W.O.R. Part 1

It was a rather quiet winter day on the path into the city; only the
trickle of raindrops and the occasional cough produced much sound. The
trees that lined the road stood barren but proud in curious beauty.
There were no birds around to lighten the mood with pleasant chords, no
interesting terrain to observe, nothing, just a lonely passage into a
place nobody really wanted to be. The few people walking the path all
seemed to agree that this day was not the most pleasant and should soon
be forgotten.
A displaced-looking young man of no more than seventeen was among the
dreary travelers. He stumbled about the road to and fro, bumping
shoulders with several people along the way. Most ignored the boy and
assumed he was simply a drunken delinquent. His dark brown hair was
fairly long and fell wet around his head; unattended facial hair lined
his jaw and bordered his chapped lips. His eyes were closed and he
walked along in an apparent state of peculiar meditation with the sword
he carried at his side safely swaying about in its sheath.
A bystander may feel so compelled as to shield the eyes of their young
from the sight of a boy of such disgraceful appearance. Nothing but
judgment, assumptions, and ignorant criticisms ever seemed to come from
the hearts of such people. Unjust as it may be, the boy had halfway
learned to live with the misconceptions of everyone around him. He
didn't really blame them anymore, their whole lives someone had been
trying to steer their thought and manipulate their thinking. He figured
they were simply deprived of all perception by the time they reached
adulthood.
The once steady shower abruptly stopped and the youth's thoughts turned
to that of relief. He turned his head to the opening sky and lifted his
eyelids for the first time in a long while. His imposing eyes could now
be seen in their entire green splendor. They were bright and vibrant,
contradicting his rugged hair and clothing. One could see hope in these
eyes of a youth, a feeling long since forgotten in the rundown cities
and desolate countryside which people called Earth.
As he focused on the increasingly beautiful sky above him he became
more relaxed and calm. The thoughts of delusion and hate that once
danced about in his mind had been expelled in a smooth fashion. He
became so engaged in satisfaction that no one would dare steal it away
from him as he stopped in the middle of the road. His body became loose
and free as he surrendered to the pleasure of a hole in the sky. The
sun's warm rays penetrated his skin through this portal to the heavens
and he drifted further into a land he wished not to return from.
As he reached the peak of his ecstasy a stray raindrop suddenly dropped
from the sky and slammed into the youth's open eye. His eyelids slammed
shut out of reflex and he vigorously began to rub with his hand. He
blinked once or twice to completely rid himself of the burning and,
shaking his head, then attempted to see again.
Following this disturbing incident the youth became disappointed with
the end of his pleasure but found in it a new reason to go on. He began
to walk again towards the city on the cobblestone roadway that had been
less than kind to him thus far. His strides became of consistent length
and his head was upright with his striking green eyes open. The youth
carried on into the dim suburbs of a towering city that would never be
tall enough to reach heaven.
Soon the boy entered the cheerless streets of the city. They were paved
but had been torn to shreds by warfare and provided little more comfort
than dirt. Buildings made of concrete and brick lined the path, they
stood askew at times and some had completely collapsed from whatever
reason. Everything was gray and dark, an urban war zone where many had
fallen for what they believed in. The youth resented the rash
bureaucrats that had ordered such a devastating conflict. Had they no
knowledge of the senseless destruction and rebellion that would follow?
Probably not, but the youth still found reason enough to blame them for
most everything which had transpired.
The boy glanced around leisurely to occupy his mind but only saw
suffering. Mothers rocked their young as they cried, old and broken men
lay on the roadside with their belongings held close, and the dead lay
scattered about, not enough with loved ones clutching them. But the
children, carefree and without fear, ran about playing their games of
tag and others. The youth marveled at these remarkable young ones.
Their parents sat yearningly watching their offspring dance away the
pain that their generation had been entrusted with, wishing they could
do the same.
As the boy looked on with a smile at this display of blissful ignorance
he felt a tug on his pant leg and the call of a young boy. Seeing the
cause of this disturbance, the youth crouched down to address the boy
at his feet.
"Hey mister," a soft young voice proclaimed, "Wanna play with us?" The
boy smiled hopefully as he awaited his older visitor's reply. The youth
smiled sincerely and thought of how great a game would be.
"I'm sorry little one, but I've got to go right now." The youth
responded in a tone fit for the most precious of recipients. The young
boy now at eye level sighed with disappointment. "But maybe we can play
some other time alright?" The boy seemed content with this response and
didn't press the issue further.
"Alright!" The boy cheerfully replied as he ran off to rejoin his
friends. The youth smiled and stood up to continue his march into the
heart of the city. Ahead of him lay a bridge that extended over a
heavily polluted river just pass the end of the block.
Steadily the boy approached this bridge as his surroundings began to
darken as the clouds regained supremacy of the sky and the sound of
merry children became more faint. He paid no attention to these
seemingly trivial changes around him as he closed on the bridge
ahead.
