When the absolutes clashed in the confused mind of a romantic with a wounded heart as winter set in

Delusion and hope. Love and hatred. A clash of absolutes, jumbled up inside my mind, floating through a sea of melancholy, and then, put to words in a drunken state.

“How do pick up the threads of an old life ? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand......that there is no going back ? There are some things that time can't mend, some wounds that go to deep, that have taken hold. What can a man do then ? What will he do if there is no ship waiting for him to take him into restful bliss where all hurts are healed ? And what can he do when the hammer falls again ? At first, I didn't feel anything. It was like I was in a state of absolute tranquility, where nothing can hurt me. But it was like the lull before the war. I now realise, that I had gone numb,” he said. It took some time to hit him. “The pain,” he said, “was like being laid open by two swords at the same time, one as cold as ice, the other as hot as fire. But I have to live. I gave my word. And when my heart still beats and blood still flows through my veins, I cannot sit idle.”  With sword raised high and a battle cry on his lips, he advanced towards the hill crowned with swords. “Where I know my destiny awaits me." He looks up at the sky. The sun shone still, advancing towards the west, but it was behind clouds, and its light was dimmed. Suddenly, through a small gap, a ray of light illuminated him. A grim scene to look upon. He had an arrow through his chest, from where blood trickled down steadily. His sable cloak flapped about him, covered in gore and his own blood. There was a scar running down his right eye. He stood alone there. But still, hope shone through his eyes. In his hand was a sword, slightly curved, its edges burning brightly with the flame of his passionate ideals. But somehow, it radiated not death, but life. Behind him lay all those who had tried to hurt him. But they were not dead. For he had not killed anyone of them. "Peace is what the warrior fights for. Life in every breath. To defeat an enemy, you need not kill him". His master's words flashed through his memory. And with that, he straightened his bent back, and with hardened resolve he advanced towards the hill crowned with swords. And when he reached the summit, he saw a man standing there, black cloak flapping in the wind. Slowly he turned. "His eyes met mine. They were red. Filled with hurt, like mine. But there were also other things. Hate, malice, anger, and a desire for revenge. His voice echoed through my mind "So you answered my call. From this high ground of destiny, look at the world." I looked around. And I saw people. People who had loved, and then hated. Cared, and then killed. And in turn they lay dead. And the cycle went on. "Love and hate, pleasure and pain, happiness and sorrow, hurt - and then comes the choice forgiveness, or vengeance. But in the end, we all come back to pain. Both brings pain. But why forgive, and shoulder that pain on your own ? Your choice won't end the cycle. As long as humans exist, pain, anger, revenge and sorrow will be there. So here, take my hand, and let us together lessen this pain of our's as much as we can." And with that he extended his black hand towards me. And I saw me. No, I can't call myself him. It was me. But then, suddenly, a wind blew out of the west. Memories flashed in my mind. Memories of laughter, joy, happiness and love. Memories full of hope. Memories of light. I put my hand inside the pouch I hung from my neck which was touching my heart." From inside, the man in the sable cloak took out two flowers. A withered red rose, and a full and blooming blue forget-me-not. He raised them to his nose, and took a deep breath. "Flowers are flowers," the man in the black cloak said. “They just smell nice....but flowers are just flowers. There's nothing to them. And why do you keep that rose ? It's withered, and withered flowers don't even -" "You won't understand. It's not the scent. It's the memories that matter, “I said. Or the man in the sable cloak. For both he, and him, were me. “To love and hate both tempt with the same voice”. The words flashed through my mind. Yes, both of them heard those words. I heard those words. ““Won’t you take me to a higher ground ? I need to see again the ways around. And choose the uneasy redemption.” Were you not singing those lines last night ?”, said the man in the black cloak. Or me.  “No, that was you, not I”, said the man in the sable cloak. Or me. No, just me. For now I see it. "I don’t want an uneasy redemption. I don’t want to rewind. That was what gave birth to you. You who is also me, and not me.” The man in the sable cloak stood with bowed head. His eyes were closed, and tears trickled down his face. But when he opened them, the other man saw in his eyes things he didn't understand. "Love, happiness, hope, and forgiveness. Those are what I believe in. What I live for. The things I'll die for. No, I don't want revenge. I choose to love and forgive. I care not the pain that causes. This is my choice. And my cycle - our cycle, will end here." The man in the sable cloak looked at the sun. "Maybe this is the last time I'll see you". He looked to the east and saw the moon rising. "Maybe also the last time I see you", he said. He looked at the forget-me-not. "Don't worry, even if I'm gone, I'll know that there is someone who still looks at you and smiles, someone other than me who'll forgive you always. Someone who’ll look after you just like I would’ve. Some on whose shoulder you can cry. Someone who’ll be your support. Someone, to whom you’ll always matter more than time. Like you do to me. Yes, you will always matter to me more than time. I just hope that you can forgive me if I don't survive. I’m sorry that if that happens, you can never call anyone ‘Fidato’. Yes, I’m happy to know that you there is only one person you call ‘Fidato’, and that is me….but now, I also feel sad for the same reason. And if this do be farewell, then I have one last wish - that you'll live on when I'm gone and try to be happy again". Then he looked at the withered rose. "Forgive me, he said. I have done my best. If I fail now, then I'll meet you soon.' It had begun to snow. The man in the sable cloak looked at the sky. Suddenly, he stooped, scooped up some earth and buried the two flowers there. Then he covered them with some earth again. He stood up then. "Au revoir, and adieu. He said. I don't know which to say to whom, so I put you both together and said both ‘see you’ and ‘farewell’." And lo ! For in the mingled light of the setting sun and the rising moon, from where the flowers were buried, now bloomed amidst the fallen snow, a blue winter rose. The man in the sable cloak smiled. He looked up then, at his opponent. He looked at himself. The reflection seen in the mirror of no mirror. He looked at his dark side. And from the field, I looked on as the absolutes clashed in the rays of the setting sun upon the hill crowned with swords, as winter laid his deathly cold hands upon this world where the cycle of our choices spins the destiny of one and all.

Author's Note

Ignore the few punctuation problems. I'd like a detailed critique of the dialogues.

Reviews

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:: well... i'm not a critic... so i'll just express my thoughts about this piece of writing...

:: i think there is a typo in the first line... perhaps you meant "how does one pick up the threads of an old life"... what i mean is that there is no word between "does" and "pick"... i did see some other proofing errors but i'm pretty sure you can fix those when you have time...

:: you're very proficient in the english language... :: as for the subject of this post, i think the main purpose of the past is to enable a better diagnosis of injuries so that we can do something to mend and heal in the present and prevent injuries in the future... :: philosophically speaking, i don't think there is anything cyclical about choices... sometimes, choices change... sometimes, we choose to not choose and actually blend with the momentum of the universe... it really depends on the life we lead and the sort of meaning we wish to empower it with... sometimes, even that is not a choice... we find ourselves in situations where the only response can be a very meaningful and/or significant action... :: the best thing about writing is that it allows us to explore options... and i think you do a fine job of doing that in this piece... :: very thought-provoking and interesting work...