Bounto

There was something almost pathetic in the way his clothes collapsed, floating to the ground in an attitude of prostration and despair, as his ashes soughed away on the wind. Without a body inside of them, his cerements fell almost whimsically; one sleeve reaching out imploringly, one trouser-leg half-way through a step. And all around the fabric, the dust - his dead remains - caressed the empty shell before dissipating into the air. His last words had been ‘I do not want to die.’ He was so young, it was tragic. Even as the red-haired man had reached out to him, his hand had dissolved, ceasing to exist in any holistic sense. And the red-haired man, the ancient one, knelt in the moonlit glade surrounded by the tranquil trees, and cupped his face in his hands.1

The night was indifferent; the moon was full and silver, shining on as it had done for millions of years. But the dead silence of the night acted like an acknowledgement, a tribute or a farewell – as if nature were paying its respects. There was something holy about youth, he thought. It should not be spent so uselessly, so vainly. It should not be marred or corrupted or destroyed in any way. Such was the work of devils. Tears streaked his face, pushing pathways through the dust. In this way, his tears washed away the remnants of his protégé, and a great shuddering gasp wracked his barrel chest, making his whole body shudder. No matter how long one lived, emotional invulnerability could never be attained. He had been touched after so many decades, and it left him feeling raw and open, like a throbbing wound.2

That night, he was changed. He felt it was essential for his survival to ensure that such episodes were not repeated. It was necessary for him to close himself entirely. But in doing this, he made himself less human; less easily swayed by the sufferings of others. Such was the cost of pain. But empathy could never be smothered entirely. Underneath the sand which he had cast upon his heart, a flicker existed, there to be rekindled; there to burn away the cobwebs of millennia when the need arose.3