He was as tall as he was beautiful. Beneath his high and intelligent brow his eyes shone with a calm, steady blue light, and his smile was one of utmost purity. His blonde hair which fell to his shoulders was tossed in the gentle breeze. As I saw the long and confident stride he took, it struck me that everything about him bespoke, goodness, beauty, strength and intellect. He wore clean simple clothes (a shirt, bluejeans and shoes of an unremarkable make) but on him they were transformed into the garments of a prince.
In his slender clever fingers, he held a chain.
And that chain chain trailed after him, and up, and onto a collar.
And the collar was around the neck of a person, or perhaps a creature. It was shrunken and pathetic. In its small, bald, stupid head two eyes that might have been dull river stones stared out and a small toothless mouth whimpered constantly in pain. The reason for the whimpering may have been that its skin was covered in pustules and boils and warts. The limbs of the creature were little more than appendageless stumps which it dragged in the dust in a disturbing series of struggles to propel itself forward. It too wore clothes of a sort, rags that might once have been fine, but were unrecognisable in their torn, dirty state.
I greeted the man, and asked him why it might be that such a respectable man as he would have such a loathsome abomination along with him in his travels.
"Oh, and well you might wonder why I bring this with me," he replied, "But he is my brother."
I recoiled, and though I wished to save the good man's honor, I still could not help but say that I found it hard to believe that anyone, even one such as he, would have it in his heart to love this vile degenerate, brother or not, enough to have it with him.
He laughed at this. An honest sound it was. As clear as an unmuddied lake, as clear as an azure sky of deepest summer. It soothed my very soul to hear it.
"Love?" He said, "Oh no no. I bring him with me always because I hate him. I always need to know that he is still wretched, still in pain, and always still alive to feel the wretched, painful existence that is his own."
He laughed at this. An honest sound it was. As clear as an unmuddied lake, as clear as an azure sky of deepest summer. It soothed my very soul to hear it.
"Love?" He said, "Oh no no. I bring him with me always because I hate him. I always need to know that he is still wretched, still in pain, and always still alive to feel the wretched, painful existence that is his own."
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