I wish to tell you of a tale, a tale of death and life, a tale of sacrifice and cruel fate.
Long, long ago, there was a sheep farmer. He lived his life day in and day out, yet he was nothing more than a husk of skin and bones and flesh, he did not truly live, he simply herded his sheep, but why did he work? For what reason did this man live? Can one truly say that the beating husk of a muscle, passing around blood is the definition of life? Or was it a question of purpose, was it a question of, reaching that moment all reach where they breathe their final breath, that moment where they look back, and have death becoming the affirmation of one's life.
This sheep farmer would work day in and day out, the cogs of his body moved yet his eyes remained empty.
Until one night, a wolf as black as the starry night appeared from the woods, its poise carried wisdom and its eyes carried forgiveness and melancholy. This wolf strived to exist, it did not wish to kill for fun, but rather because it had to live, it had to survive. Oh what a cruel world it is we live in, where those who do not wish to kill, have to if they wish to survive, a cruel cycle of instinct and survival over need for compassion and mercy.
The wolf would sneak its way through the fences and each night it would kill a sheep and leave, winter was closing in and food within the woods was becoming more and more scarce.
The wolf however did not eat the new-borns, for he understood they didn't need to die, and they had time to live their tragic yet beautiful lives. The sheep herder became more and more frustrated over time, he had many sheep, but it did not matter, for no wolf was to take his possession.
Kill it, I have to kill it, kill it, slaughter it, mutilate it, were the only thoughts that raced through the farmers mind, upon every waking second and upon every sleeping moment, his skull must have been vandalised with grotesque and spiteful horror.
During this time, a lamb had been born, this lamb was as beautiful, as innocent, and as naïve as they come.
Upon the opening of its eyes it stared up upon the blue sky and it was the first thing it saw, the only thing it could see there-after, and with its eyes plastered to the blue sky, it could not see the ugly visage of the world before it, the unfortunate world it had been born to, and it lived the numbered days it had naïve and wishful, until its last day.
Snow began to fall as winter neared, the blue sky still illuminated and the white snow hid the ugliness of the world behind a silk of purity that matched the fur of the little lamb. Yet despite the beauty of the snow, one stared upon it and saw not beauty, but impending sorrow, the snow seemed like it was trying to hide away the tragedy that was soon to happen, it tried to deny how truly grotesque the world can be, covering the world in a blanket of deceit and lies.
During the falling of the snow, the mental ailment of the farmer was ridden with madness, his mind plagued with insanity and thoughts of killing the wolf, he took the lamb and tied it to the ramparts of the fence, the lamb was confused, and slightly frightened as night fell and the view of the blue sky faded beyond the horizon, and the ugliness of the world was all that was left under a white blanket of snow, illuminated by the mourning blue light of the moon, illuminating the farm like the stage of a tragic theatre play.
The wolf walked forward steadily, calmly, its eyes stared ahead with its melancholic eyes, staring at the lone lamb, as it began to squirm and squeal, the first sight it saw since staring down from the clear blue sky, were the chains of fate rapped around its throat and the throat of the wolf, carrying the embodiment of a guilt ridden death. Upon every step on the moonlit snow, there seemed a sense that wolf knew what he was walking into, but he accepted his fate, as the wolf must play the part of the wolf, and the lamb must play the part of the lamb.
It seemed tragic; being born into a fate of killing when one does not want to, and having to die so others may live, when one does not want to.
All things that are born have a part to play in things, and the lamb was to soon be sacrificed so that the others may live, while the wolf was to eat the lamb because it had to.
And the farmer who hid in the shadows, whispered insanity, and his mind played tricks on him, the wolf that walked with a calm and melancholic poise seemed like a savage beast of malice and evil in his eyes. He saw fur darker than the abyss and fangs the size of daggers, eyes glowing red with malevolence.
The wolf walked closer and closer, its sorrow filled eyes glistened with tragic beauty, the lamb squirmed even more, its eyes filled with terror, it screamed for mercy and help, yet the white blanket of snow hid away its plea.
The wolf unhinged its jaw, the lamb's eyes widened in undeniable realisation, and with regret, the wolf bit down upon the lamb.
A bullet flew through the air at the same time, and pierced through the fur of the wolf.
The wolf's head laid pointing north and the lamb's head laid pointing south.
They both stared at each other, their heads resting on the white blanket of lies, their ears rested against the white flakes, as they heard the quiet and sorrowful weeping of the earth.
Blood flowed out of them both, soaking the white snow, the blood flowed in each other's direction, as they both merged upon the white blanket.
The eye of the lamb showed nothing but shock and terror, its body twitched and it occasionally wheezed, yet the lamb stared onward with terror filled eyes, looking past the wolf at the true horror of the world it had been blind to.
The wolf stared back with regret and guilt, yet it closed its eyes and took comfort in deaths cold embrace, his escape from the miserable fate it had been born into.
Upon the death of these two conflicting entities, stood a tall man in black beside them, an old and wrinkled man, in a black wool cloak and black hair, a top hat and hunched back, he supported his tall and bony self with walking cane made of oak.
He stood on the snow, his cloak and hat and tall bony characteristics seemed out of place as they were surrounded in white, the whole world tried to hide from the truth while this figure stood there in complete acceptance.
Everyone must meet this man, and thus, they shunned him, some people say he is crying when they meet him, others say his face is the epitome of rage, only defined by the wrinkles, and others say he shows no expression.
His black leather shoes became soaked with the flowing blood of these two victims of fate, and he stood atop them, both, lamb and wolf staring upon this figure with confusion, with regrets, with mercy, with revenge, as both, lamb and wolf, had their eyes slowly close for good and the world began to fade into darkness and their deaths were to forever be silenced behind the falling snow of lies.