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 shattered by this breathtaking scene.
Streaks of auburn blur through the once-dulled sky, their dynamic rhythm shimmering as we ride along.
I'd forgotten the world had such color. Compared to the ashen plain that endlessly stretched out, and the horizon that looked like it never stopped smoking, this vision is the one I would like to 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 gibbous sunlight.
Lonely, this mountain has been long stranded in desolation. Yet, he remains a gleaming edifice, holding up the very sun between his fingertips.
The closer we approach, the clearer it becomes.
This valley he guards is almost completely enclosed. With walls of speckled stone, only three ravines dare to cut 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 beyond, here, they thrive, his lament becoming their protective shelter.
From his face spill streams of tears, carving out paths of winding stone. Through these downward trails water flows, feeding the hungry plains below.
Tranquil.
Looking ahead, Jimson's body comes into focus. It bounces, wriggling around at the impact of every step.
You never mentioned that this peace could exist, Jim.
I won't forget this omission. Burying you here—is this what you wanted all along? Your presence souring this pleasant moment for the rest of us.
You truly remain vicious, old friend.
I imagine Jimson's face, surprised, maybe confused before he growls at me.
. . .
I can't call you that now, can I? But 'New friend' takes all the levity out of the bond we developed. What you did for me, it really meant a lot... Should I call you cherished companion then?
! ! !
Too much, then how about Partner?
His corpse remains silent.
No disagreements, I can work with that.
A gust blowing by, sweeps up leaves and bits of debris that catch in the shaggy nest of Samuel's mane.
"Why do you look so tense?"
A jolt.
From over his shoulder, Tim stares back, worry clearly etched across his face.
"Myself?" I manage to squeak out, pausing for a second.
"Just... thinking about some things."
His eyes flicker to his father's body, then shift back. Not pressing further, his silence stings, then my back stings too.
Reaching over, my finger hunts for urgent relief, scraping at skin that's barely reachable.
That temporary relief is only ever short-lived; burrowing itself deeper, the itch continues lingering.
Unease begins to settle in and my heart responds accordingly.
Pound pu-pound.
Pound pu-pound.
Thick blood travels through my arteries to my brain, causing my thoughts to become increasingly distracted.
"Killer. Killer. Killer."
"You dog butcherer, heartless!"
Yes, I did; I was volatile, agitated at his death, but, our life was in jeopardy—I won't pretend it wasn't.
"Excuses. Murder is always wrong!"
And what, I was supposed to just let it happen.
"Better die with principle than live without."
It was just a dog.
"If it was a human, would have you acted differently."
That..
Well, I don't know, if something had brought me to kill, I would like to think I did it as the last possible measure
"Liar."
Why am I even engaging with someone so stubborn.
"Don't avoid the qu—"
Tim now becomes the focus of my attention. Ahead, he shifts in his saddle; reaching forward he adjusts his father's body with careful hands.
His hands are gentle. Reverent.
Looking away with burning cheeks my heartbeat begins to slowly recede.
"In my old world," the words escape from my head to address the distant corpse, "my actions would be unconscionable. What was right was so obvious then. But now..." I drift back into thought.
Should I live by the same standards in this life? Does my reincarnation prove there is a god—one I've just renounced?
Stupid.
No, it doesn't matter, such a being is not worthy of mentioning. I've seen the suffering that is the result of their designs, In what world would I ever be thankful for that?
? ? ?
Don't look at me like that, you're already dead.
We pass a formation of stones—roughly circular, strangely similar in shape to a water well.
My chest tightens,
"Life happens, alright," I exclaim.
One moment I was instructing villagers how to build a well. The next—ffft. Bag over my head.
New places. Foreign languages. Then the hunger. The dark. The endless days of fighting rats for their nightly share.
The stones disappear behind us. My hands and forearms twitch whilst gripping around Samuel's reins.
? ? ?
