Two Doors

Two doors stand in front of him, each a towering mass covered with swirling designs and an aura of power that seems to emanate from under. It’s just him and these doors, nothing else exits, not yet. Many events took place for him to finally arrive at this moment, a journey full of pain and strife, the uncovering of secrets originating far below the surface, and a friend’s final decision. All these sacrifices led this boy to this very moment. The fate of everything that has ever existed or will exist rests in the small hands of a boy with the eyes of someone much older, someone much wiser. His whole body trembles. Whatever decision he makes, he knows it will change him. After all, humans were not meant to play God.

             The door on the left will erase all events taking place after the birth of humanity. It was a restart, a second chance to fix what everyone had thought to be irreversible. The door on the right would keep everything as it was, save for the destruction that entailed after humanity’s earlier decision. Make no mistake, consequences will remain, just not those that would mean the end. Any normal person would not hesitate to restart the world. It was the logical decision; it would get rid of any damage that had been made and give humans a chance to do things better the next time. Even so, this boy was not a normal person. He had seen things no one has even dared to dream and while they carried the scars of their destruction, he carried the scars of sacrifice. His scars were selfless, and they filled him with pride. He would choose to continue with the way things were because he knew that for things to change there would have to be no change at all. Humans were never going to learn if you erased all the lessons they ever learned every time they failed. This was a proven fact. He knew this was not the first time this choice was presented. All of those people had never seen true darkness, never knew true sadness and never sacrificed for the betterment of others. Change was needed for the growth of anything. The real change was not restarting the world because all of those before him had made that same choice. That destruction was part of history and no history should ever be erased no matter how dark or bloody.

             The boy did not know what would happen to him when he walked through that door, did not know if his life would end or if he’d be sentenced to an eternity of pain. Either was possible.  All he knew was that his choice would mean the end of a vicious cycle of pain and corruption. He was not fool enough to think that all pain and corruption would end but he knew that society would grow and move on, that was enough.

             He puts one foot forward then another. His legs feel as if they’re made of lead and he stumbles. The weight of his decision looms over him, but his mind is made. He raises his hand to reach out. He stands in front of the right door now. It’s beautiful with its designs. It looked as though spring itself was painted onto the wood. Fields of flowers bloomed over ruins of stone and moss. Rebirth. The other door was a mural of bright fire and light. Destruction. It seems the doors were a little biased. His outstretched hand touches the knob, and a tingling sensation travels up his arm. The boy closes his eyes and inhales deeply, these may be his last moments. His eyes open and if anyone had been looking, they would have seen steely determination. His hand turns and he pulls the door open. A white light engulfs him, and he takes a step. His body is pulled in and a rainbow of colors seem to rush at him. The boy could do nothing but stare in wonder as these colors turned into the memories of those who lived long before him. He had been expecting a punishment for participating in God’s game, not this beauty. His eyes filled with tears as he watched a mother kiss the forehead of baby Aurelius. His family had been gone for a while. Turning his head, he saw Twain and Tesla, both engrossed in their conversation. His tears flowed down his cheeks; he would never see his friend again. His body moved farther and farther down the tunnel of light and it seemed never ending. Countless lives moved across his vision. Tidal waves of feelings passed through him as if they were his own memories. He saw love stories that moved the world and ones just as powerful with a quiet sort of happiness. He saw power hungry tyrants and grief driven artists, martyrs, and historians. Then, scenes of himself appear. A little boy scared and afraid saying goodbye to his family’s grave, it was moss free and new. He walked through a maze hand and hand with his best friend who did not make it out. He passes through towns and cities, finding untold secrets. He pieces together ancient stories filled with sorrow and power. Each new scene adds another scar to his body and another loss to his soul. His sobs come out ragged and true. He too, was a part of the history of the world. He spent so long alone he’d forgotten that he was apart of something so much bigger than himself. Soon, his tears blur into darkness.

             The boy wakes up on the shore of a new world. There are people everywhere making an effort to clean up debris from destroyed buildings, each with a solemn face. Good, he thought. He tries to stand up but finds that his limbs were neither responding nor solid. He could see the sand through his arms. He thinks that this must be his punishment and smiles a bitter smile. Then, he feels his body being lifted by a pair of equally translucent hands. Looking up, he sees a boy a few years older than himself with a smile stretching across his face. The younger boy stares at the stranger with awe. He tries to introduce himself only to find that he is incapable of speaking and though he is standing he still cannot move properly. The older boy smiles wider and offers his hand. He takes it. The smile turns into a grin as the older boy pulls the other along. They take a running start and soon their feet are off the ground and they’re flying so smoothly it feels as natural as breathing. Everywhere, there is reconstruction. Pamphlets protesting further ruin of the world flood the streets and people read them. People agree with them. Though, not everyone does. Fights break out and riots are made but they are quickly overpowered by the people’s desire to heal. The rioters argue that to return to the former glory of the world we must act in their progressive ways. There’s a sad smile on the younger boy’s face. There will always be some people who won’t ever understand, who won’t ever want to understand. The whole point of this is not to return to how they were but to grow into something new and something better.

             Suddenly, the boy is snapped out of his reverie when the older boy pulls him into a hug. Neither of them was capable of speaking as they had no vocal cords, but he heard a voice speak clearly in his head and he knew without a doubt that it was the other boy’s.

             “Welcome, Alaric.” He only said two words. Two words, but they were gentle, and no one had spoken the boy’s name in a long time. Tears streamed down his face and he could taste salt as he smiled from ear to ear. The older boy held him as he cried, and Alaric couldn’t help thinking of the brother he once had.

             Years later, Alaric and the older boy who is now a man, sit shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence as a city that had once been reduced to rubble can be heard from afar, far enough for them to hear. The sound of violins echo towards the sky with the laughter of young children as their accompaniment.