Regardless of how close to the edge I got, I would never stop.
Reporting was my life; I lived for the truth, to know why things happened the way they did. Why did the lights flash the way they did? Why do people desire to live in the way they do? Why were we put her in this city? Why am I here?
To report, of course. That is my mission.
I find stories about anything that picks my interest while keeping in mind what interests the people. I am a journalist, after all. I know the city, its people, their wants and desires... It is my job to do so.
But there was more than just my job.
I always wanted to know more, a thirst that no water or wine could calm. I was this curious person and I had learned to accept it.
I do know that wanting more is problematic. This consumed my free time to the point that knowledge was my only hobby, but I cared very little. I simply wanted to know more and I lived well with that fact.
I wanted to know more about the lights and the city they illuminated. How did it all come to be? How did it get its name? Why are we were?
I devoted my energy to answering this questions even if I knew that most of them would be left unanswered.
With time, I stopped focusing on myself altogether to focus on the History of the city I lived in.
The beautiful marvellous city in shades of emerald painted over with the richness of gold. And the lights...
I could not get over it, but neither could I understand how it all came to be.
Books were of very little help; conditory at best, confusing at worse.
For a journalist seeking the truth, this was the utmost frustration and disappointment. In some days, it was absolutely unbearable.
There were days in which I hated my obsession with the truth and desired to be someone else other than me. I hated my desire to know more about the city and I would channel this through slow painful self-destruction.
Whatever was at hand was good enough. It really did not matter in those days what I could grab, anything would do to turn the gold into red as long as it channelled my hate and I could see beautiful mirages of a long lost world.
I would lay for hours looking at nothing until my heart started to beat once more and, with it, my desires overcame my tired body.
"It is only a matter of time.", I would tell myself, "It is only a matter of time until everything falls into place and I have my answers. The answers the books would not give me."
The books' confusing stories were nothing but fog. I would never doubt that in their words there was some truth, however, it was almost impossible to distinguish it from the myths and legends created by the inhabitants of this city. At least, it gave me some fuel.
As my notes would pile up, I compiled them into the important things, the interesting things, the whys I wanted to know about.
Desire filled my heart as I saw the notes growing and growing. Finally, there were some results from so many hours lost going through dusty old books. But I still felt the frustration.
Things became a little better once I started interviewing people.
Most young people knew as little as I did and most old people told me of the myths in the books and variations of those. Interesting, nonetheless. It seems that some oral tradition had survived and, at times, it would shed light on what was written on the books.
I knew that I could not stay with these legends forever, so I made a list of the elders and venerable people in hopes of getting interviews with them that would help me write the story of the city.
I hoped that all these people were as filled with wisdom as I imagined them to be, but one name would not stand still on the paper. A name that would always pop up on my head as my top priority in the shy hope that he knew more than anyone else.
I asked others about him. They had nothing but sweet words for him.
The long-standing administrator.
"Grant Kendrell."
He was unreachable, untouchable but everyone knew him.
He was so up above us... He stood there, bathed by the vivid vermillion of his long coat and the lights shining upon him.
What was I to him? I was but a simple editor, a reporter on a lonely journey to tell the untold story of this city. What could I really do to reach such a formidable man?
I felt lost, even scared something I never felt in my short yet experienced life.
But how lovely was it really? To meet Administrator Kendrell...
I would touch the untouchable. My colleges could only dream of this.
I found many things about him. Most of them did not help me at all but helped fuel my fascination for the man in the high tower.
I knew he was good friends with one of the main engineers of the city and they would talk over food or drinks. I knew his age, his goal, his desires, yet that did not help me. I still had no idea how to approach him. But I was a journalist, the truth was my beckon and I had to do it matter what. One day I would have to approach the Administrator. One day I would have to do it if I wanted the best source in the city.
Of course, I kept talking to the other people on my list, but none of them was able to answer my questions. Many directed me to Mr. Kendrell.
My God forgive me, but my fascination towards the man only grew as I investigated. The contradictions in the books, all the frustration now was just an excuse to drink wine until I passed out. Now they were conversations in my head.
I wanted to see Administrator Kendrell... I wanted to know what he was capable of.
Imagine, if you will, all the things you would discuss with a person like that. The things he could tell me and the mysteries he could solve with a simple movement of his fine lips... A writer's dream coming true... I just needed to know how to approach him.
