Monday, January 21, 2013

The End of a Book I'll Never Finish

It was in the moments before he pressed that button that he had a visitor. It was one he had never experienced directly, only having seen her reflection in the eyes and words of a handful of people. But this time, there was no mirror, only her. And she spoke, quite clearly, her own voice clear as a crystal glass, a finger rubbed on its edge. And her words sung, no, it was more than her words, that's the thing. It was never quite was said or what was done. It was what MC felt, because in seeing her that time, free of the fetters of a host that he realized just what the world was, the one he was at that moment trying to wipe out.  He realized that the people he had blamed and his own works had never hidden this vision, this sensation from him. They had merely, at times, brought him a means of witnessing it. For through those eyes, eyes that that had had him build a statue of ruby, that had driven him to the end of the world, he had seen her. He had felt her. He had taken something, something divine that he had held inside himself ever since.

So of course, on seeing the source itself, hearing it speak to him of reason. Of consideration, of who he was when all else was removed the equation. He could see in himself, a reflection. He knew his course had been wrong because he was never a prisoner. He had never been trapped in his tower. It was just that he had been given the chance to see something once, a chance wind displacing a veil that had surrounded him since he was a child. That some product of probabilities, time and personalities had bestowed some freedom on him to witness something great and though he had built things of significance his motive had always been impure, for he had been building a cage all along to capture a shadow.

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