Page 2
And then everything was still. The silence was even deeper than before, and the winds were slightly colder. Michael slowly opened his eyes and saw, still the body of a boy whose breath had left him. For a second Michael felt a stone fall upon his heart, crushing all hopes of redemption his heart was starting to form. But looking up, he noticed that all the dim lights of the sleeping town were gone––no, the town itself was gone, as if it had never even been there. A new sense of panic hit Michael…, but then peace settled upon him. He had not lost anything–he had nothing left to lose. Rather, he was freed from punishment and the promise to a miserable life. Michael took in a deep breath of the fresh ocean air. He had hope for a peaceful life here.
As the morning dawned all around him, Michael placed Andrew in the hole he had dug for him by his favorite lake. He then carried the egg into the mountains where Andrew had first discovered it, and placed it down as a memorial. Bringing a couple flowers he found closeby, Michael kneeled by Andrew’s grave and prayed for peace upon his soul. He then washed his face and clothes in the lake and shivered as he waited for the sun to dry his clothes. He wandered the uninhabited land, gathering berries and broken pieces of wood, using survival techniques that were only play activities merely a week ago.
Michael’s life in no-man’s land was ideal, but obviously lonely. Everyday he visited Andrew’s grave, every visit himself a day older than Andrew ever could be. The days turned into weeks, then weeks into months, then months into years. Michael had established a home for himself, never once leaving Andrew’s side. At first it was guilt and love that tied him by the boy’s side, but as he grew older and his childhood memories left him, it turned to attachment and routine. His once clear speech turned into a low muttering of words as he struggled not to forget the little spoken language he had known. He was now an old man, alive everyday but not living. But still, everyday he would visit Andrew, chatting, laughing, weeping…, just like he used to all those years ago.
Slowly his loneliness turned into madness…, and he convinced himself that he was happy, that he was satisfied, that he was content, that it had to be, that there was no other way… Because without that, he would have to face his sins and guilt.
This was life for Michael. He lived in what he believed to be peace with nothing but the mountains and the oceans, and the grave of a young boy who was once his friend. Michael now rejected the fact that it was his hands that shed the young boy’s blood. He truly believed with all his heart that this was always the way that it was: just the mountains, the oceans, and the grave of a young boy who was once his friend. There was nothing before, and there would be nothing after. Now all he hoped was his life on earth to end, because he thought that maybe then, he would acquire the truest form of peace.