But how do you approach an administrator?
Administrators are well-respected people who live for the city and the people in it. They live for the majority and to satisfy their desires while ignoring their own.
It was strange for someone to just approach them. It would even be odder if the person approaching them is a well known terminal editor.
I was very well aware what people think of us sometimes. That we are a plague, rats feeding of other's lives, but I only want the truth.
I just want to compile the History of our beloved shining city.
Eventually, that day would come.
I saw my list getting smaller and smaller and the fear only grew in my heart. I still had no idea how to approach such a beloved figure.
And others... Others only had kind words for him... They would say the same, no matter who I asked to. They even encouraged me to speak to him. Perhaps, they were right.
I could get rejected and he would never lay his dark eyes on me but the risk would pay off.
His name would not leave my head and very soon it would be the only name on my head. The only name I needed. The only one that could speak the words I wanted to hear.
Instead of staring at the ceiling imagining conversations with Administrator Kendrell, my days were spend drown in anxiety. I was a nervous wreck swallowing coffee like my life depended on it and looking more like a chimney than a human being.
My hands shake and everyone noticed it. I told people I was simply tired from a long project. I knew they did not buy it, but it did not matter anymore.
Nothing mattered anymore. I was going to meet the Administrator Grant Kendrell and nothing was going to stop me. Not the rain, not the snow, not even the heat or ever changing city. Nothing.
I tried to find the Administrator in a very natural situation, somewhere I could just approach him without seeming like I was following him. I wanted to find him somewhere where he would not think of me as a meddling journalist trying to know more than he asked for.
Very soon I figured that bars are eternally the best place to do that. Nobody minds if you sit next to someone in a bar and start talking to them, even if that someone is the oldest administrator in the city.
I should talk to him at the bar... Even if he looked at me strangely, I would ask him for an interview anyway.
Mr. Kendrell was an even more impressive when seen up close. His coat was always with him and his hair and beard fashioned like a swordsman from far away gave him a charm nobody else had. It was impossible not to stare. He had the looks, the power, the charisma... He could change the world if he so desired.
I never felt so drawn to someone in my life.
My life was my job... But could it be that there was something beyond that? Maybe if I spoke to him he would show me why the gold is so beautiful in this city.
Courage, Asher. You can do anything. Anything for the truth. Anything to know why...
My fears were unfounded. The administrator was a lovely person. On that first night, he agreed to let me interview him about the city as many times as it was necessary. He bought my drinks for the night. He said he heard of me, that he read my words and was my hand on every piece of news on the terminals.
I never felt so happy in my life. It was as if I found a new reason to live, one I never knew I needed.
God bless this administrator.
He was kind like everyone said he was, but he also a force of nature, an imposing figure that deserved nothing but admiration.
He was like wildfire, destructive, yes, but gentle and beautiful in every way.
Maybe I was just impressed by his willingness to talk to a simple man with such a simple mission.
But he... He showed me the world. My eyes shined as he showed me true beauty over food and drinks.
My fascination for the man only grew. One could argue that it was turning into an obsession.
I was in love with his brilliance, his constant need for the truth warmed by heart.
For once in my life, I found someone who truly understood me. Because of that, I wanted to speak to him every day and I would anxiously wait for the days in which I could speak to him.
Nobody would understand my new found desire and how amazing Mr. Kendrell really was. I wanted to speak to him until the wine and the whisky ran out and dawn came to reminds us that life exists.
When he did not speak to me, I would stay home to organise my notes. I looked for every trace of him in them. My longing was too great to simply lay in bed and look at the ceiling. I wish I could see him soon.
He held me close to the truth but also close to something I had never felt in my life, something I wanted to feel until the lights of the city were turned off and the gold lost its shine. Everyone knew that would never happen in our lifetimes.
I just hoped those nights were just like the lights of the city.
Every time I was with him I felt peace. The noise would become silent and there was nothing else but him and the stories he told me about the city. I drank them like absolute truth. There was nothing else. No other sources. Like I had suspected, he was the person I needed if I wanted to tell the history of the city.
Soon, my job became meaningless. I just wanted to sit near Mr. Kendrell and to forever gaze at his face noting down his every word no matter how useless to my investigation they were.
Please, please, administrator Kendrell... Do not ever leave me...
