Well...I can't show you. You have to see for yourself. Pensive time.
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A throbbing pain pounded in Padril's head, and his hand screamed as though it had been dipped in molten rock. His eyes were firmly shut as he gritted his teeth, fighting the pain that struck him beyond belief. For the first time in his life, he felt only pure emotions; pain. No thoughts or calculations swept through his mind, no predictions, no hopes. Only pain.
Bit by bit, his eyes cracked open. That was the breaking point. He screamed, his painful voice reverberating off the walls. If he had been slightly aware of himself, he would of taken note of that. But he didn't. All he saw was black darkness and a man in an orange robe looking over him, muttering words. Then he was plunged back into the darkness.
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The first thing he realized was that the pain was gone. The second was that he was naked. The third that he was sleeping on the ground, and the rocks were digging into him.
Padril's eyes opened slowly. Morning light drifted through a small cavern, reflecting off specks of dust floating in the air. He was under a single, large sheet and resting on what he thought to be a bed a moss, from the unpleasant feel of it on his back.
He moved to lean on his right arm, but it shrieked in pain. He fell back, clutching it while biting his tounge. Now he could feel the soft, linen bandages tied around his hand. Once the pain died down, his thoughts began to roam. Where was he? How did he get here? Last he checked, he was in Istanbul, ready to go to Shanghai. What had happened?
Padril gazed up at the rocky roof above him, at the green moss that softly clung to the stones in random shapes and forms. Curiosity overran his caution and he sat up on his left arm, examing the cave opposite the direction of the light.
A wall of the cavern. He had been sleeping at the end of the cave. He craned his neck for a look behind him, his chest gritting painfully. The rest of the cave was empty, and the opening was just a blinding wall of sunlight. He shrank back and lay down, attempting to recover his memories. The sunlight slowly lessened, and finally a voice pierced the silence of the rocks.
"Awake, at last," the voice was cheery and calm. Padril sat up, leaning on his left arm to watch as a figure stepped towards him from the sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, Padril recognized him as the man in the orange robe. Memories of the extraordinary pain rushed back to him in a torrent, and he felt a disgusting taste in his mouth, like a vile drink.
"Who are you?" Padril asked suspiciously. It felt good to talk again, it also made him realize just how dry his throat was. He examined the man in the orange robe. He was obviously Asian, and very, very old, with a long, straight white beard that reached his waist. He was completely bald otherwise.
"A hermit. A monk. A pacifist. I am all of these things, yet none of them. As you are both a man, a wizard and a traveler, yet not truly any of them. What is a name? They have no power. They cannot define us. Just another attempt by man-kind to restrict us," he sat down and crossed his legs.
Padril looked at him strangely, "You make a wonderful first impression, you know that?" What the monk said reminded him of a line from
Romeo and Juliet, but he made no comment. He was still wary of this man.
The monk sighed, "The first impression matters not nearly as much as the last one. The last impression shall stay in the heart of the person until you meet again." He lifted a tray before him, how Padril didn't notice it until now he didn't know, and placed it next to Padril. A bowl of steaming rice sat before him, as well as a large cup of water. "Eat," the monk commanded.
Padril obeyed, and seeing no utensils, dug in his bare hands. Within a few moments, there was an empty bowl and the cup had been cleaned up. He looked up at the monk expectantly, who had sat watching him in stony silence, his face the very definition of serenity.
"How did I get here?" Padril asked, raising his eyebrows. The monk looked at him slowly.
"Only you can answer that question."
Padril was getting sick of the old man already. But he searched his memories, squinting as if trying to see. "I was in Istanbul, and I was getting ready to apparate to China when I...I apparated." He looked down at his bandaged hand. "Did..Did I splinch?"
"Is that so hard to accept?" the monk asked. "Everyone makes mistakes." Padril made a face in response.
"It was a question, not an opening for a inner revelation. So...I misapparated and splintered, and you found me?" He was still confused, he wouldn't of made that big of a mistake. He never did. Not usually.
The monk replied breezily, "You misapparated on the mountain side and a had a bit of a fall, interrupting my meditations. My Order does not use magic. Instead, I cured you using natural plants."
Padril snorted. Why wouldn't you use magic? So many lives could be saved if you did. So many could be lost if you didn't. "How long have I been out?" he inquired, perhaps a bit too rudely.
"Time is but a concept, we do not measure it here," the monk said slowly. "I will be back tomorrow, rest now." He stood, picking up the tray. Padril was about to protest, but he suddenly felt a great weariness. As the monk left the cave, he collapsed into sleep.
***
When he came to again, there was a tray of the food next to him again. He ate greedily, and when he was finished, noticed the pile of clothes next to it. Just a grey shirt, pants, cloak and sandals, but better than nothing.
He dressed himself, a bit difficult with his bandaged hand and protesting chest, but pain was a lot better now. He walked slowly down the cave, his stiff legs attempting to adjust to all the movement.
As he left the cave, he gasped in wonder. He was in the middle of a beautiful valley. A river run through it's heart, feeding life to the green lands where huge tree's grew, while magnificent snow-clapped mountains loomed over them. Birds sung in the distance and blue butterflies danced around him. This place was a sanctuary in every way, shape and form.
The cave he had been sitting in was about half-way up one of the smaller mountains. He followed a trail downwards that hung to the mountain side, and after a bend, came to a spring. The water bubbled, and the tree's made a small wall against the outside worlds. Sitting on top of a rock that stood in the middle of the spring, sat the monk in his cross-legged position.
He looked up as Padril came. "You can take the bandages off now. It will hurt, but there will be no marks." Padril obeyed, and flexed his fingers, returning feeling to them.
"Why did you go on your trip, Padril?" the monk asked. Padril shrugged.
"It was a holiday-"
"You weren't going anywhere. You claim you seek knowledge. You're always thinking. What are you afraid of? What are you running from?" The monk's eyes stared at him, accusing. Like the eyes of someone he used to know.
Then it hit him, his Uncle. Oscar's eyes. Realization swept him like waves on rocks. "Death. Or rather, the futility of life..." he began slowly. "Life is so pointless. We live only to die. We try to improve the lives of others, but they die. I've tried to escape into other world's with books, but even they die." The world around him was fading. The colourful valley began to grey. "There are those who kill. And those who die. I don't know what I want to be."
"And what can you conclude?" the monk's face was changing, becoming his Uncle's.
"I must...I must live. I WILL help the world heal. I will make lives better. I will.."
His Uncle shook his head, "No Padril. What must you do?"
Padril cocked his head, "I must...accept?"
"Accept it. Death is inevitable. It comes to us all. Stop fleeing it. You are nothing in the grand scheme of the universe, and whether you hate it or love it does not matter. Might as well love it..."
Padril nodded, and the world shattered.
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I awoke at Shanghai's Hospital of Magical Injuries. I had apparated and splinched, then fell unconscious. That was the weirdest dream of my life. It had a self-awareness of the world outside, which affected it. I think it was like one of those self-revealing dreams you hear about it.
But now I know what I have to do. I'm going back to England. And I'm accepting Oscar's death, and my inevitable one. And I will stop thinking everything through. Heh...most of these dreams are meant to be a bit more revealing then that.
England; I'ma coming home!