Torn

It roared hard; raindrops fallen. As if a mixture of cement and of gray ash, the firmament was woven by the threads of rainwater from above; a screen, a curtain of translucent liquid that descends from the heaven to the overworld. High above the sky float shapeless clouds that dominate the celestial realm. Openness, void space, yet of depression, of fear. Occasionally forming the outlines of shadows, those darkened clusters of clouds fade upon the edge of the sky, either visible or unnoticed. Incessantly roaring, the rain patters into a depressed soundtrack that casts a layer of gloominess within every witness’s soul.

So was he among many of those who witnessed the anger of the storm. Perhaps a resonance with the heavy mood of the day, or a sudden enlightenment within his mind, angered he became, in pace with the unstopping rage that descended from the beyond. A mask was he wearing – a representation of a shadowed age. Shadowed, indeed; men and women were living in shadows, of fear and of suppressed anger. Must did we hear the deepest outcry of those enraged ones, yet it was so silenced, repressed, muted; a characteristic of a dark age, where man became more of a machine than himself, a machine that obeys orders, that listens to commands, and let them flood through their once bright thoughts, leaving nothing but a mere sense of obedience. And men became no longer men, but programs.

Ah, he thought about those. He thought about the imprisonment over his actions; he remembered those commands, those destructions of knowledge. It all contributed to his anger, which, by the meanwhile, accumulated to as remarkable, as if a tsunami in the ocean of his mind, an earthquake upon the sacred land of his construction. And when raindrops gradually rendered his body drenched, when his depression boiled to the point where it ultimately became intolerable, he soon became involved in an upheaval of his emotion. His fist tightened, he rapidly took of the mask in a fury, for it was the very source of his undoing.

“I see the face of the ugliest demon from the deepest hell. I wasn’t always as hopeless, wasn’t always as fallen. But you are what ultimately ruined all the beautiful constructions, yet those ones remained unexplored. A torment, I would certainly say, for that I underwent all but suffering of my soul, where it became tortured, scarred, deformed. Look upon those many wounds that etch in my consciousness; those that are never cured by any sort of meditation! Alas, what have I become? No more than a miserable, lost one who wanders for his path. I see the face of sin and of guilt. I see a darkened age reflected behind. And you are but a symbol of grief, of sin. Sins done to me, those unforgivable ones. And for this very reason, you shall not exist for any longer!”

So did he strain the damaged mask with his strength and anger. It was anger that fueled his strength, for that when he meditated over these failures for any longer, strength overwhelmed him, only to be unleashed at the uttermost fury. He did it; he tore the mask asunder, whereupon it lost its shape and completeness – all but shattered pieces of white cloth. Each held with one hand, he yet became reluctant to dispose of the two pieces broken apart. What only remained was a man standing still, carefully holding the broken mask with both hands. Rain fell hard, onto his body, his hand, the mask, split, separated, just as was the mask.

“Now that we are but miserable ones suffered from the torment. What have I done! A victim of a dark age, yet to create another tragedy on the innocent one, for it was but a reflection of the evil behind! Man is born to be saved, through his acts of mercy and kindness, not of cruelty and rage. Man is born to be redeemed, but never to be damned or convicted! Alas, wretched pieces. You were but a victim to serve the commands of the times. Though the guilt of obedience persists within, you were not as cursed to confront the destiny of destruction! Yet to my ruthlessness, I became the very executioner to witness your demise. How unfortunate. Perished one. Your death will be commemorated by the enlightened ones, for that you have faced the same destiny as mine, for that we are both wanderers who suffered from the undoing of the age. Yet you were the inspiration that drove me out from the reckless anger, and with your demise I shall be more merciful than ever before.”

Meanwhile, carrying the broken mask, he walked through the rained field of monuments standing. A grass field colonized by grayish rocks, the area is seldom visited by outlanders but is long consecrated by knowledgeable ones. Rain had brought an additional mood to the place, tinting the sacred sanctuary with a sense of gloominess, as if one would certainly be reminded of his grieved experience once stepped upon. So for the lone wanderer: his face was channels of streams, of raindrops but tears. Gray rocks stood still, he walked through, before suddenly stopped.

“Sentimental have I become. A mask of misfortune, a reminder of my ruthlessness, yet ought not to cause a surge in my sentimentality. My perished friend, I value you, but it is no reason for carrying your body forever. My friend! Have you seen this sanctuary of all but grayish rocks and green grasses! I shall bury you upon the vast field, for that you should relish the peace uninterrupted. My apology for not being a company, yet the lesson must be fulfilled. My mentor! Rest in peace, so will you be commemorated by the enlightened one.”

It still rained hard. Clouds gathered for once more, elevating the depressive nature of the weather into a new height. So did raindrop shape as arrows and blades that penetrated through the man’s defenseless skin, inwards. His bones. His flesh. His soul. Mourning, he gradually stepped away from the shattered cloth. Much to his unawareness, he never returned to where he entered the park. What he believed to be the straight, unchanged path was in fact curled and torn. So did he become.

…

Among the many gray rocks that stood in the sanctuary, one reads:

Incessant rain,
Mourning in vain,
Unnoticed pain.