The Selfishness Of Man

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The Selfishness Of Man

Three heads emerged from the clouds, and as the boy looked up he placed no fear upon his face. He stood with fortitude, ready for what ever may come of this. His blade at hand, his brow covered in sweat.

Below him, as he stood on the bridge before these three heads. A great battle lay beneath him, a battle that has raged for thousands of years. Even though this boy stands at the top of clouds, the rumbling of the battle could be heard. It cracked liked thunder beneath his feet, even the pounding of his own heart was drowned by the thunderous fight.

And as he stood, looking at these heads that wear great crowns of stone and gold. Their eyes mighty in brilliance as they reflect like gems upon the sun. He yelled out, what he wished for his people, for himself. And for a still moment, the heads stared with no response. The boy clenched tighter around his blade, readying himself for battle.

But the heads began to talk. All spoke with a deepness that echoed in the air like a great roar. Even a gust a wind could be felt from their voices.

The first head spoke,

"What is it you wish from yourself?"

The second head spoke,

"What is it others wish from you, what have you wished of others?"

And the third head,

"What is it you ask of us?"

And the boy stood with much confusion, but frustration over took his thoughts. He raised his blade to his side and began to yell at the heads before him.

"I wish for you to stop this blood shed, this agony in my people, in me. Do you not care for what has happened beneath your godly faces? Do you not wish to see this world prosper or do wish only to see us bleed, to see us end ourselves for your amusement"

The boys eyes filled in fury, his entire body built with outrage upon the questions he was asked.

The heads leaned to one another as if to converse, but no words were exchanged, not even a breath. They turned back and their eyes grew dull, looking to be made of stone.

Suddenly, the first head spoke,

"Is it no you that fought your way here, that stood your ground to become what you are today?"

The boy looked toward the head with irritation.

The second head spoke,

"What praises have you given others, what gifts of you have you shared with those around you? Have you not slaved to the preparations in others, only to watch them walk away?

The boy felt a slight tremble in his body from the question of the second head.

Then, the third head spoke,

"You have reached for us many times, you have called to us from the deepest oceans of your soul. Yet, all the prayers you have commanded upon us, you have not acted in recognition of your own action.

 For do we not give all the free will to be? Or shall we take this from you, making you all bland like the sand, to be only for a single purpose? For all to be planted as a tree only to feed the Earth air. To be like that of a pig, to be a meal to the next beast above you. To never express the meaning of life, the gift of it, the freedom of it. Or do you weep in the chocking of pity wishing for others to carry that which is yours? Do we not give you friendship to help you with your burdens? Yet you keep your mouth shut of your pains. Do we not give you thought, so that you may build that which you wish? Do we not give you vegetation and animals so that you may feed? Do we not give you heart so that you may tend to those that you love, and those you know little of? Do we not present the world with choice, with love or hate?

You come to us in rage, yet you do not speak to yourself. You come to us with misery, yet you reach to noone by your side. You come to us with violence, yet you speak not of what nature does upon itself. You speak with idle thoughts, yet you wish us to praise you. You wish for things to be new, to breathe in change. Yet you walk in impatience.

Have we not given all of what you wish? Or must we appease every naive word that crosses the lips of those that take not in their own doing?

After the third head spoke, a heavy silence held the air. 

Upon the response of the last head. The boy stood, tears built at the edges his eyes. His body became tamed in the responses. He fell to his knees, he dropped his blade and placed his hands to the ground. He looked up at the heads in a look of absolvence. But in the moment he looked to the ground, the heads had vanished. The clouds had dispersed, and no longer was he upon a bridge, he had appeared on the sands of his home. And for a moment, he looked back down as the water from the sea waved over his hands. He then lifted his hands from the sand, but lay upon his knees still. And in an instant, he watched the waves consume the prints of his hands. Cleansing the sand of any imprints of what was not meant to be.
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