She Cried

I've always found people who can admit they are wrong, admirable. It isn't about a single apology, or admitting your defeat in an argument. This is about the knowledge that you hold to yourself, the knowing of being on the wrong side of things. They don't try to justify themselves because they cannot change themselves. They don't intend to, because they've tried and they've failed. Their failure is sad, I'd say. I believe they find it sad too. They have an ingrained inability to conform, to change, to exist in the right. And any efforts to escape that part of themselves is futile.

Although I never believed in seeing things in two dull shades of black and white, it seemed to me that I always lingered on the horizon of just these two shades. Perhaps because this is what I was always taught. Morals and ethics, laws and conforming to society, they were drilled into me right from the start. My father was a man like that, a strict, upright, unbending man. I always believed that my own strict morals came from him too. But at times, it seemed to me that I was only charading as a man with morals. In truth, I was just a weakling, preying on people's gullibility to accept me as a "good" man.

And at times when I realized this, looking into myself, it occurred to me that I was splitting. Splitting...that word keeps coming back to me over and over again. I was the judge and I was the judged. I separated from myself at times, unable to see which of me was real. The charade or my father's son. Or perhaps neither.

The longer I thought about it, I realized I was turning into Prophet. Though, I don't know if he too was riddled by his conscious. Somehow, it always seemed that Prophet's struggle was bigger. And despite all those centuries I had spent with him, I really didn't know him at all. My greatest knowledge about his real person came only after his death.

Stepping out of that doorway opened a strange world in front of me. I decided I wasn't going to resist. Both Lubbock and I were "arrested" by a rag tag bunch of townsfolk. They intended to take us to a certain woman of authority, who they referred to as Doctor.

We were led through the town, the most beautiful place I had ever laid eyes on. I was convinced for a while that if a heaven did exist, this town was a piece of that. The sky was a bright blue, higher and wider than anything I'd known. The sun shone brightly but it didn't sting the eyes, nor the skin. The cool breeze that blew, flitting across every wrinkle, soothed the soul. The smell of rain filled the air, though I was sure there had been no rain.

The houses that lined along the wide street were like patches of flowers, like tiny huts for fairies, though they weren't exactly tiny. But they weren't overwhelming. They had a strange soothing effect about them, which made you want to live in them. You could tell it was a peaceful town. It was surrounded by luscious green mountains and fields. The more I looked about me, the more I remembered the picture I'd seen through that glass window with Prophet. It sent a shiver down my spine. Perhaps, I'll...

I learned the name of the town was Shamballa. It was in a valley right below Agartha. I wasn't convinced at all. I didn't remember a sky this clear in Agartha, in fact, in all of Mercae. The two brothers, Mills and Neil, decided to tag along as a party of the villagers was escorting us to this Doctor, which I assumed was the head of the village.

It took a lot of walking, I was able to see much of Shamballa, since it wasn't too big to begin with. Lubbock ranted on and on, all the way. In a way, it also kept me going. The others were far too tense, as if I was going to destroy their perfect world, their peace, any minute now. I was relaxed, I gave no explanations and whoever this Doctor was, I was ready to face her. Now that I had so much time to think, I wondered how Lubbock had gotten here in the first place.

"I followed you, of course! You are such a pain, I have to do everything, don't I? I have to look out for you all the time because you're such a child. Always getting lost, always getting injured, why do I have to pamper you all the time, Seraph? And you aren't even a pretty lady. We found one pretty lady when we got here. And you hogged her all to yourself. No fair!"

He was nicer when we started our journey. He got sick of me real quick apparently. Though, I began to wonder if Miss Traveler was doing alright.

"Hey, Seraph. Doesn't she remind you of home? She looks a little like Lady, no? No, like Deli! Yes, she looks like Deli! But Deli's prettier, of course. She is the prettiest of all!", and there he went being a child again.

But he was wrong. I didn't think she looked like anyone back home. And she didn't remind me of Valhalla at all. If she did, I wouldn't have been "hogging her all to" myself. If anything, I was glad she wasn't like anyone I knew. She wasn't like us. I wanted my fantasy to remain true. I wanted to think I was right about her. To be clear, I never did get any answers about her. She remained a mystery right to the end. It was perhaps because of that, that I was able to hold her in high regard.

"When we get back, I'm telling Lady on you. I wanted to enjoy my mission after such a long time, but I'm stuck with looking after you. And now you got us arrested!", Lubbock had his moods but now he was just being bitchy.

"Say, if they hang us because of you, what are you gonna do, huh? How are you going to face Lady? Tell her Lubbock's been killed because of you? If you don't want to do that, then get a hold of yourself, why don't you?"

I think he was severely missing the point about me being hanged alongside him. But his later remark was even more absurd.

"Alright, Lubbock. I don't think Lady would care one way or the other. Do you expect her to cry for you or what?"

"Why wouldn't she? And she'd be heartbroken for days, when I'm not there."

He certainly did hold himself in high regard.

"I don't think she would. Have you ever seen her cry? Sounds like a load of shit to me."

"I have", he answered plainly.

"What?"

"I've seen her cry."

"You have?"

"Yes. The first time I met her, she cried."

I wonder if he went on and on about his rumbling after that. I wonder how many turns we took in the streets of Shamballa. I didn't say a word, I didn't hear a word, I wasn't there anymore.