The nights came and went. before I could notice we were talking about far more than just the city and its origins. We were talking about ourselves.
Never I had felt so close to someone. We had so much in common. Not just about wanting to know the truth, but I felt like we were kindred spirits meant to be together. And most impressive of all, I understood his fears and frustrations, they were not so far away from my own.
Kendrell had been an administrator for so long that his heart had become hollow. He had ignored his desires, his dreams and passions for so long to appeal to the masses that his mind had become plagued by doubt but he never left his position.
He told me that his position is one of great honour and he loved the city above all else. He only wanted the best for it.
I could not help but agree. Even if it destroyed me, I wanted the same. I hoped that through the truth I could make the city better. Understanding it and the people in it lead us to greater things.
The administrator was very understanding and admired my resolve. He was happy to be able to share his vision of a better city with someone else and I wanted to help him realise that vision. I did not want his heart to remain hollow. I could not let him become empty. He was too fantastic of man.
His dark eyes were tired of it all, I could see it. His visage was that of a mild aged man trying to break free from the chains he once enjoyed. But what could I do? This man had shown me the world, the truth, and I was nothing more than a terminal editor.
Kendrell showed me the beauty of the smallest things and I could not cure him in return. I was just a journalist. A petty writer. I was nothing compared to him. And I was not even his number one priority.
How shameful to fool myself into thinking that a man like him would give up on his best friend to speak with me.
My old friend despair came back and with it came the long nights looking at nothing seeing things that would never happen.
I saw the red. I saw him. I could hear his voice but I was alone.
Everything flowed into the terminals. My editor pieces became despair calls for attention from a man that had more than enough to keep his mind busy.
I wrote small yet depressive think pieces about the city and its inhabitants. Nothing to insult them, but something they could relate to.
People would tell you that this is the city where you can become anything, but for that to happen some people have to give up on their own hopes and dreams.
People loved it and related to it as I expected. Even if they were just delusional and wanted to feel like victims of a system that favoured them, they loved it. And I knew he would read it too.
That night we had nothing planned. Our interview was only on the next day, but he found me. The administrator found me.
My heart beat so fast I could see my blouse moving with each beat.
Of course, I would not run if the administrator wanted to speak to me but I had no idea what to think of this.
Could he be angry at be because of that piece? No... He was smiling the most beautiful of smiles.
His tan lips arched in a pleasant curve creating small caves in the corners of his mouth. His eyes were a little close and his wrinkles became more noticeable but he was nevertheless handsome.
He walked towards me.
I felt so small, so scared. I did not even know why. I could only utter his name in the most polite and formal way possible.
"Call me Grant, Asher." He told me in his deep voice
I almost wanted to close my eyes and listen to that phrase over and over again, but I only nodded.
Part of me was scared that administrator Grant came to say goodbye, that after that piece he was no longer able to speak to me because it would endanger his job.
I could not take it. I could take such misery. If he left me I would not be able to live like before. I found something I was not able to live without.
So I waited for him to speak. Just say something. Anything, Grant! Anything at all!
He smiled more widely and opened his mouth.
I was anxious. Oh, so anxious. I could take it no more. I wanted to run but I was frozen by his presence.
"Asher, I have read your piece." My heart yelped. My God, what is he going to say? "I understand and admire your power to make other's thoughts and needs your own. Led me your hands, lend me your skills and together we shall change the world."
My heart stopped.
Was it true? Did he want me by his side?
My hands would become his and I would transcribe his words and the city would know of his desires. No, our desires.
He took me under his arm and guided me to nearby bridge from which we could see the city lights and the fireworks of those happy days. It was all so filled with life.
I felt protected in his arms. Nothing could ever hurt me while I was with him and I would follow him anywhere.
"This shall be our canvas and we shall make it even more beautiful. Do you not want to paint the gold even more gold? Lend me your hands, Asher. We can do it together."
I could not go back. I would lend him my life if I had to. I would do anything for him. I would even follow him to the Country.
And what could I do? My heart made the decision for me. I would stand by him, my heart had decided. And I surrendered to it.
I let him hold me through the night. Surrounded by his deep red coat I felt at home. I knew Grant would always protect me.
"Be with me forever, Grant. Do not ever leave me."
"Of course not. I would not dare."
We stood there, looking after the city even after my name changed.
And I loved him. I loved him so much. I loved him before and I love him now.