2010-12-09, 10:54 PM
"Fine, I'll take the knife." He was reluctant of the old man's warning, but he knew sooner or later his eyes would start to betray him.
He held it up to the heavens, grasping the handle firmly in his hands. He stared right up at the tip of the blade. Serrated, he knew it would hurt.
"I, son of Gabriel, and of Julius, whose blood carries the marks of Transgression, request salvation. May this knife purge me of my sins." He thrust the blade into his chest, but it collapsed. He withdrew it from him, then struck again. Once more the blade did not harm.
"Son," said the tired old man, "you do not need to redeem yourself like this."
"What do you mean?" asked the boy, confused. He dropped the blade from his hand, and as it fell unto the ground it shattered into many shards. It was as if it were made of glass and not steel.
"You took the shame of your actions and bore the burden of responsibility. You must'nt do harm to yourself when you've done such good."
"But, how do you know what things I've done, the atrocities I've born witness to? I've seen a mother abandon her son, a father destroy his daughters hopes and dreams, friends fighting amongst themselves, the towns burnt by the angers of revolt. What good do you speak of?"
"My son," he started, a calm tone to his voice, "you have stood up for your own self. That is the true test of a man, to stand up for himself and what is right." He removed his robe and exposed his scarred torso and burned flesh. "I was once a martyr, and chosen by my people to pay for a crime I did not commit. I live now because I never gave up living. Do not give in to defeat, my boy."
He held it up to the heavens, grasping the handle firmly in his hands. He stared right up at the tip of the blade. Serrated, he knew it would hurt.
"I, son of Gabriel, and of Julius, whose blood carries the marks of Transgression, request salvation. May this knife purge me of my sins." He thrust the blade into his chest, but it collapsed. He withdrew it from him, then struck again. Once more the blade did not harm.
"Son," said the tired old man, "you do not need to redeem yourself like this."
"What do you mean?" asked the boy, confused. He dropped the blade from his hand, and as it fell unto the ground it shattered into many shards. It was as if it were made of glass and not steel.
"You took the shame of your actions and bore the burden of responsibility. You must'nt do harm to yourself when you've done such good."
"But, how do you know what things I've done, the atrocities I've born witness to? I've seen a mother abandon her son, a father destroy his daughters hopes and dreams, friends fighting amongst themselves, the towns burnt by the angers of revolt. What good do you speak of?"
"My son," he started, a calm tone to his voice, "you have stood up for your own self. That is the true test of a man, to stand up for himself and what is right." He removed his robe and exposed his scarred torso and burned flesh. "I was once a martyr, and chosen by my people to pay for a crime I did not commit. I live now because I never gave up living. Do not give in to defeat, my boy."