“Years ago, I lost the person who meant the world to me. Death is a bizarre thing. Though they are gone in physical, their memory lives on, as long as there is people to remember. As long as there is someone still left to grieve, they will live. I seek her forgiveness every time I think about the broken promises. No more blood, no more pain. I promised her, that her king I would remain. Yet time heals wounds, and blurs the lines. I am, nothing but a liar. This we know to be the truth. The truth is that the One True King, is nothing but a liar. But I know, even now. I know that she would forgive me, as long as I continue to remain to true to myself. That I remain true to the ideology that I held so dear. That the reality I paint for myself is what I strive to be. Loz, she had a funny fascination with life after death. She showed a world that I would never have thought of. Lauren, she was my peace. Without her, I am, lost.”
Alexander Raven is sitting in a small boat, sitting upon what could only be the River Ganges. The cremation grounds, the smashan ghats, burn brightly in the distance. Varanasi is where Alexander Raven finds himself, floating in the dark of night, illuminated by the pyres that burn. His face sombre, half cast in shadow.
“Here, in the land of gods, death is not always a happy affair, but the peace in the practice is cleansing. It is thought in Hindu belief that a person who is cremated here, on the banks of this river. Should they have their ashes scattered into the water they’ll be released from the cycle of suffering; attaining Moksha. It’s beautiful, when you think about. Freedom from the pain and agony that the stained glass cities that we build around us cause. Freedom from the suffering that the lies and deceit that we convince ourselves of as holy retribution. Freedom from suffering, release from the pain. Loz, she was a fan of poetry you see. She was the one who told me of this place. A beautiful piece of film, a beautiful poem, was created here. I wished to take her here, before she died. The cruel irony of the poetry, it was not I, who would die. No, my physical lingers on here, and with that, my truth must be brought forth in her name.”
“Jack Washington. Another who actively partakes in the slanderous misguided reality that this the City of Sin does bestow upon us. Jack, I ask this of you, as a man who is experiencing their own drought of success. What drives you, to fix the err of your fate? Here, in the land of gods, faith, fate and guidance. Suffering and cycles, here in this land of chance and change. What it is that guides you, Jack? I asked this of Miles, I begged him to understand it. Barking up the wrong tree, he spat my suggestions back at me and continued to fail. Lack of sight forces that man to be lacking in focus. Visions eludes him, much like it does Finn, much like it will continue to elude all barking dogs who refuse to focus on the task before them.”
Taking his oars in hand, Alex slowly begins to row the boat along the river. Many others sit idly in the water, watching the pyres burn. Families, tourists, poets. Whoever the warped faces in the night air were, Alex slowly weaved his way between them, along the banks. His eyes were red, his face damp. His beard was unkempt showing a lack of care for himself.
“This was not a pilgrimage of happiness for me, Jack. Coming to this land, I knew the torture I would do to myself. My focus, Jack. My focus is ever what it was, and ever what it will be. In my truth, in painting of my reality, I beg her forgiveness. I beg the forgiveness of she who loved. I beg the forgiveness of the one who guides my every step. Lost, Jack. I am lost, but in that loss, I am also founded. Outside the stained glass windows that shroud the city of sin. Fate is something I generally loathe to believe, yet I can see the cruel twisting of destiny’s weave. We are brought here, to the place that showed the gentle curiosity of a woman so interested in the idea of life, that she saw no danger in the loss of it. It is here, Jack, that I am more focused than ever. I have much to prove, and I prove it with every success going forward. The rhetoric must change, and change it will. No longer will it be easy to mock the track record of the taunting bird man. Focused, Jack. I remain focused because in that focus I can feel the forgiveness of my transgressions. Of my lies, of my deceit. I aim not to be the king for myself, for I am nothing but a False Prophet. No, I aim to be the king that she saw me to be. I aim to be the one that holds aloft the crown that she bestows as the guiding hand of my destiny. Focus comes from that, and in that focus, Jack. In that focus, I know the truth.”
Coming to a slow, Alex comes to a stop a small ways from a dock. The throng of people around him, phones out, filming. Tears flowing from those who had lost. Alex slowly placed the oars into the boat and turned to face out towards the pyres once more. The flames flickering in the distance, reflecting off the water. A yellow glow cast over the dark sky, cutting through the dark world.
“Peace, Jack. Peace I must find, and peace I will. It is here, in this land of death, cycles, rebirth and gods. It is here, that I solidify the truth I speak. I solidify the reality that I give. It is here that I offer the olive branch to those who need it, guidance to fellow broken. Jack, do you understand what I’m saying to you? I need you to understand. I need you to follow me. Are you listening? Are you understanding? Are you following me, Jack?”
“This city of sin, this land of suffering. Jack, do you find solace in the stained glass sky that holds our Sin City from the reality that exists around it? The pain, the agony and the truth. The mountains that exist only for those brave enough to climb them. The pathways paved in blood, sweat, tears and pounds of flesh. Bone and carrion, feeding the birds. To make people understand the truth, I have been casting stones. Throwing whatever I can get my hands on, in an attempt to shatter the glass that hangs above us. I want to free everyone of the incestuous lies and deceit that brews within this company. This Sin City; will be cleansed in her forgiveness. For I am, the One True King, and once I sit atop that mountain, no more lies. No more deceit, no more hiding from the truth. My reality becomes the clear and clean windows into the truth. Twice, you’ve held that illustrious crown. The big one, if you will. You are, perhaps, my biggest challenge. Both men bested by the one who makes me seem like a cheery fellow. Both men forced to acknowledge the slithering filth and decay of this world around us. Yet differences lie between us, isn’t that right?
A small smile creeps across Alex’s face, a hand moving to cover his eyes. Pinching his temples, slowly standing up. The boat rocks a little as he slowly balances himself, lowering his hand from his face slowly. Wetness dabbles at his eyes, a vulnerability generally absent from him.
“Differences, are what make the interest. Differences is what guides us to be adversaries. Unfortunately, Jack. I don’t think you wish to rattle the foundations, and cast the stones alongside. I need people to be aware of what happens when you accept the illusion that the stained glass sky paint. In you, Jack. In your failure to succeed, I will paint a truth. A warning to all who would step to the king. A warning to all who would continue to belittle and mock the yappy bird king. The False one, it’s all a big laugh isn’t it? It’s funny to mock the one who barks and barks, and yet seems to falter. Yet no falter is found in my body. No falter in my dreams. No falter in my journey to cleanse the filth that surrounds us. To cast the deplorable filth to the depths. To pave my kingdom with their bones, and to feed their carrion to my Conspiracy. No, Jack. I am not a man full of bluster and bravado. I am the truth, I am, forgiveness. Do you understand, Jack? Focus, Jack. Focus is what I have. Focus is what you lack. Focus is what they all lack, Jack.”
“Are you listening, Jack? Are you listening, failure? Do you understand me now?”
Alex slowly extends a hand out towards the pyres, a small amount of tears beginning to flow from his face. Pain, anguish and grief lacing his features. His open palm flexes, before he balls it up tightly.
And then, darkness.
Nothing.
Silence.
