Erratically he moved in the crowd routing through the alleyways, he stumbled and held his hand against the wound on his arm. The history of him is lost in the memory of the sword . People move sideways and stare and turn - do they say anything or walk with the stubborn gaze to the cobblestones of the street . He moves ever forward to the end of the street and the blazing setting of the sun coloring the clouds of the day as it drips like his blood on the crimson horizon of the spent day . There he spies the wharf and the ripples of the sea and hopes his partner is there to help . He drops the jeweled sword - and hears the chatter of the street vendors go still and ebb. In sight of the wharf, he falls to the way of the cobblestones with the call , "please help me , help me" ... in the disorientated state his eyes close and Michael sees the pain and the ecstasy of his love and youth and he sees the screen of his past life story - suddenly, he perceives the parade of not what he has done but the kindness and the smiles of his parents, partner and the people he loves as if he is confronted by the manifestation of them right there bending and and corralling him to the shore of his sensible dream . He floats and lets go . So there in his moving the sword stays still and his story is lost for you to imagine and add to .