Our Story Has No Name
I had the pleasure of speaking with an Enderman the other day, fine chap. He had such the story to tell, and I promised him I would tell it to as many people as I could so, here I am trying to do just that. I think he said he name was Ouris or some-such. Shame, I don't think I'll be seeing him again and all I have are his stories. And even those don't have names.
They never took the chance to ask "why". They never even thought about doing it. I doubt the very notion of the notion of asking "why" ever occurred to them. Most, if not all, we're much to content to take what they saw on the surface as truth. What they saw us as, as the truth. We were different. We were monsters. We were terrifying visages of slender, ominous darkness stalking about their still young world. We were driving them from their homes, their streets, and their land. We filled them with terror at the very sight of us, attacked without reason or warning stole from their own creations and left them vulnerable to the other dark forces of this dangerous world.
Most of this was true.
We were certainly different. A were they. And we certainly looked like monsters to them. As they did to us. We scared them. They scared us. We attacked them and killed them without reason. And just as often they slaughtered us at the sight. And of course, and this is one I cannot truly defend, we stole from them. Their homes, their livelihood, their precious little glowing stones and diamonds, even the very dirt and stone and sand they walked on. We took them all, when we were not killed that is.
But not once, never even for one stupid moment, did any of them ever stop to ask, "Why?" Why were we doing this in the first place? Where did we come from? Why were we so much more content to scavenge that world rather than conquer it as they were sure we were there to do? Why? Why? Why?
Why did they never ask?
What would some of us have said if they did? Most would probably not have said anything. We would probably have just stood and stared at them, as we had been told to do, to scare them off without needing to fight. Not I, though none of them ever did stop to ask.
It is my moral viewpoint, I believe, that labels me as different from my own people, who are content to view the world statically. That and my damned cerulean eyes.
I would not have just stood there gawking at the small creature who'd ask me the question I'd longed to been asked for many moons. Though I would not have said anything either. I would show. I would take them through the black gate that so many of their kind seemed to fear. Through the shadowy veil and into our world. Our land of infinity and hopelessness.
I would show them our world, where we had lumbered and wandered aimlessly for hundreds of thousands of moons. Where the dark, dusty plains continue on and on, far past anything and anytime it was possible for them to conceive. I would have them look up at the empty sky of ash and shadow. I would lead them past the dull foreboding structures of what they called 'Ender', those damned pillars gazing down at us much like we did to them. Yes, I would show them the hollow realm that we were damned to call 'home'. And after that, after seeing such monstrous emptiness and wretchedness, how could they wonder anymore? How could they not understand our desperation and appreciation? Could they still truly not understand why we were there?
They ventured and frolicked in a land of dangerous beauty. Dangerous, yes…deadly at times…but still so damned beautiful. Everything was so full of life and light. It had depth and wonder to every inch of it, even to the parts they never saw or never ventured to. They were truly blessed. And we were truly damned. To wander forever in a world that could not offer us any hope, any happiness or sadness, and anger or fear. It was shallow and plain, lacking of any feeling good or bad.
So we gazed at their world, and we walked it. Though we could not see it in its beauty at sunrise, or feel the cool relief of its waters on our bodies. Or perhaps we could, and the sheer emotion and wonder we felt from it were too much for our bodies to bear and so were burned and destroyed. I could not say.
But always we had to return. The End beckoned us back, as if it grew jealous that we reveled in what it could not give us. We always returned, back to the ash and dark, back to the emptiness.
But…..maybe we did not have to leave this paradise entirely. Yes, maybe, just maybe, we could take this world back with us. Fill the void in our world and our hearts. Yes….
Maybe…..just one?
Just one block of dirt…..Surely no one would notice that? No one would miss it….
The void calls to me no longer. I have left the End far behind. My people, slowly consumed by their greed and craving, will soon come to the point that they either destroy themselves or the very world they long for so much. I wash my hands of it all. Morally speaking, of course.
I will not rob this world of its beauty and innocence. I will not be the tool that serves to make into the world I have escaped. I choose to revel in it, while it is still here. I will feel its grass on my feet, breathe in the air of its forests, and feel the wind of its deserts and the bite of its cold snow. And maybe, just maybe, one day I shall feel its waters on my face without the burning, look upon the sun as it lights up the world in an ever glowing splendor. And maybe, in time, I shall escape the very memory of Ender.
But you have much longer than I. You have so much freedom without even realizing it. So the next time you find yourself staring into the blank eyes of one of my people, be wary, but also have pity.
For we are damned
But you are blessed.
You have your tales to tell.
But our story has no name.