The Brink of Creation

Chapter 1 - The Visionary

The gift of life is a wonderful challenge. The multitudes of the generations of Man have long searched for the reason behind this challenge, for while wonderful, it would seem to most that it is unneeded - a feckless result of the unpredictable workings of life. The challenge comes to all - young and old, rich and poor, wise and foolish - and overtakes all. At its end, the gift is removed. How cruel our world must be to bequeath such a difficult journey thinly veiled with smiles and loosely bound in vain hope! For if all is removed at the end, in what lies true hope?

That is the question he sought to answer.

For from his earliest words, he pondered this question, studied it, discussed it with everyone in the City. He was but a boy then, immature in thinking but very much full of the gift of life. His questions were noticed and he was dismissed by the cityfolk as a yoddling fool. He found many who were unwilling to unearth the answer, but some who were, and he formed friendships with these some. To feed the youth of his mind, he used his time to converse with and listen to the some as he begged for food in the marketplaces. He was not the wisest, nor the most responsible, nor the most attractive or the best steward of his own time; he was by most accounts quite average, excepting his astounding ability to stay quiet and listen, much unlike the other residents in this manner. And as he listened, he learned.

He listened, and as he listened, he learned of many things. He learned how the City came to be, how Man found his way here, and the untold mysteries of the Gone. He learned of the possibilities of the world within, hidden knowledge of the world without, and myths of ancient battles. He learned from the City's historians of the fables of the fallen Gods and the twisted throne in the Empty Spaces. But though he prodded them for details, none of them dared speak further of this throne, and shied from his darted questions, slipping into the alleyways of the City to avoid the devouring flame within him. His heart fell, as he knew he could not learn the answer to his question - in what lies true hope?

Certainly, many of those who lived in the City had no hope. They did not recognize the challenge that life brings to all and did not attempt to aid him in conquering it. He was but an annoyance to them, sloughing the coins from their purses to live another day. This annoyance bristled the ears of a few of the marketers, who banded together and drove him out of the marketplaces onto the road, threatening him with thrashings if he returned again, either to beg or to philosophize. So extricated from his customary purlieu, the impoverished youth plopped beside the path against a Tower some ways away from the marketplace to beg.

The City was a pleasant and typically peaceful town, as much as it could be considering the present times. Amidst the windless rolling hills with fields of faded switchgrass and darkflowers, many of the residents had cobbled together quartz mined from the ancient hollows into Towers taller than most houses. The City was not a large one as I know it, but it was by far the grandest he had seen. It was, and as the city grew, the inhabitants' ambitions did with them. The wealthiest of them desired to build their Towers to reach this cloud for a reason I do not quite understand, but I suspect they had grown weary of their dull lives and itched for a clearer meaning for their lives.

The peace in this City, however lingering, was tainted. For there was one gray cloud, ever-present, looming like the master of the house over unsuspecting slothful servants. None of them had ever seen above the cloud, which blanketed the flatlands and dimmed the whole realm, creating an evident uneasiness across the hills. Plucking the head of a darkflower and crunching on its petals, he pierced the cloud with his eyes, immediately shuddering from both dread and disgust as he spat out the bitter petals.

After many days of scrounging among citizen rubbish and unsuccessfully imploring passersby for crumbs, there was nothing left in his belly. He deplored the absence of food, but much more lamented his inaccomplishment to concrete the resolution to his question. Though he had nearly become a man he had not yet been able to discover the truth of his question. He had yet to learn; what else was there to live for but hope? Did true hope even exist, or was it a mirage on the horizon, tempting his mind with a visage of a crown of continuance? Would he ever reach his goal, or would his hollow shell fail him at last, unable to carry the weight of his feeble limbs?