Garder mon Ame

Chapter Seven: Remembrance and Bears

"He is blessed over all mortals who loses no moment of the passing life in remembering the past." ~Thoreau

Cyra trailed after Emery, down the path that led up to the Judgment Palace, and he sniffed bleary-minded at the magnificent flowers. How odd, to not have been admitted into Heaven and still be able to witness all of the glory that surrounded it. He wondered if he was blessed, if traveing this trail yet again meant another shot at redemption, was just a different sort of eternal resting place like the three different stairs, or both. Excitement stirred at the thought.

"Am I going to become an angel?" Cyra asked.

Emery was a few feet in front of him, nose buried in the stack of papers Mrs. Stabler gave him; Cyra's soul was in the hands of a man he didn't quite know. His whole story had been written down on sheets of paper, beautifully stark white tellers of fables and truths. It really said something, Cyra thought, about the written word, that eternal happiness could rest between the thin pieces. Books held so much certainty, so much meaning. They never judge, but whisper a story without bias and conviction. That, truly, was the cause of the hold a good story had on Cyra, even if it was his own.

"Can I read those?" Cyra asked.

Emery didn't stop walking, and he continued to review Cyra's documents. "One question at a time."

Cyra supposed that he already knew what his credentials graced him with, and so he repeated the first question. He knew enough about himself to accurately mimic the written words, but, then again, maybe he didn't. Maybe one could never accurately evaluate a triggered emotion or personality trait unless observed as an outsider. That was why, he supposed, that philosophers detached themselves so far from reality. For, to evaluate reality, one mustn't be consumed by it.

"An angel? Well, It depends on many circumstances and the opinions of my boss," Emery said.

"Why wouldn't your boss like me? It seems to me that to be a leader, you have to not judge the human condition too harshly."

Emery snorted. "Then you don't know my boss. I'm not saying he won't accept you, I'm just saying that . . . You know, you'll meet him soon enough. You can form your own opinion then. Or do you think that lesser ought to abandon discrimination as well?"

"I just think that nothing good can ever come from a brief assessment," Cyra said.

"Sometimes a brief assessment is all you get."

Emery took a sharp right, and Cyra followed onto another path, marked out by light wooden boards, overshadowed by the grandness of the golden trail. As the flowers became sparse and the large, majestic trees thick, Cyra wondered whether this was another one of Heaven's greatest secrets. The city that loomed at the end of the path was visible, yes, but its entrance was alive with the beating heart of the earth, tender shrubs and low-hanging trees that kissed it lightly and offered protection. He had to brush away low hanging vines as they reached out to touch his face as though their contact told them whether or not he was worthy to be traversing through such a hidden inlet.

Creatures stood on the side of the road also appraising the strange boy that had somehow found their Atlantis. Mule deer bowed their graceful heads at him, stark white pelts dappled in the sunlight that crept through the trees. Snowy-colored squirrels, rabbits, and mice foraged peacefully alongside the larger herbivores, glistening black eyes trained on the two people that crossed their path, but bodies relaxed; trouble was not expected. Even a fox, beautifully stunning with its frosty, pristine coat, sprawled gracefully on the lush blades of grass, just glanced lazily at its prey and rolled over to sleep on its back.