G E N I I
D I E
Y O UN G
-Stradivari-
:i:
It hurt to breathe. He wouldn't have minded so much if it didn't hurt to think as well. Of course, that didn't stop him thinking. Always thinking. Thinking, contemplating, analyzing, calculating, manipulating.
Fingers clasped around the matter as one would clasp a bird, feeling the thudding exhilaration of its heartbeats at your fingertips. And that barbaric, yet unquenchable desire to stop that beating heart, neither by hate, nor by love, but curiosity alone.
And such a curiosity.
Perhaps the true and darker side of humanity, that lingering, everlasting shroud of if…
If death was to be…then the knowledge would be obtainable through another's death. The only pity his soul ever felt was that a dead man spoke no words.
Yet, even with this foreseen wisdom, the instinct to destroy for the sake of the consequence already known could be too sweet to ignore. Fools, perhaps, for the courageous were the idiots. But not in this case. You needed no bravery, only determination and the method to succeed in such. Of course, a mind to devise such a method would be hard to acquire, but it was only those minds who thought it acquirable in the first place.
Such a fascination it was really, rather like those first 'why's and 'how's one asks. They were answerable then, those giving the answers under the illusion that they knew what are to be known, and that they wished to be enlightened on nothing else. They claim they do not know everything…yet inside the core, the truth was that they knew nothing at all.
He had refused to become such a sensei, a rabbi, a teacher who taught because they could learn no more. Their minds only went so far. He could not help but sneer at their pathetic self confidence, the arrogance that one gain's through the ignorance of others.
Because no one could answer their questions, just as no one could answer his. So that only left one being, and their prerogative was to leave him in darkness. They have the power to do so…but not for much longer.
He did not believe in God.
There was no god in the living who could sate his thirst, no God, therefore, who could sate his thirst in the dead. Perhaps it was in humanity to laugh in the face of the divine. But if this was the purpose, then he would do so, right up to that holy face. Then the rabbi would realize that, he too, could not answer the questions of a true Man.
Such irony that he knew the taste of the wine before the glass reached his lips. Would this fore-knowledge leech the delight from the paradise of heaven, making it…pointless? For what was the point of an eternal paradise if that paradise could be found on earth? Would this genius make his determination nothing but mere gullibility? Could he extort not only gold from the living, but the gold of those who have passed beyond the veil? But then again, no one has given him the answers. So perhaps wisdom was only knowledge gathered and lost once more. He had no sensei. He was no sensei.
Curiosity killed the cat. How very quaint. But he was no cat, and no curiosity would kill him forever. Though he could feel pain, physical pain, which did not necessarily indicate that he was humane. The will signified that. And he would not turn back now. He was utterly dedicated to his goals. His whole life. It was no cliché. It was simply the currency he needed to use. All his millions could not be exchanged. The Egyptians sacrificed their riches in vain then, a thought that brought a dry smile to his equally dry lips.
Soon.
Perhaps he was turning traitor to the law he had abided by for so long, the law all his blood had been bound, a law they had written themselves. The only law he did not take pleasure in breaking. But he alone would achieve the answer, and that pleasure was sure to compensate the pleasure lost. Drown the last vestiges of bitterness with success. He was confident on that front. Absolutely, and completely.
And if he were to be proven wrong, that answer, that prerogative would still be his. The rest of humanity would just have to wait for their Messiah. This made all mankind God.
It was perhaps what you would describe as a morbid desire. Morbid fantasy of the insane, the mad, the unreal, one whose mind was so unique, so incomprehendable it was inevitably feared.
If I win, I'm a prodigy. If I lose, then I am mad. That is the way history is written.
The younger the greater the genius. And he was the youngest of them all. He was no megalomaniac. But he will know. And he shall be God.
Nothing could have saved him. Right under the heart…almost a coincidence really. But all the wealth in the world could not buy the chance to salvage his life. Not even Butler. The least the boy's conscience had done was to clear that of the innocent. But it had been done quickly, silently, as if only an afterthought. Unimportant. Though it was sharply cruel.
But cruel as it was, the expression upon the pale face was one of triumph, of a soul bordering on unimaginable ecstasy.
Genii die young.
:i:
Author's Note: That is perhaps the darkest portrayal of Artemii/s I have ever written. It was originally a song fic, which I will add as the second 'chapter' to this. At the last minute, it seemed better as a traditional oneshot.
Once again, I have no idea whether the intended 'ideas' were perceived at all, so please REVIEW with lots of nice CC and tell me what you thought all the vague and strange bits and pieces meant.