Barren Land (part 1)
Barren land and barren heart above a sombre horizon.
He walked a little bit further, then rested.
To catch a breath.
To catch his awareness catching his breath.
He smiled.
His shadow made progress on the land of the thousand lakes. The dusk was setting in. The dark was his ally. Shadows and darkness often merge and convolute some mysteries for philosophers and academics to ponder about those things, and maybe justify a salary for themselves. Or so it was in the Old World. He smiled.
He perceived a spark, a spectre of a flame, a reflection of lights, not too far away. There. Over the bridge covering the frozen river. He could have walked upon the ice but decided not to do so. Sometimes, you walked to a place just to make sure that you don’t want to be there. He was afraid of seeing his ashen face on the cosmic mirror of the frozen water. He didn’t want to be there. He carried on.
He pushed himself through the motion and found some inertia left in his thighs. He could now see the smoke coming out of the hut, if hut it was. He crawled upon the riverbank and mustered the last bit of strength to summit the sharp edge.
He wasn’t too far when he realized that he wasn’t alone anymore. Did he walk into a trap or did the trap walked on him. Is there even a difference. He unloaded his pack. The metal body of his Smith & Wesson was cold to the touch. It was loaded. He screamed. Anybody there. Ey. Anybody. Who’ tis.
Some shadows moved on the side of the wooden hut. He was shaking. Was it a war of his sense, an illusion of madness, or was it an entanglement of particles dancing over his soul to bring him down the dark hole of oblivion. A war on his sense. But what is war when you’re the last human on Earth. And what is it to be human when there’s no other but your own self. The humaneness of mankind left a while ago. It felt into chaos before drowning in a sea of cosmic forgiveness. They never forgave themselves for the things they did to each others, even if the gods did. If there are gods. If there are gods somewhere. On this lonely frigid night, he wasn’t sure about that one. He carried these thoughts with him. Part of the deal. You’re alive, so keep living, or so was the advice of the last man he saw. And keep those thoughts with you. They’ll be your lifeline to sanity on the rocky ocean of doubts.
His awareness noticed the fire. Nobody can make a fire other than human beings. He thought, heck, were the wolves conjuring Lucifer himself to provide some warmth of hell amidst the coldest of all nights. He walked a bit closer. Not too close. Nobody’s alone unless they want to. He wanted to. Now. Only now. He aimed at the sky. Shot a cartridge. Ah, he thought, invoking the gods that be a bullet at the time. Thunder on command.
The shadows stopped moving.
Something was walking towards him. He could feel it. He could hear the darkness closing in on himself. The silhouette warily moved on him. Hastily hurrying towards the harrowing hearsay of imminent danger, the shadows crept.
His voice was dried by the cold wind blowing on the night where he stood. He tried to scream. He failed. Only squeaking came out of his voice. He didn’t know what to do. Nobody’s here. Nobody’s supposed to be here. Only the heirs of darkness, the forsaken kids of the gods and the prophets of hell were left behind. The bleak inheritance of a failed-dystopia, the forlorn of hopes and dreams at the doorstep of an eternal amnesia, all colluded together to make his thoughts darker than the night above the arctic circle. If he doesn’t walk, there is going to be no memories, he figured a while ago. So he walked for days and nights and dawns and dusks and entered a place that is placelessness in his mind and walked on that slight edge of sanity for so long that he forgot about the mission that the Gods bestowed to him.
Death closed in. Is it humane to stop being human when that happens, he thought. The irony of life made him smile. Smiling seemed to be what made the gaunt of his body less gaunty. Oh, this spark! What did he have to go through to be here. Was that it.
He could see the arc of his life waning away. A cold death was preferable to a warm hell for his soul, but in this moment, he lacked the courage needed to defend what he considered the boundaries of his meta-physical body. Weather’s withered on him. Loneliness prevailed. Darkness always win when there’s no light and no Disney’s to sell you fake gilded dualism.
Poverty of options led him to hugged his pistol. The bullets were long gone in the land of his delusion. Why holding to life, he thought, when life gave up on me. Why walking, he thought, if I could simply dive in the ocean of my sorrows.
He was salt and air; the ocean could maybe extent their forgiveness to him too. Water dissolves to resolve. Salty water tears dripped on his cheeks. It froze, in the cold air. There, the zeitgeist of the time being!
The cracks in front of him brought him back to reality.
He stood there.
If there is a god, he thought. He could not finish his thought. Too tired. Low give-a-shit.
And there she was.
Walking under the galaxy, shimmering out of the Milky Way, she revealed herself on a backdrop of human splendour. He had not seen such a beautiful dark silhouette since ages ago. She stood there in the tallness of her character. Illuminated by her divine essence. She smiled.
She spoke words. Who are you. What do you want.
The harbinger of hope stood before him in a backdrop of flames, premonition of the fury to come, or so he thought. He surprised his consciousness uttering some words of comfort. I’m good. I’m good. I was left behind when life decided to move on and try a different planet.
She ushered her arms around him. He felt the warmth of her spirit. A hug. It was banned a while ago. They were deemed too dangerous. People could have felt the divine spirit of each others through hugs. They were ordered illegal. Can’t control a herd if the herd realized that they’re more than sheepdogs! They were also the whole freaking landscape and the stars and the grass under their feet, but an Hegelian school of thoughts wrapped their mind into tiny boxes made out of labels. Words killed the Gods.
She was enthralling him in the glory of her persona.
Would you help me carry the flame, she asked.
Yes.
Would you carry the divine spark.
Yes, of course.
Would you kiss me now.
Yes.
They kissed.
They stood for a minute, on the sacred ground of their love for humanity, under a dark sky. They haven’t seen a better world, only a different one. There’s never a better world anyway. Anyone else selling you a utopia is coercing you towards a gulag. The old world bought the lie. Only ashes were left to tell the tales of their madness.
There’s only so much things an author can write without breaking the fourth wall, but there’s no walls tonight on a barren land. There’s only an arctic backdrop enthroning heroes of a new more beautiful world.
They walked to the hut.
They kissed some more.
They kissed to forget the sorrows of the last days.
They kissed to remember what it was to be a carrier of the Divine Spark.
They kissed to not forget.
Stop, she said.
He stopped.
Tell me the story.
Tell me your story.
Where were you going, she uttered.
No where, he replied. To the North. Where our elders survived, millenia’s ago. We are people of the barren land.
She was listening to him as she was setting the small table in the middle of the hut. Cooking some deer meat over the small fire in made in a metal barrel. Rusty, as it held the tears of those who were left behind when the madness covered the face of the planet.
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To be continued.
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JP