Hello, Monday! Breaking with tradition, I’ve decided to upload something on time. Please enjoy an update to the story from before entitled: I Live Forever.
I give you the next part, plus the first part again, rewritten for style, sense, and a tie-in to the world of Eormen.If, for some reason, you want to see the original, it is still available HERE
See you in a week!
Update: the final part is available to read HERE
I Live Forever
Why do I do it? I suppose that is the question that most comes to mind when people see me at work. In one or two months, three at the most, everything is going to look exactly as it does now, so why do I do it? Why bother, when nobody else makes the effort? Why waste my time and silver when others clearly have no intention of doing the same?
Why do I do it?
Tonight, I’m working on the window. It is the fourth broken window this year, and it is only April. After the pieces have been taken out and the hole boarded up, after the empty space has been prepared to receive the new window (already ordered, of course), I’ll move on to cleansing the obscene daubings from the windowsill.
I recognise the signature, though naturally I wouldn’t recognise the author if I met them on the streets. There are probably a thousand possible candidates. It is now impossible to count the number of gangs roaming the streets in this quarter of the city; poor gangs, apprentice gangs, some slightly-more-progressive mixed gangs – the rich gangs, more properly called ‘bands’ do not come to this part – and then our new addition: the refugee gangs.
You surely do not need me to tell you that peace, whether through victory or defeat, is the most distant of dreams. My generation was the last to know what it meant.
Happily, I am no refugee, in as much as I never fled from war, though I will never belong here, either. When I was young, coming to the city to study the medicine at the Great College of Thenos, my colour clearly set me apart. When I returned to my own land, I was still the outsider; I had learned too much. I was able to watch as freedoms were removed, as whole families were removed – first from sight, and then from the face of the earth.
And because I had learned too much, I knew that they would come for me too, one day. My knowledge of freedom was a threat, my ability to speak my mind, to speak through the filter of experience, and not of prescribed doctrine, was a threat. I returned to the city that had educated me from my land, and I returned to making sick people well. But I was not a refugee. There was no war.
Why do I do it?
During my college years, I had some neighbours unlucky enough to have their window put through by some drunkard on their way home. This window was replaced not with glass, but with a rough cut of wood that I suspect they had liberated from an unattended warehouse. I’m sure it kept the wind out, but it also very perceptibly changed the character of their dwelling.
Was it perhaps due to this that empty bottles began to accumulate before their door, and that it became necessary to step over the unconscious owner of said bottles some mornings? A definitive answer it difficult, but the fact is that, not long after, their house – that precise board, in fact – was chosen as target practice for some rather foul eggs, while my own was spared.
It was when a group of quite ordinary-looking men who should know better started pitching stones at the upstairs window, hitting the houses either side – including my own – that I decided that not only people but places, too, could get diseases. This, I realised, was how a quarter became a slum. It took only one broken window, one daubed wall; without immediate treatment, that wound became infected, and the boil began to rise.
And then I went home, to the land of my birth, and saw how the mind could be as diseased as the body, and twice as contagious. The Black Prophets came, spouting their ‘wisdom’, and my people succumbed to it in their droves. The older I get, the more I realise that there are very few things that can not become diseased. But the question is why do I do it?, and I’m not doing a very good job of answering it.