Beacon
An eternal weight settled over him as he entered the spacious cathedral constructed in his sake.
A small frown that was unwilling to curl further downward lest it reveal his true feelings and be called on his heresy.
Slowly, he trudged up to the long line of worshippers like him.
Though he was loathe to be called on of them, if these people can still be called people after what they had done, what they let happen.
From fanatics and zealots that interpret their only physical proof of divinity as the one above all, to the unrepentant and greedy wretches that only seek to maximize their selves.
Then, there was him. Reluctant, shameful, and languid. Disgusted by circumstance yet unwilling to raise even a finger against it all, the consequences are too dire.
Perhaps if they had acted earlier, none of this would have happened. Kept it better, perhaps even hid him from the world?
It would be much better than...this.
An almighty stagnancy has settled over their lives. Everyone's lives. A surge in their quality of life to the point where hedonism is starting to become a staple in their culture.
He shakes for a moment, fighting back the unnerving tremble in him, the taste of bile in his mouth slowly rising.
Forwards march along with the believers, demanding and requesting, pleading and begging.
His eyes softly trailed the flawless floor beneath him, polished and engraved beautifully, to the high rising roof and the numerous strange and almost inhuman precision that went into the design of every steeple, every belfry, pillar and corner.
It all rang hollow to him. Guilt burning like the wrath of stigmata, eyes that accuse him in his dreams.
A tired sigh is extracted from his lips. His hate for...all of this had faded into a dull acceptance, and just like everyone else, with the flow he went, forever shameful.
The hate for circumstance was exhausting, and the shame of subservience made it all sting even more.
He feels a warm glow in front of him, and in a few seconds, a woman with a wide smile on her face rushed down the stairs, eager to get out of this place of worship.
Bitterly, he remarks in his head how easy it is to differentiate the people that frequent this hallowed ground.
No time for such thoughts, however. It was his turn.
Up marble steps he went, ignoring how the clack of his steps echoed endlessly in his head.
He ignored the damning cacophony that sounded eerily like his voice, the leaden weight that settled on his legs until finally-
He faced the gates of heaven.
He stared at him, all pallid and worn. Head bowed, unwilling to rise, eyes so dead to the world.
It hurts to stare at the forever child that he used to think of as a second little brother.
Like tradition ordained, he knelt before the solemn figure, bound to the ivory altar with beatific golden chains.
In prayer, he asked:
"I ask for a blessing upon my soon to be family, my dearly beloved and I are to be joined in wedlock and with your light, I pray for a radiant celebration and an easy life for her, for me, for our family."
The restrained divinity gave no words in response. A twitch in his unmarred fingers, soft wheezing breaths that mirrored that of a cat on it's death bed.
In a rare moment of vivid clarity, the child's head tilted up, and he felt himself freeze on the spot as his hollow eyes peered into his.
Faintly he remembers a treehouse and the blissful innocence that came from it all, cookies shared, jokes and pranks traded, card games and entertainment played, every star they stared and ooohed at, every step they climbed up on that wooden ladder, every moment shared under a favored tree.
Memories of a child that played into prophecy, a world unending within, and a world so limited in what it had. Desperate people and monsters in human skin, taking it all away from them. Golden chains forged from the boy himself, a sun that never sets, kept in its perpetual sunrise.
Black monoliths that echoed his will across the world. Forceful and curious seekers that wanted more.
A stare into his dead eyes, and he saw a world so beyond him, beyond everyone's understanding of creation.
Limitless in everything. Resources, energies and everything necessary. Exotic minerals and chemicals, extravagant foods, everything anyone could ever want, so long as they were willing to tap into it. In him.
He remembers the grand artifice behind the cathedral, a portal to the world inside their living god, how it opens numerous times per year, accepting of everyone so that they may reap as much bounty from the endless world.
An idyllic fantasy realm, almost escapist in it's form, from just how perfect and endless it all was.
He remembers the numerous times he participated in that harvest, stripping the haven of resources and necessities to bring back home.
The sickness within becomes harder to bear.
The godhead bows its head once more, as if it saw all that needed to be seen.
A comforting warmth bathes him, his plea was answered. Fate itself will now bend to grant him his special day.
Like an embrace from an angel, so very desired, yet he was so undeserving.
Shakingly, he stood, forgetting to say his thanks as he began to walk down the steps and out the grand doors, ignoring everything else.
Empty-headed and vacuous, he returns home, to the warmth of his beautiful betrothed, unable to look her in the eyes.
Perhaps it is for the best, as she was unable to do the same. She was just like him, shamed by her acceptance, only that hers bore down heavier, and it took years before she was able to become the somewhat stable state she is now.
Often, he hears her weeping at night, when she thinks he is deep asleep, mourning the ceaseless duty of her little brother.
They spent the rest of the day in a stupor, ending on a soft note.
Sat down on the couch, they opened a small book, a gift from a once dear friend that disappeared forever one day.
'12/25 - CHRISTMAS: My first photo! It's my best friend, SUNNY...'