No, not the same rats you are familiar with, but even smaller and more pest-like. Like hamsters, do they even exist here? Anyways Jim, that's beside the point.
? ? ?
No, I don't feel quite comfortable talking about it.
. . .
"Fine, but I won't make a habit of repeating myself, not that you're listening anyway."
After being captured, my life changed; priorities shifted and somewhere along the line I began to truly understand the fundamental truths of my reality, that I never really considered, or really wanted to know about.
From my own eyes I saw monsters in men.
Kept under foot, we were starved and constantly beaten if quotas weren't met; this became my reality.
Even my so-called moral world had this natural law. The weak perish, the strong survive, this was uncomfortable to acknowledge because ignorance is bliss, but once I learnt it, it was impossible to forget.
It is sinful to be weak.
Not because you'll supposedly go to hell and be punished for it when you die, but because in 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.
A purgatory.
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 in scale but the motive always remains the same.
Power. Benefits. Control.
My fingers dig into Samuel's fur.
People know 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 was just too tantalising.
? ? ?
No, it's not all bad, it just means you have to take responsibility over yourself and your fortitude. Resilience.
Only you can take the initiative for your own growth, persist forward and forge your own meaning that aligns with your circumstances.
An unbreakable will, this is what I strive for most in my life.
. . .
This all may be obvious yes, but that only makes it harder to reach.
! ! !
It is exactly as you say—'emotionally cumbersome'. That is just part of the difficulty. There's a difference between knowing and understanding; knowing this difference is one thing, but understanding what it really means is another.
You're right, even I myself don't fully understand it yet. You see right through me as the helpless, 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 anxiety, worrying about things I know I shouldn't be.
It's scary, this mindset that I call my own, I know. Erase it, change it all how I want but without it, I would never be quite the same.
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 the yonk's spine, using it as a pillow-rest.
The surrounding wind picks up again, releasing a long, whistling cry as it rushes past. Smells of fresh pollen and humid streams carry the allure of springtime. The bugs here are vibrant; buzzing and biting at the back of my neck.
. . .
What did you expect from me. I was a different man back then. Hopeful. Pious. But things eventually changed.
Imagine making the very bullets your life was threatened with. Imagine seeing your very craft become a tool of slaughter. Imagine being helpless to save those you sacrificed everything for. Is a life of suffering truly better than a life, dead?
>:(
What would you know.
! ! !
"I said, what do you know?!"
Nearby birds squawking on the nearby rocks, fly away, started by my sudden outburst. Luckily Tim doesn't turn around.
Sorry, I know I said I wouldn't elaborate before, but sometimes it's nice to get something off your chest.
. . .
I'm a walking contradiction, yes, but that's life. I merely imitate the natural order I see to come to these conclusions.
Life 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. These are just some examples of your vulnerabilities waiting to be exposed. The only way to be unbreakable is to find comfort in this abyss.
:<
This is not surrender, its adaptation. If hope comes, accept it, but never let it fool you, only here do I belong.
? ? ?
A final takeaway? Well I never really thought about that before. I guess there are two points: First, don't just conform to ideas not of your own. Second, don't take for granted what others provide
And the most important rule, live only for yourself and not for others.
! ! !
You seem surprised that it is so simple and effective. Why? Can't a man just be a petty bitch-face 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 what you are saying.
? ? !
"Kindness and empathy!" Ptooey. I spit to the side.
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.
Tim glances back again. His expression is unreadable.
Look away Tim, you wouldn't get it anyway.
Ahead, Cindy's pace slows, easing until Samuel follows suit.
Then we stop.
What was once distant, poetic grandeur now stands before me, unabashed and larger than ever before.
We've finally arrived.
The end of my travels, the edge of my exhaustion.
A home.
My home?
"We... made it, dad" Tim breathes quietly to himself.
Jumping from Cindy's back, his legs tumble upon their rough landing. After stabilising his balance, he pulls on the hanging rein and begins to walk towards the mountain.
I do the same.