this life, you'll be taken advantage of and trodden on so hard and so much that it will feel exactly like you were there yourself.
Life is the true purgatory and we are already trapped.
Submitting is only logical. When you get so beat-down and dehumanised, you eventually accept this idea of your own inferiority. Whether it is an individual or a group, the words and justifications may change, but at their core people's motives always remains consistent.
Power. Benefits. Control.
My fingers dig into Cindy's fur.
Everyone knows that they act for their own interest, but try to act like they don't. I myself was no different, the idea of living in an eternal paradise, even I was once foolish.
? ? ?
No, it's not all bad, it just means you have to take responsibility over yourself and your own fortitude. Resilience.
Only you can take the initiative for your growth. Persist forward, forge your own meaning despite your circumstances, this is what I strive for most in my life. An unbreakable will.
. . .
This all may be obvious yes, but that only makes it harder to realise. Only within life's simplicity is where you'll find your answers.
! ! !
It is exactly as you say—'emotionally cumbersome'. That is just some of the added challenge. Next up I grappled with the difference between knowing, and understanding; knowing this difference is one thing, but understanding it feels like something else entirely.
. . .
You're right, even I myself don't fully understand it yet. You see right through me as the helpless, confused and hypocritical fool I am. It's as if you're inside my head right now, hearing every thought of mine as it takes shape.
Yes, I am a struggling empathetic; one who longs for the comfort of apathy, but lives and breathes in his anxiety, worrying about things that persistently haunt my past.
It's scary, this mindset that I've cultivated, I know. Erase it, change it, return it back, but without it, nothing would make sense—It's all just too a part of my fragile ego.
So here I sit here. Suffocating. A shining contradiction to my crooked beliefs, unable to change either of these two repulsive things that I define myself by. I'm so immersed in this narcissistic self-image of meaning that even the world stands in my own self-reflection.
I lean forward, my fingers pulling up the fur for comfort and warmth. Curling my back, I position my head onto Samuel's protruding spine, using its hump as a pillow to rest.
The surrounding wind picks up once more, releasing a long, whistling cry that rushes past.
Smells of fresh pollen and humid streams carry the allure of spring. The bugs here slowly become vibrant; buzzing and biting at the back of my neck.
What did you expect from me. I was a different man then. Hopeful. Pious. But all things eventually return to their truth.
I still remember crafting the very bullets my life was threatened with. My very work, one I once held much pride within became a tool of immense slaughter. I was beyond helpless to save those who sacrificed everything for me and my simple dream.
Freedom.
Is that life of suffering truly better than death?
What would you know.
"I said, what do you know?!"
Nearby birds squawking on nearby rocks, fly away, startled by my sudden outburst. Luckily Tim doesn't seem to turn around.
Sorry, I know I said I wouldn't elaborate before, but sometimes it's nice to talk.
. . .
I'm a walking contradiction, yes, but that's life. I merely imitate the natural order as I see it to come to these conclusions.
Experience is a cruel duality. It builds you up—gives you beliefs and priorities that seem rightly just and righteous so.
You think you've become a better person, someone who can finally manage, and then, it strikes you down harder than ever before.
A lost love, a realisation of your futility or even self responsibility. These are just some examples of your vulnerabilities waiting to be exposed.
The only way I see to be unbreakable, is to find comfort in this abyss.
:<
Not surrender, adaptation. If hope ever comes, take it, but never let it fool you again, only here is it, reality truely belongs.
? ? ?
A final takeaway? Well I never really thought about that before. I guess there are two key points that I believe in: First, don't conform to ideas not of your own design. Second, don't take for granted what others provide.
And the most importantest rule that governs them all, live only for yourself.
! ! !
You seem surprised that it is so simple and effective. Why? Can't a man just be petty bitch-faced and wise all in the same breath.
! ! !
What, that's just the trauma speaking! Fine, so what if it is, that doesn't make what I'm saying wrong. Explain it to me in terms I can understand.
#### ### ###### ####
Brother, you don't need to swear for me to understand.
? ? !
"Kindness and empathy!" Ptooey.
Of course I'd prefer that treatment myself. But if I doubt the other party will reciprocate this, even for the smallest things—how am I supposed to trust them with something like my life?
This is just the prisoner's dilemma. A shame really, that the best outcome is almost always the rarest to occur, even when both sides should know better, because trust is something not easily earned.
Finding yourself through kindness is also part of the journey to self discovery. Only then can you know why for yourself, it is so selfish and unrealistic.
I see his glance back once again, his expression unreadable.
Look away Tim, you wouldn't get it anyway.
Shaking my head for a brief moment, I sigh deeply.
Taking some few moment to settle down, I note how our pace has considerably faltered compared to the movements before. As I'm about to question this, both Cindy's and Samuel's hoofs are already dead and buried in their tracks.
My eyes grow wide and so does my mouth.
What was that once distant, poetic grandeur now stands before me, unabashed, and utterly larger than my fiction could ever portray.
We've finally arrived.
The end of my travels, the edge of my exhaustion.
A home.
My home?
"We... made it, dad" Tim mouths quietly to himself next to me.
Jumping from Cindy's perky back, his legs shake upon their rough landing. Then, after stabilising his posture, he pulls on the hanging rein and begins his trudge towards the lonely mountain.
I follow.