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How did it all begin? Thou rememberest, dost thou not?
A blue speck upon a scarlet canvas, a duel spanning three nights and three days, the first “spark”. Tales that couldst stir even the most indifferent ear. The world of humans was a discovery then—fresh and unspoiled, more vivid than the hottest blood. Blood, for which others wouldst clamor, yearning for but a drop, whilst thou and thy companion pursued the great ideal of equality and joy.
The carousel hath turned, a full hundred and eighty degrees, hast thou not noticed? Where now is the happiness, the delight that once adorned thy faces? It seemeth clear that two such different beings cannot dwell in harmony upon the same earth. Far from it.
How many years hath passed since thou didst depart? Welcome back. The hour hath come to set the parade in motion once more and turn the carousel anew. Its squeaks echo like sobbing wails. For whom doth it mourn, soaking in that crimson tub? When did it all begin to crumble? 'Tis hard to move, is it not? Yet the tale must reach its end, through its climax and denouement. E’en if the culmination leadeth thee to face one who once was dearest to thy heart.
The lights upon the Ferris wheel flicker, worn by time’s cruel hand, much like the rest of these amusements. It is time to let them go; they have outlived their mortal span. E’en the most ardent dreamers must find rest in the end. Was His dream fulfilled? Is this what He so desperately sought? Are His sufferings just..?
Lift up the spear, child.
It's time to prove now thy zeal, thy righteousness, and thy honor. Let all witness the truths thou hast buried deep within for these long centuries. Let the sparks of clashing blades scatter as radiant stars above the last gathering of onlookers. Let each crimson drop fall as confetti. Let the cries of agony and the shattering of glass sound as joyful shouts and bursting firecrackers.
For what dream dost thou rush headlong into such peril?
Fireworks doth drown the roar of thy strife, yet thou yieldeth not. So many souls hath gathered, so many tales been writ, with countless more yet to unfold. Dost thou strive for them? Or for thy kin, whom thine own hand hath undone? Why dost thou not surrender
Why dost thou not surrender?
“Behold how fair the dawn appeareth, Sancho!”
Yes, such words He would utter now, would He not? It was no easy thing to take up His manner of speech at first, was it?
The night hath passed. The parade is ended. The players in this tale hath found their fates, be they joyous or sorrowful. The first light of dawn now bathes the desolate wasteland in pale hues. Here, the wind doth howl, raising a tempest of dust.
But who cares about such details of history now, when in front of us a child mourns his kinsman? There is no need for embellishments or beautiful turns of phrase here.
Overthrown in a fair duel, He did not regret it. He will always be there, because there will always be a part of Him with her. Happy, he takes his last breath on the lap of a sobbing child. Is this blood rain his legacy? Or is it a rain of tears?
As a result, the carousel made a circle, but there was only one figure on it. The rest had already fallen from how fast and jerkily the mechanism was spinning. We came to the beginning of the story, which also began with loneliness. In the end, everything is equal. But even this lonely figure again will continue to reach for what is not there.
Dreams are fulfilled.
E’en the most unattainable.