.Finally.
10.24.02






Restricted


Across the vast distances of dust and bedraggleness within space, the presence of sheer black abyss laid itself with pride amongst the constant battles of motion and stillness. These battles are without thoughts of hesitancy. But with a bat of eyelashes, narcissisms of dominating monotonous color shatters, creating gradual broadening rays of iridescent luminosity. A young boy of about seven years has awakened from his slumber.


His vision source sparkled as if dreams of diamonds, higher than the magnitude of a billion constellations. Even though, it shone not bliss. What it did shine were bitterness, sorrow, melancholy and yearning.


These same pupils gazed perpetually towards the locked knob of a door. It was a door to a new reality. He completed a cruel groan as he reluctantly and harshly turned away.


Picking up his lyre, he commenced letting his slender fingers dance with each glistening strand of sounds. It manifested an incessant strangeness that appeases. A ceaseless echo which penetrates the depths of synapses. That precise natural hallucinogen is most commonly known as music. He strummed again.


The distorted mesmerizing tune faints gradually, vanishing amidst the emptiness of everything. It sunk deeper and deeper in between the compactions of molecules, and subsequently, got shifted away from existence. The melody died.


Again, he heaved a sigh, but now with vileness called boredom. At the present, the jubilance of instruments was barely with him. He laughs sarcastically. How ironic, he was the god of songs.


He picked up a piece of ragged cloth from the floor and began scrubbing again. Rubbing the dust and rust out of the walls that deprived him of liberty, of an all-new perception, of accomplishing breakage away from suppression. But then again, it was these walls that provided him with imagination. The imagination to wonder what could be “out there”. The imagination to long his deepest desire as granted. The imagination to form the prospect of exiting this lifeless gloom and entering one filled with radiance and difference. The imagination to dream away and unleash a new concept called curiosity. The imagination which supplied all these. The imagination he practiced everyday.


And everyday he did. Soon after, he got a bit cynical and exasperated. He was also beginning to feel fed up and exhausted. He was sick of inertness. The walls no longer gave him the ability to envisage scenes he’s never seen, because he finally believed that it was a dream beyond possibility. The repetition has resulted him a lost of will to live.


Then, a sudden compelling voice called-out, from nowhere, unexpectedly allowing his skin to feel a crawling sensation while his nails buried themselves at depths of his palms. Upon the voice was mystique and enigma. It had no opacity in it and so it remained a bit garbled. It was amiable in such a way w/ tranquility but it was a certain peculiar hardness, which made his clenched fist not loosen.


“What is Your Name? Name? Name?”


With unwillingness, he stammered, “a-a-pp-po-lo … . . ”


Folk Tale


9 pm. In a room in England, a traditional quarrel takes place.


“Mama Mama! Tell me a story! Please!” A little naïve child with beautiful large shimmering eyes pleaded.


The mother sighed a little, out of annoyance.


“Alright then,”


“Yippee!” The kid exclaimed out of innocence’s unblemished joy.


“I’m going to tell you about Apollo”


“Who’s Apollo?”


“Apollo was a Greek god. He was the God of the Sun and Music. He was omniscient and omnipotent. Though as he was, myths love to fancy him with juvenility. But he was different. He sang. He led tuneful melody with graces and muses. What others found out later, is that he composed so-called ‘dreadful’ lyrics.”


“What made it so dreadful?”


“He spoke his beliefs and awareness,”


“What was he conscious of and what did he believe?”


“He believed many things. He believed that everything revolved around choices. And sadly, according to him, most choices of people revolve around fear. Fear is a dangerous aspect of life, he believed, since it creates a barrier of limitation unnecessary to cope with. It was in his beliefs that life, life makes tragedy. What makes life make tragedies is the thought that life is unfair though lacks the capability to say it out loud. To be franks he states, Life is fair. One perceives life as unfair because one cannot accept the bleak exasperating system of it. He believed that comprehension is the first step to acceptance. And only after acceptance can there be recovery.


Recovering is the only method to survive.


He believed that humans are completely in charge of their so-called existence. This includes their own reflexes and choices. And choices are never wrong; they are simple actions that imply an effect or so he believed. Choice and effects are subordinate and each complements another. He believed that achieving a goal is difficult but not unattainable. It is necessary to expect a lot of obstacles coming and try to falter one off. Tempting as it may seem, oppressing, urging and devastating, one till has a choice. And that choice would always remain at his possession. He believed that facts are only composed of mere opinions. A strong evidence of this is that one cannot differentiate fact from opinion with ut consulting his biases and prejudices. Therefore: facts do not exist. It is only a mere concept amidst the sea of ideas of shattered minds.”


At this point, the mother had already forgotten that she was talking to a child. The youngster scratched her head.


“How can those hurt?”


“It led Zeus into paranoia. To him, exposing this audibly would cause rebellion. Revolutionary liberalism of that would awaken people from the façade of reality and cause him downfall. He demanded its abolishment, it is what he feared.”


“Oh…”


The daughter mumbled as if of comprehension.


“Then Mama, What happened next?”


“He died,”


The girl’s eyes widened in horror and helplessness, she knew with certainty that it was undeniably injustice. She couldn’t understand.


“Why?”


“Because the world was not yet ready for him, and to listen to what it already knew.”


Epilogue


The moment Apollo closed his lips, the door unbolted welcomingly. A flash of brilliance slashed across nothingness. At last, it was the moment he‘s been dying for. The gateway guiding into outside, the gateway into a new sense of actuality, has now opened. He felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. His soul aroused as if never before. It was enthusiasm and ecstasy barely understandable. Mixed emotions of curiosity, felicity, fear and reluctance brawled inside him. It was too much to endure.


Though, whatever he felt, it was his obligation to disregard them especially if it’s with unwarranted dread. He took a deep breath. He tried painfully to move his numb feet immobilized with fright and uncertainty. Each cell of his epidermis was as if wrestling with hell-like angels. He felt a sudden fleeting sensation not viable to be explained by words. It was as if an ocean that continued to flow with out water. As if blinding dimness, as if contradiction. It lasted forever but only less than a second.


Then he carefully stepped into the end and the beginning. The piece of rag in his hand shattered the silence.


[1o.24.2k2 || Restricted|| Mithi. ] 6.75