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He walks alone on the ocean of sand, one foot shuffling before the other, the long trail snaking behind him, disappearing over the top of one dune only to reappear at the top of another, and another, until the eye can no longer see. But he does not look back: his path has only one element, forward, as the suns rise behind him and fall in front.
For him, there is only this: the grains of sand, a thousand beneath each foot, a billion in each dune, an infinite number before and an infinite more behind. There is no life in this truest of deserts, no movement but for his march, no sound but for the grains of sand shifting as he moves.
Each step is torturous, not for the heat that beats down upon his back, nor for the chafing of sand between his toes and his fingers, wedged there and in every other crevice in his body, but for the stars that he sees in front of him, and the wind that blows to stop his movement.
During the day, he sees a new vision with each step: the suns create shimmering mirages of galaxies and universes in the sand, each step a new sight. The stars themselves are beautiful, in their raging, burning light – but his punishment is to see more than just their fiery splendor. With each step, he sees the celebration of creation and life on their planets, from the tiniest cell to the most advanced civilization and every aspect in between. Organisms that start from one cell and become many, species that discover the use of tools, he sees the greatest of unifications and the most bitter of wars…and his tears create a second set of prints beside him.
Closing his eyes makes things worse; with his imagination, his mind creates more possibilities than he could ever see with his eyes open. So he continues his journey across the planet, his eyes never closed, seeing a multitude of worlds and crying for the loss of each one, and so many more.
The daytime, however, is his respite.
At night, when the moon is high, the starscapes are no longer of galaxies and universes, his visions no longer of grandiose achievements that epic legends are based upon. Instead, every step takes him to a scene on a world where he sees personal stories. A step, and he watches as a man tenderly makes love to his wife before going off to fight for their daughter’s future. A step, and he sees a son storm out of a house after an argument with his parents. A step, and he sees three friends in old age rest against one another, sharing comfort after the passing of a fourth. He sees emotions and actions which are universal, which do not matter whether the actors in them have claws or hands, two eyes or none at all.
He stopped for a moment, once, a million years ago.
He saw with his eyes, his heart, his soul, a million lifetimes of a million species that his carelessness destroyed, a million beings that could have been but were not. And then he ran - he sped, he broke the sound barrier, he covered a thousand miles in a single stride, and then he reached a point where he could not run any further. His force was not enough to break the laws of physics themselves.
It took him eons to slow his pace, but he has. Now he walks, one foot shuffling before the other, the long trail snaking behind him. Each century, his walk slows just a bit more. Perhaps one day, he will be able to stop and bear the visions without being destroyed by them.
That day, he hopes, he will be freed.
For him, there is only this: the grains of sand, a thousand beneath each foot, a billion in each dune, an infinite number before and an infinite more behind. There is no life in this truest of deserts, no movement but for his march, no sound but for the grains of sand shifting as he moves.
Each step is torturous, not for the heat that beats down upon his back, nor for the chafing of sand between his toes and his fingers, wedged there and in every other crevice in his body, but for the stars that he sees in front of him, and the wind that blows to stop his movement.
During the day, he sees a new vision with each step: the suns create shimmering mirages of galaxies and universes in the sand, each step a new sight. The stars themselves are beautiful, in their raging, burning light – but his punishment is to see more than just their fiery splendor. With each step, he sees the celebration of creation and life on their planets, from the tiniest cell to the most advanced civilization and every aspect in between. Organisms that start from one cell and become many, species that discover the use of tools, he sees the greatest of unifications and the most bitter of wars…and his tears create a second set of prints beside him.
Closing his eyes makes things worse; with his imagination, his mind creates more possibilities than he could ever see with his eyes open. So he continues his journey across the planet, his eyes never closed, seeing a multitude of worlds and crying for the loss of each one, and so many more.
The daytime, however, is his respite.
At night, when the moon is high, the starscapes are no longer of galaxies and universes, his visions no longer of grandiose achievements that epic legends are based upon. Instead, every step takes him to a scene on a world where he sees personal stories. A step, and he watches as a man tenderly makes love to his wife before going off to fight for their daughter’s future. A step, and he sees a son storm out of a house after an argument with his parents. A step, and he sees three friends in old age rest against one another, sharing comfort after the passing of a fourth. He sees emotions and actions which are universal, which do not matter whether the actors in them have claws or hands, two eyes or none at all.
He stopped for a moment, once, a million years ago.
He saw with his eyes, his heart, his soul, a million lifetimes of a million species that his carelessness destroyed, a million beings that could have been but were not. And then he ran - he sped, he broke the sound barrier, he covered a thousand miles in a single stride, and then he reached a point where he could not run any further. His force was not enough to break the laws of physics themselves.
It took him eons to slow his pace, but he has. Now he walks, one foot shuffling before the other, the long trail snaking behind him. Each century, his walk slows just a bit more. Perhaps one day, he will be able to stop and bear the visions without being destroyed by them.
That day, he hopes, he will be freed.
