“Why would you choose this immoral path? You were the Messiah! What tainted you so?”
Paying no mind to the daring perpetrator, you look on as the smoke smears the sky and devours the sun; you grin as the city that you once called “home” reduces to mere ruins. Along with the stench of burnt flesh that pervades the air, the cries of a thousand voices fluctuate in a melodic symphony. Oddly enough, the growing silence that follows within the destroyed city is far more deafening.
Turning around to face the man who spoke out so defiantly, you survey his pitiful appearance: an unkempt beard nearly masks his scowl, bloody gashes run along his face and chest, and his scrawny figure struggles to withstand the intensity of your gaze. You can’t pinpoint him until you notice the two distinct colors of his eyes: green and blue. Only then did you remember how you marveled over his eyes as a child, calling them “supernatural” and “herculean.” But watching as Alexander now balls his fists, failing to assert his dominance, you let out a hoarse chuckle.
“What happened to you? You saved people! You reveled in grace-” Alexander spat out. Waving him off, you flatly avow “Yes. Now, I revel in sin.” “Surely, you still have morals.” “Oh…?” you reply, with a slight quaver. “Perhaps, you should’ve said that as you casually watched the masses kick my womb, no?” With the mania in your eyes increasing tenfold, you snarl, “Or rather when you joined them?” Though stunned temporarily, Alexander’s voice drops an octave as he finally utters, “I made mistakes but I’ve changed, just as you have. You can make things right.” Oblivious to your grimace, he outstretches his hand as if to compensate for his painfully fake grin.
Angered by his act, you smack his hand harshly from your line of sight. As Alexander’s expression gradually contorts into a scowl, he fiercely whispers “you were always the king of fools.” But before he spews out anything further, you reach for the lighter in your pocket and nonchalantly press the ignition button. “You see, my naive friend,” watching as Alexander’s glower transforms into a panic-stricken expression, “one premeditated deed doesn’t erase a decade of atrocity. I’m only paying it forward.” Before Alexander realized it, he’d become just another voice in your heavenly symphony — just another heap of pyre smothering the blackened streets.
Published October 12, 2021
Written by Nana Opare-Addo ~ Edited by Sarah Wilenzick ~ Graphics by Samridhi Verma
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