Vanity Sacrifice
There once was a sheep and there once was a wolf. The sheep and the wolf operated in different packs, but much in the same ways. They were constantly fighting, the sheep and the wolf, and always would the sheep come out the victor. It was not because the sheep was on steroids, or because it was stronger than the wolf, oh, no. The sheep always came out on top because it was foolishly wise, and because it was wise, it had hope.
The sheep treasured this sacred item more than it treasured anything else, but never could a smile be seen on its face, for the truth was that the sheep was sad, even though it had the reason to move onward. The sheep was lonely. It desired company, even if only for a little while. And so, maybe the next time the wolf would come around, maybe the sheep wouldn't hope.
There once was a wolf. The wolf was a horribly fickle beast, never content with what he had. He was envious of the sheep for what it had. So blinded by his envy, the wolf was unable to rise above the sheep. Each day the wolf would leave its home and defeat a foe stronger than the last in hopes of defeating the sheep one day.
So lost in rage and envy and hatred was the wolf that he was unable to move on. He never noticed that wherever the sheep went, he went, too. The wolf has no hope, and the wolf has no sadness. The wolf is utterly alone.
And now the sheep is gone, and the wolf has no reason to live anymore. He regrets killing the sheep. And now there will never be another to take its place, and the wolf is saddened. Perhaps if another sheep plays in his field, he will hesitate to kill it. What the wolf does not realize is that now he has gained hope, salvaged the tiniest glimmer of what he so desired and was denied of, and the sheep is happy.
For it was the wolf's vanity that killed the sheep in the first place.
Now where is the irony in that?
There once was a sheep, and there once was a wolf, and perhaps they were both vain.
Sacrifice
In the end, the savior couldn't even protect himself, huh? The sheep died at the hands of vanity. The wolf's vanity.
Sometimes it's hard to tell the wolf from the sheep. Sometimes it's hard to understand our own vanity. Sometimes it's hard to see the wolf in ourselves.
The wolf and the sheep, huh?
Now where's the irony in that?
