A Beautiful Journey
The city was alive. People complained about how grey, dirty and monotonous it was, but to Dylan, every crack and every item left on the ground were signs of life and uniqueness. The world had a personality, the air carried joy, curiosity and opportunity. Every day, Dylan went all throughout the city with his golden coins and, smiling with genuine happiness, convinced passers-by of the truth: that he had decided to seize the day, to stop being trapped in misery, and that in order to do this, he needed to sell his coins for money that could be exchanged. The part that was not true was his claim that these coins were a treasure left by his grandfather, and that as he had a reputation for being a poor peasant, big financiers refused to trade with him.
Dylan had a thousand variations of this story, all created on the spot depending on the passer-by. His grandfather was sometimes an aunt or a travelling monk, and his smile was so broad and his eyes so sincere that more than a third dared to consider him true. But in truth, he was not so pure of thought, and in his joyful mind, a rotten core had settled that spoke to him: “let the ignorant fall under their own weight!”. Dylan dared to see himself as a fixer, a saviour of civilisation. In his mind, he thought he had transcended humanity, which he saw as a sticky substance that one had to get rid of in order to evolve.
One day, as Dylan’s thoughts wandered aimlessly between the beauty of the deep blue sky and the gratefulness of being able to exist, a deep pain crawled from his head onto the rest of his body. He felt something warm and wet trickling down across his neck, and as he tried to see, he realised that he was numb and almost blind, lights flickering by. The last thing he heard before falling to unconsciousness was a deep and gruff voice saying “carries these painted coins”, and he knew exactly what had happened.
Dylan’s head hurt like hell. His eyes only saw shapes of grey, green and blue. His stomach begged to let its contents out. When he was thinking about puking, he felt a hand on his shoulder patting him. He became aware of his surroundings. He was sitting, hearing voices. What were these voices saying? “Get down!”, he suddenly heard, and the shout jolted him awake. He was in a carriage. He saw the ground, saw men with aggressive looks staring at him from inside and outside, and he decided to obey. He stepped off and, after walking for what felt like an eternity filled with thoughts of fear and disgust, he smelled wood in the air and hear a boom of sound signalling that he had entered a new room. There, Dylan saw the most beautiful room he had seen in his life, with rows of seats filled with people and a dais at the front, decorated with flowery patterns, with not a dent, crack or line to be seen.
He was led to a seat near the front.
“What do you say for yourself, thief?”, said the man at the dais, wearing a red suit with yellow and black ornaments.
“I’m not a thief”, Dylan said automatically and defensively.
But his quick mind caught on to the meaning of his situation and he realised that the court would have none of this. He also knew that they knew of the coins. Quickly, as if lightning had struck him, he spat out, just as the man was opening his mouth to reply:
“Caveat emptor, your majesty. That this may show your subjects respect for your currency”
“So you admit to scamming”, the man said, “and you show no repentance.”
“Hang him”, he ordered to the men around him.
Dylan felt disappointed that his ruse had not struck the nail on the head. He looked carefully and saw familiar faces among the people of the court. He knew it was his fault, that he hadn’t dug more into their background, but at the same time, he felt that this was a sign that humanity had failed. He said no more. Before turning to walk with his captors, he looked one last time at the prince and his entourage. He saw two beautiful women and a handsome man, all the most attractive and well-dressed he had ever seen, and he saw the hatred in their eyes. Dylan realised at that moment that they saw him the way he saw others, as a failure of creation. He turned and walked the short way to the gallows through a dark hallway. He had once walked this path when he volunteered to hang a woman he disliked.
Dylan imagined her smiling and spoke, pretending to be her: “just returning a favour”. He laughed out loud as if the irony were the most hilarious thing of the day. He looked at the walls and noticed the tiny cracks and they were just as beautiful as ever. But the hallways was too long this time, and at the same time, too short. When they arrived at the exit, he felt as if no time had passed from entering to leaving. That was the first time he felt deep fear take over him. This was it. He could hear the people waiting for him and shouting “Hang the thief! Hang the thief!”. Dylan felt lost as he walked to the gallows, now remade as if to welcome him with something new. And during the five minutes it took for the hangman to arrive, he looked at the people and tried to smile, but the beauty of the world was gone. Instead, he saw the maws of hell, opening wide to swallow him.
This is a quick story I wrote using this image as a guide for the plotline:
