I never had the privilege (or curse?) of seeing my father or Prakash
again, and honestly, I didn't want to. I wanted to remember them as they
were, cradled so delicately in my memory: the father who aided me through
difficult times in life, who soothed me as a child, who rocked me gently
when my mother died as an infant. I wanted to remember my playmate at the
Great Hall, the one who accidentally threw sand in my eyes and made me cry,
only to hug me to make me feel better. In fact, I have not seen sunlight in
the past.thousand.?.two thousand.?.years.
I do not know the time-I do not know the date. I only know that I should have been dead a long time ago. And yet here I lie, still regretting the past in this filthy cage, unable to escape what happened millennias ago, fed every day through a shoot, isolated from any kind of life form. My joints are stiff-I am arthritic, and it is painful for me to move. Citali, the brightest star, has dimmed considerably. Yet I force myself to do so-I cannot let go, not just yet. For just recently I have discovered something that very well might be my redemption.
I did not notice, but something had been left in my cell. One would think after thousands of years of captivity, I would have searched every crevice of the cage. But apparently, this is not the case. Just a few weeks ago (or so I estimate, for I stopped keeping track of what I believed to be days long ago), I found something on the floor of the cell that I had not noticed before. It was definitely old-perhaps older than myself. And I recognized it as well-it was gold, a looped chain with a small charm on the end of it in a lowercase letter t. I rub it down, tracing my fingers over the words engraved that I can hardly read. I know what they say, but I read them over again, just to fully understand their meaning.
Forgive, and you will be forgiven.
I had always blamed myself for everything that had occurred on that planet, and I do to this day. But as I trace over these words, these words of another religion, a religion that boasted a priest that spelled the destruction of our species as we knew it, I find new meaning in them, a meaning that swells throughout my whole body, old and ragged as it is, neglected and untended to for years. I rub the cold metal against my face, smelling its essence.remembering, always remembering. Remembering the swell of the cello's music, resounding through my ears like a tape on repeat, soothing yet grating at the same time, healing yet destructive.
"Forgive, and you will be forgiven."
I can see his face now, as I remember it, smiling slightly, kindly. I still cannot believe there was such potential for evil behind those eyes, despite their crimson color. It pains me within to come to grips with what happened-with what he did. For the past thousands of years, I could not find it within myself to even think of him directly, let alone forgive his disastrous, monstrous actions. Yet now I find myself dwelling on him even more, just stroking the emblem as if it were the ear stalk of an unknown lover.
Maybe.maybe if I can find it within myself to forgive him, to forget his actions and give him a clean slate on my plate.maybe.I can find it within myself.to find the same forgiveness for myself.
"Forgive, and you will be forgiven."
I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry, Prakash. I love you both so very much, more than you could ever imagine. Your sacrifice was more than I could ever ask for.
"Forgive, and you will be forgiven."
And maybe, if I can find this forgiveness, I can find the strength to break the bars of this cage, to escape my prison both internally and externally, freeing myself and walking forth to my people. Maybe our god, the god that looks over the Grundos, will give me the power to break through the chains that have been permanently bound to my species, to bring forth a rebellion, and cry that wonderful cry that was once uttered by another priest, ironically enough:
"Viva la revolution!"
And maybe, when I see him fall at the red horseman's hand, at my hand, I will finally be able to say it to his face, petrified as his former slaves loom over him, knowing that his death, his ultimate downfall, is at hand, knowing that the white horseman had been knocked from his steed by the sword of the red, and has come face to face with justice. Maybe, just maybe, I would be able to say it before finishing off his life once and for all, in the name of my people, with a sad smile displayed on my face, the same smile that he had given to me so many times before.
"I forgive you, Frank Sloth. And I love you."
I do not know the time-I do not know the date. I only know that I should have been dead a long time ago. And yet here I lie, still regretting the past in this filthy cage, unable to escape what happened millennias ago, fed every day through a shoot, isolated from any kind of life form. My joints are stiff-I am arthritic, and it is painful for me to move. Citali, the brightest star, has dimmed considerably. Yet I force myself to do so-I cannot let go, not just yet. For just recently I have discovered something that very well might be my redemption.
I did not notice, but something had been left in my cell. One would think after thousands of years of captivity, I would have searched every crevice of the cage. But apparently, this is not the case. Just a few weeks ago (or so I estimate, for I stopped keeping track of what I believed to be days long ago), I found something on the floor of the cell that I had not noticed before. It was definitely old-perhaps older than myself. And I recognized it as well-it was gold, a looped chain with a small charm on the end of it in a lowercase letter t. I rub it down, tracing my fingers over the words engraved that I can hardly read. I know what they say, but I read them over again, just to fully understand their meaning.
Forgive, and you will be forgiven.
I had always blamed myself for everything that had occurred on that planet, and I do to this day. But as I trace over these words, these words of another religion, a religion that boasted a priest that spelled the destruction of our species as we knew it, I find new meaning in them, a meaning that swells throughout my whole body, old and ragged as it is, neglected and untended to for years. I rub the cold metal against my face, smelling its essence.remembering, always remembering. Remembering the swell of the cello's music, resounding through my ears like a tape on repeat, soothing yet grating at the same time, healing yet destructive.
"Forgive, and you will be forgiven."
I can see his face now, as I remember it, smiling slightly, kindly. I still cannot believe there was such potential for evil behind those eyes, despite their crimson color. It pains me within to come to grips with what happened-with what he did. For the past thousands of years, I could not find it within myself to even think of him directly, let alone forgive his disastrous, monstrous actions. Yet now I find myself dwelling on him even more, just stroking the emblem as if it were the ear stalk of an unknown lover.
Maybe.maybe if I can find it within myself to forgive him, to forget his actions and give him a clean slate on my plate.maybe.I can find it within myself.to find the same forgiveness for myself.
"Forgive, and you will be forgiven."
I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry, Prakash. I love you both so very much, more than you could ever imagine. Your sacrifice was more than I could ever ask for.
"Forgive, and you will be forgiven."
And maybe, if I can find this forgiveness, I can find the strength to break the bars of this cage, to escape my prison both internally and externally, freeing myself and walking forth to my people. Maybe our god, the god that looks over the Grundos, will give me the power to break through the chains that have been permanently bound to my species, to bring forth a rebellion, and cry that wonderful cry that was once uttered by another priest, ironically enough:
"Viva la revolution!"
And maybe, when I see him fall at the red horseman's hand, at my hand, I will finally be able to say it to his face, petrified as his former slaves loom over him, knowing that his death, his ultimate downfall, is at hand, knowing that the white horseman had been knocked from his steed by the sword of the red, and has come face to face with justice. Maybe, just maybe, I would be able to say it before finishing off his life once and for all, in the name of my people, with a sad smile displayed on my face, the same smile that he had given to me so many times before.
"I forgive you, Frank Sloth. And I love you."