Love and Hate

The old-one said he did not know love or hate. The old-one was not sufficiently truthful about this. He had known love as a child. That love killed by abuse and a broken scared trust. The young one learned to hate and as of today, he put all his power to hate and directed that hate at the one who abused and broke the trust with the child. He didn’t have a spare portion of hate to point toward any other person.

As he sat in his cell, he started to reclaim the hate from the one he had focused it on. It was as if the blindfold, over his eyes, fell from his face. He saw so much around him for him to focus his hate on.

He loved, but didn’t love. He hated only one, but now he found he could hate many. He began to hate the beings in the herd and all those like them. This was a change, he never suspected. The old man, had sworn an oath as a child that he would never be like the one who betrayed him, however; somehow, somewhere, he lost himself between the betrayed and the betrayer.

He felt terrible sorrow in his heart, for the down trodden,the starving, and the victims of violence or disaster. However, at the same time, the old one reveled, in the pain of others. He wasn’t a sadist, he could not knowingly cause anyone pain; however, he took a great deal of pleasure in seeing others in pain.

The old one’s mind drifted back to the child that hid inside him. The old-one had to kill or be rid of that one and any others that lurked within his psyche. He rested his head in his hands, his mind dizzy and at times, his head felt as if he was at sea floating on a raft. His head still pounded with each pulse of his heart.

He had taken the pills and potions the alchemist had given him for 5 days and still there was no relief. A young wizard came to the old one’s cell and gave him some new pills. He took the pills; they only seemed to mask the pounding in his head. He sighed, he closed his eyes, and somewhere out of nowhere, he remembered a saying he had once heard.”He, who despises himself, nevertheless esteems himself, thereby as a despiser.” He despised so much of himself and with those thoughts bounding around in his head, he lay down in the rack and he slept.

The old-one woke to the same familiar sounds and to a gray overcast dismal day. He chuckled to himself and thought, “Just fucking lovely, a day to match how I feel. Now I am reminded twice of how I feel.” The old-one sat staring blankly at the bleak lifeless walls of his prison.

The old one’s mind wandered through his memories and he glimpsed into his past he could not forget the horrors he saw in the face of his inner child. He saw where the child’s mind and body had been shattered, beyond any chance of repair.

The old one shivered, he knew that he was that child. Now that child within was a demon, a demon living and growing and hungering for something the old-one wasn’t too sure what that hunger wanted. What did it want? Did it want revenge? Did it want to be set free? He could only wonder. Did the inner child within want these things or, did something else need them? He sat in silence thinking, not knowing what to make of these thoughts. He wanted to free the child hidden in him and kill the demon within.

The old-one thought if the child wanted revenge, then on whom should he take this revenge, and to what level? This bothered him there was no one to take revenge on, the betrayer was dead. The old-one knew the betrayer was dead, with his own eyes he saw him take his last breath and watched as the betrayer’s life left his body. The child within had not the use of his eyes to see the betrayer die. He had only the word of a stranger, a manifestation sent to him to protect the child from any further betrayals.

The old-one after these many years was still a stranger to the inner child. The old one, through his dreams or nightmares, he could no longer tell a dream from a nightmare both were equally troubling. He saw glimpses of the shadows. The shadows, which had inflicted more pain and abuse on the old-one than anyone could tolerate drove him to the edge of doom. The shadow stepped through the portal and willingly into nothingness; he fell toward the light of salvation. The shadow died on the rocks of despair and pain. It was beyond good or evil. The shadow had vanished just much as the child had vanished.

He hoped he could forget the sight of that being he saw climbing out of the pit, and off the rocks, and crawl back into the dark recesses of his mind. The old one, like the shadow had vanished into the black Netherlands of nothingness, he had seen the disappearance of one being through the evolving of a new being, and as always the new  manifestation died a little in its rebirth just as it had done a thousand times before.

The old-one sat alone weighing his thoughts, seeing which thoughts had truth and value and those thoughts that had no truth and no value. He would have to pick what truth and value he desired. He did not relish this task. He needed help. However, he knew from experience that the alchemist and wizard or even the sorceress could or would help him. They told him, he was broken and he had been for 40 years so why change it now. He could think no more, he was at his wits end. He would suffer his fate as only he could in solitude.

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