The Two Neighbors

Far beyond the boundaries of the world, in a realm far and untouched were the two neighbors. They lived together within the same block, but isolated from the rest. One, Farson, embodied the humble traits of a sincere person. His generosity would extend to the simplest of acts, his tone lay low at all times as if he respects silence, a laconic speaker, odored with the most beautiful and swimming smells, dressed in the lightest of colors that force a smile upon any creature who gazes upon him, and keeps to himself on a typical day. If there is one activity that Farson likes to engage in, it's taking to himself and walking upon God's work in nature's forests and little kingdoms of beevers. All to observe the miracles he had always wondered.

Not all stories begin as such, but sometimes a twist takes place to turn a tilt. Denethor was the name of the other. He wasn't strictly a polar opposite of Farson, but definitely a counter of some sort. A cliche binary/duality takes form in this story. But what else could possibly outweigh the profound clashing of good and evil? The North and South? The home and away? Denethor did not typically show emotion to any who was present. He wore, for the most part, parched clothing of a blakish/greyish foundation. He enjoyed growing things just to experiment on them, and a lidless curiosity haunted him ever since he was a mere child. Oddly enough, his favorite beverage was beer and... he brewed it all by himself!

The two rarely ever interacted. Farson would typically take his long meditative walks towards the end of the day having finished all his necessities. Never so did they even gaze upon one another. For their dwellings laid across, with Denethor's grass a bit darkened by time or malcare. His house was fenced as if robbers were coming and going by the hour. Farson, however, hadn't one care in the world who came and went. He kept a keen eye on all things living, motioned or motionless, and kept a tidy and keen eye upon all the shrubbery he grew, all the trees he planted, even remembered the seeds he placed in the ground and on what day and what time! He was truly remarkable in that way.

Just to be clear, it would be extremely unfair to say that Denethor and Farson were equals. Farson lived a humble existence and his home was not luxurious nor was it fanciful. Denethor's build, however, was magnanimous and constantly looked to expand it. His ambition for a better life left him wholly unsatisfied with his pleasures. One day, the emptiness within him grew too long and empty. He never understood why the neighbor was always so happy and content with his "little" life. In a vengeful fit, he went and trashed everything in Farson's house. He broke everything breakable, defecated on the bed, urinated on the floor, and even dug up all the seeds Farson had planted in his yard. After he committed his horrid acts of defilement, Farson returned to his home from his daily ventures in the forest.

"What happened here?" Asked Farson as if blind to what had befallen his home.

"What happened? I'll tell you what happened!" Shouted Denethor while sobbing uncontrollably, "I fucked up your house! There! I did this."

"Why would you do such a thing?" Once again, befuddlement finds Farson's mind.

"I am nothing! I can't do it! This gaping black inside of me that never ceases to exist! Always am I chased and haunted by something lurking in a shadow unresolved. A need to do more, to be more." At this, his voice starts breaking. The tears rolled down his cheeks like rain through clouds of grey.

Farson goes to him at once and places a hand upon his shoulder: "It's a tricky thing, Denethor. Being content with a life so big and daunting as yours. You build up your house every so often, and yet do not bring me as a guest. You leave your grass unattended, and think to be happy? Dear friend, do not look upon what you have done here as anything but growth. I, too, was wondering what had you so upset the past few days. I know it all too well now."

"What do you think it is?" Asks Denethor, still begrudging Farson's zen.

"Friend, we will always want more. The beauty of being human is to find a stopping point and say, proudly, 'I am happy here'. It is truly that simple! Your craft with your house shows me how capable you are with your hands. This does not mean you ought to expand your territory until the hills of hathens, or the falls of fanegreth. Live with certainty and you will find blind love in your heart. Do not succumb to our horrible nature. The nature of wanting more." Farson speaks with wisdom so steadfast, that Denethor was no longer sobbing. Rather, he was truly heartened by the words of his newly found friend.

"Why did you not attack me upon this sight? I have destroyed your house! Yet you sit here and comfort me with words as if spoken from the mouth of an angel.." Denethor wonders deeply what he will say to this.

"Ah. What is it to meet evil with evil? To fight fire with fire as they say? The stupidest thing I've ever heard. Why not just acquire a fire hose, and mow down the fire with water to end its fury? Revenge does not solve, it merely prolongs. When you notice something to be broken, you do not break it even more! You fix it at whatever cost you find, and hope that one day it will grow to help others just as you helped it yourself. Breaking cycles of hatred is more powerful than anything, Denethor. It's like an arm extended from God, and acted through you."

At this, they become friends as if knowing each other for hundreds of years, which they have. For the realm they live in has none but them in its existence. A realm so mysterious in its making, that they call it "Farnaguin". In their own mind, it means "Place of Mystery".