Innocent
"The Devil isn't red, nor horned.
The Devil is a trickster, deceiver he
Master of disguise and clever of thought
To kill with kindness stands his reality."
December 24 and 25 came and went.
The eve and day of Yule were uneventful and still eventful enough in their own ways of the quiet.
By some stroke of fancy, maybe luck, Renne managed to freeze in his meditation and let his mind emerge into the reality of the present. He wasn't shocked to find himself in Cell Five but he didn't deny the hollow disappointment he felt. This night was once a time of quiet joy. It was once a night of warm oaken walls and a calm kind of anticipation in the air.
That kind of night, he knew, was lost.
That kind of hope was, he knew now, quite lost.
Frowning at himself, Renne slowly sat up on his cell bed and sank into a lighter, more distant meditative state. Stopping in the Deadlands wasn't the brightest idea.
------------------------------------
-It was no adventure of whimsy or Munchausenian righteousness going across the Deadlands. He knew this place and what it was for. This place had many names -- The Aloneness Place, the Plains of the Forgotten. Ultimately, the place was the same. It was the place for those so dishonoured as to be stripped of name, identity and memory.
It was like death and worse for those condemned to reside here. For all others, even others sent here, they are by and large forgotten. To the world and even others in the Deadlands, the soul does not exist. It never existed.
And the same, that soul keenly remains aware of its own existence.
This place was for those condemned to Not-Exist.
There was only one flaw with it.
He knew of each life-form sent here through the stories of the twins. He knew each one was there and why. So Renne heard each wailing voice as he crossed the bleak lands. Some voices learned this and took advantage of it.
They knew what tonight was and they defiled it with earthen and not-earthen voices.
-You belong here.-
Explain.
-You committed evil.-
-Ah, you belong here less than he does.-
Be silent. I will not hear.
-You will. He who abandoned. He who turned.-
He is with the thunder now.
-Is the thunder. Like every other Human you have known.-
Not all other Humans.
-The intent to kill comes not always in an attack.-
Renne stopped again, some four miles from the border of the Deadlands. He thought about that new concept. His heart tried to dismiss it. His mind tried to shut the thought out.
He pressed on now at a breakneck run. The fables told that the Condemned could reach out sometimes and thus deceive. He found nothing in the fables about beings that were programmed to deceive.
Mamela never got to the tales of Cain, Abel or serpents. Mamela told the brighter tales, wishing to shield the shadows from at least one burgeoning soul.
Renne was learning about Cain right now.
When he reached the end of the Deadlands, he turned to face toward it and all that it had him encounter. He came to a conclusion on at least one thing as the layers of meditation began to draw away.
He was not Cain.
He was not Judas.
And he would never open his heart to a Human after this night.-
---------------------------------
Renne woke to the dark-before-the-dawn. He still heard the Hunter whispering in his head and he still felt the hollowness in his chest. It was a hollowness he knew well and had little choice but to bear. It was, in some ways, a benign companion, for it gave rise to the walls he now worked to repair.
Renne wormed out of his furs and moved to sit facing toward the window. He knew where it was thanks to the slightly colder shaft of air.
He faced the cold and gave the cold a look that might wither any other being.
He didn't feel the webbing in his hands and feet repair. Aware of his body's natural workings, he was able to shut out the tingling that reparation brought. He shut out the workings of nature. He shut out the cold shaft of moonlight.
Boxing Day passed with Renne still as a stone. His blue skin by Boxing Day noon was a notable gray. His eyes by Boxing Day noon were flat and cold.
On December 27, the prisoner had buried his heart and bottled away all emotion. His flesh was gunmetal gray. His eyes were so matched that only eyelashes marked them as eyes.
On December 28, Renne's innocence was gone.
"The Devil isn't red, nor horned.
The Devil is a trickster, deceiver he
Master of disguise and clever of thought
To kill with kindness stands his reality."
December 24 and 25 came and went.
The eve and day of Yule were uneventful and still eventful enough in their own ways of the quiet.
By some stroke of fancy, maybe luck, Renne managed to freeze in his meditation and let his mind emerge into the reality of the present. He wasn't shocked to find himself in Cell Five but he didn't deny the hollow disappointment he felt. This night was once a time of quiet joy. It was once a night of warm oaken walls and a calm kind of anticipation in the air.
That kind of night, he knew, was lost.
That kind of hope was, he knew now, quite lost.
Frowning at himself, Renne slowly sat up on his cell bed and sank into a lighter, more distant meditative state. Stopping in the Deadlands wasn't the brightest idea.
------------------------------------
-It was no adventure of whimsy or Munchausenian righteousness going across the Deadlands. He knew this place and what it was for. This place had many names -- The Aloneness Place, the Plains of the Forgotten. Ultimately, the place was the same. It was the place for those so dishonoured as to be stripped of name, identity and memory.
It was like death and worse for those condemned to reside here. For all others, even others sent here, they are by and large forgotten. To the world and even others in the Deadlands, the soul does not exist. It never existed.
And the same, that soul keenly remains aware of its own existence.
This place was for those condemned to Not-Exist.
There was only one flaw with it.
He knew of each life-form sent here through the stories of the twins. He knew each one was there and why. So Renne heard each wailing voice as he crossed the bleak lands. Some voices learned this and took advantage of it.
They knew what tonight was and they defiled it with earthen and not-earthen voices.
-You belong here.-
Explain.
-You committed evil.-
-Ah, you belong here less than he does.-
Be silent. I will not hear.
-You will. He who abandoned. He who turned.-
He is with the thunder now.
-Is the thunder. Like every other Human you have known.-
Not all other Humans.
-The intent to kill comes not always in an attack.-
Renne stopped again, some four miles from the border of the Deadlands. He thought about that new concept. His heart tried to dismiss it. His mind tried to shut the thought out.
He pressed on now at a breakneck run. The fables told that the Condemned could reach out sometimes and thus deceive. He found nothing in the fables about beings that were programmed to deceive.
Mamela never got to the tales of Cain, Abel or serpents. Mamela told the brighter tales, wishing to shield the shadows from at least one burgeoning soul.
Renne was learning about Cain right now.
When he reached the end of the Deadlands, he turned to face toward it and all that it had him encounter. He came to a conclusion on at least one thing as the layers of meditation began to draw away.
He was not Cain.
He was not Judas.
And he would never open his heart to a Human after this night.-
---------------------------------
Renne woke to the dark-before-the-dawn. He still heard the Hunter whispering in his head and he still felt the hollowness in his chest. It was a hollowness he knew well and had little choice but to bear. It was, in some ways, a benign companion, for it gave rise to the walls he now worked to repair.
Renne wormed out of his furs and moved to sit facing toward the window. He knew where it was thanks to the slightly colder shaft of air.
He faced the cold and gave the cold a look that might wither any other being.
He didn't feel the webbing in his hands and feet repair. Aware of his body's natural workings, he was able to shut out the tingling that reparation brought. He shut out the workings of nature. He shut out the cold shaft of moonlight.
Boxing Day passed with Renne still as a stone. His blue skin by Boxing Day noon was a notable gray. His eyes by Boxing Day noon were flat and cold.
On December 27, the prisoner had buried his heart and bottled away all emotion. His flesh was gunmetal gray. His eyes were so matched that only eyelashes marked them as eyes.
On December 28, Renne's innocence was gone.