After a walk that felt much longer than only a block, the youth
reached the foot of the bridge. He stopped a moment to take it all in
as it began to rain again. What ran under the bridge could hardly be
called water; it had been so recklessly contaminated over the years
that it flowed thick and grimy. The bridge itself was made of brick and
mortar and was supported by several pillars on its underside. It was
uninhibited by barriers so as one might fall from any side of it. Soon
the youth fearlessly proceed over the bridge bearing rain and
cold.
The following section of town proved to be no different from the last
in appearance. The only distinction the youth noticed was the lack of
people, dead or alive. In the distance a dark, gothic cathedral was
visible over the building tops. It dominated the area and shot upwards
further than any other structure. Upon spotting it, the youth headed
toward it in the most direct route possible.
He walked on and on along the twisted and empty streets of the city.
The rain did not cease as he traveled further into the heart of this
ghost metropolis. After several minutes of passage through vacant
boulevards, the youth finally arrived at the dark cathedral he had
admired from afar. It was even more protruding up close than before.
Its spires climbed high enough to have their tips lost in the clouds,
its buttresses soared high above, its sculptures ominously glared upon
everything below, and its stained glass windows, though unreasonably
tall, provided no light to the building.
After extensively marveling at the huge structure, the youth calmly
walked through its massive elaborately decorated door. Inside there was
only one man, the priest. He stood at the altar with his back to the
youth reciting some prayer in Latin. The pews that lined the walls lay
barren and the crucifix ahead hung sullenly above the altar. Keeping
his eyes fixed on the priest the youth proceed up the middle
aisle.
Now the priest took a golden dish and a round piece of thin bread and
raised them above his head just as the youth stood behind him. The
youth slowly reached down the side of his leg and pulled a knife from
its hidden sheath. Stealthily, he reached for the priest and slit his
throat with a quick snap of the wrist. The bread crashed to the floor
and shattered, the priest dropped lifelessly to the ground, and the
youth sheathed his weapon.
The youth found the room around him to begin blurring. He stumbled to
regain perception as he looked down to see the fallen man face down on
the cold marble floor. He aimlessly turned and faced the door just as
three suited men entered the cathedral. Their clothes were long and
dark and their faces were covered by pulled down fedoras. The youth did
not know who these people were but turned to run from them nonetheless.
He found yet another shock waiting, the priest he had downed before
beginning to rise up into the air like the hand of God himself had
lifted him up. The youth stood paralyzed as the limp body ascended into
a position identical to Christ on the cross. Blood dripped from his
punctured neck as the holy man floated above the altar. The once
immaculately white linen now lay stained with blood.
The youth finally regained face and reached for his sword, but before
he could, he heard the cry of a familiar boy in the distance. He turned
and found the same boy from before in a small hole waving at him to
come along. The youth gladly scurried off to meet the boy leaving all
adversaries behind. Without a word the two crawled through this
diminutive corridor at top speed.
Before long, they exited into a wide and open field outside. The two
stood and brushed off their now dusty clothes. They exchanged a genuine
yet silent smile and chuckled as they walked off, celebrating their
victory. The boy took off running and laughing, wordlessly telling his
comrade to chase after him. The youth began his pursuit of the young
one only to see the three men appear ahead of him in the long grass.
The boy turned back to his friend oblivious of the danger that lay
behind him. As the youth tried to warn him of the impending danger
about, the man in the middle pulled a long barreled gun out from below.
The youth screamed to the boy with all his might but it was as if he
was deaf. He yelled for what seemed to be an eternity but to no avail,
the boy went about playing. The youth mustered all his strength for one
final roar as the man cocked his fearsome weapon. Just as the youth let
out his cry the boy's face went lifeless in a flash of light and a
burst of sound.
In a violent flurry the youth suddenly awoke screaming and clutching
the handle of his knife. He was panting hard and sweating as he sat up
in his bed. It had all been a dream, a nightmare. Slowly, the youth
calmed down and placed the knife on a shelf. He began to rub his head
in a futile attempt to dull the pain he now felt. After a few minutes
of this unsatisfactory treatment, the youth rolled out of his bed and
stumbled towards his room's closed door. He was dressed in boxers and a
thin white shirt as he walked down an angled staircase to a dully-lit
kitchen. As he entered the room he stopped to address a large black man
seated at the table. He was equally scantily dressed and twirled a
straw in his hot coco.
"Nightmare?" the man asked. The youth sat down across from him with a
sigh.
"Yeah, same damn one." He answered shakily. "I just wish I knew what
the hell it means, ya know?"
"It probably means that you've got yourself a bad case of trippyness
bro." The black man said with a laugh as he tried to lighten the
mood.
"Guess so? It just bugs me."
"It bugs you? Hell, a dream that wack would scare the shit outta me.
That kinda crap just ain't natural man." The black man said with the
same intention.
"Yeah, guess you're right." The youth said as he finally
chuckled.
"Look," the black man said with a more serious tone, "Just don't let
this nightmare shit get to you aight. We need to keep our heads level
if we wanna stay alive." He tapped the side of his head with two
fingers and then smiled. "Now I need some more damn coco, you want
any?"
"Yeah? Sure?" the youth answered with hidden bliss.