Everyone wishes they could change the past.

Friday, 8 July 2011

I, who have traversed trials...

Why did I do that? I do not know.

I saw a young boy on the roadside, crying. A country road; situated between two rows of trees. He had a chalk in his hand. He was drawing something. Do you want to know what it was?
Yeah. If you don't know the symbol, it's called the Twin Triangles. The mark of the Supremacy. And this kid -- who looked as if he'd been pampered his whole life -- was crying by this dusty roadside, crudely drawing this into the floor.

I knelt down next to him. I put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me. Nothing in those eyes but fear and despair. Nothing at all. To look at such a child was to look at a wounded dog, begging for mercy. I looked around; from the corner of my eye, I saw someone at the end of the road; the road was on an incline, so we were at the hill's base, whereas the figure was at the top. I couldn't see the details, but they seemed to be staring right at us.

He knew I'd seen him. So I, very pointedly, took the chalk from the child's hand. "No." I draw... well, look to your left. I drew that symbol. I drew it in the ground, and then gave the chalk back to the child. I told him to never think of the other symbol, and that the one I drew was the only one that mattered. He nodded. I asked him where his home was; he told me. We stood up, and I took him by the hand. My back to the figure atop the hill, I walked the child to his house. It wasn't far.

I told him to never mention me to his parents, or the magic would fade. He seemed to understand that. He went inside, and I departed.

... why did I do that?

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