The blistering hot sun beats down on his bare back scorching him to what feels like his very core. He looks down at the dust on the dry, thirsty, ground and refrains from falling into it’s trap like all men who are dead have done. He stumbles down the much trodden path, who some dare to call a road, too exhausted to look in the shops to his left and right.
He is distant from me, yet I still feel his pain radiate off of his miserable body. I know that the one whom he seeks is me, yet I am too afraid to admit it, even to myself. As he slowly approaches I feel his wretched pain bounce off him even more. It’s hideous, bone chilling. To think that an immortal such as I could have produced such a low life is deplorable.
The one whom I shamefully call my son nears my throne and bows, his body caked in mud and dirt. I send him away with a nod of my head to be cleaned up and made presentable. Thus only those who are presentable should kneel before the throne of someone as of much importance as I. I know what he desires to get out of this treacherous journey of his. It would be sensational if he succeeds but I truly doubt it. He is only a mere mortal who is bound for death any day of his sorry life. Although my son, he takes almost nothing after his well off father.
Death is a curious issue for me, knowing of course that I can not be affected by it, there is no need for me to give it much thought at all. So care, I do not of this quest that this young mortal presents to me even though he is one of my own, I shall not fall into the trap of his lies.
He approaches my throne, once more, but now looking as though he should be on the throne himself. His back, no longer bare, clothed with a gorgeous cape of purple and gold. His eyes a deep green and his hair no longer spotted with dirt but clean and brushed aside as though the angles themselves were holding it in place.
He rises and nears me and with a tender but firm hand on my shoulder and he says with much confidence, “Father, your people, your family, all suffer because of your own cruelty. Did you have children only so that they can suffer the pain of your wrath? I should hope that this is not the case for such a man as yourself if man you even be called. Do you not hear the pleads of your dear people? Do you not wish to be admired by all which you have created with your steady hand? I beg not only on my own behalf but on all, let the skies open up and pour forth its beauty. Let the rains pour down from the heavens. Water the crops which feed your very own mouth. Have grace and mercy on your people.
I speak no words but nod letting the poor soul know that he is dismissed. He turns away with haste and briskly walks out of my presence. I run my fingers through my hair, deep in thought of what my son has said. I do hear the pleas of my people. I do wish to be loved and admired by all which I have created. Still, I must not call upon the skys to open and pour forth the rain which they desire. I must hold a firm hand. My people must learn whom they are to respect and worship.
As the evening darkens my son returns and bows yet again before my throne. He runs towards me and kneels at my feet and reaches toward the sky and says, “Father, have you not opened the skys? Have you not seen how desperate your people are? Have mercy on us and you will see. We will worship you as not only our king but we will praise you for generations for saving your people.”
I dismiss him yet again with a nod of my head but he continues. “Father, your people beg of you. We can not worship you if we do not quench our thirst with the sweet taste of water. Please show mercy.”
“My son,” I respond, coming to my senses which I have not been attuned with for far too long of a time. “I hear your cries and see the discomfort of my people. I will open up the sky and let the rains pour forth so that you and all my creation may drink what is good and survive so that you may worship your creator. You are dismissed,” I say with a nod of my head.
With no longer a sober look on his face he joyfully leaves my presence and walks out into the blistering heat. Arousing all the people he tells the good news of my decision and says that soon the skies will pour forth the sweet water which they have longed for for what seems like ages.
Granting my son's request which I should have long ago, I look to the heavens and lift up my firm, steady, hands commanding the clouds to come and pour forth rain, and the thunder to crash and the lighting to strike. A mortal, my own son brought salvation to all of my beautiful creation which would have withered away if not for him.
No longer miserable and no longer suffering he looks into the now darkened skies and sees the wondrous clouds form above him. He hears the thunder crash and the lightning strike. The heavens open up and the rain starts to pour. My son, no longer a poor low life but a new rising prince raises his hands into the air and praises me as his king along with all of my creation.