77. The Small People
[Unitopia, Southern Archipelago]
A new night sky greeted them, devoid of the strange malice that they left behind. Yet it too was lacking something. The substance that once made it real, leaving behind nothing but a fantasy. A spectre. A ghost of a place.
The sense of cognitive dissonance that assaulted Jeffbob felt as though it came with a specific purpose, to remind him of something.
Well, the rubble they appeared amongst would have been a better candidate, Jeffbob still firmly in the negative realms of all intelligence scaling metrics ever invented and that ever will be invented. Ziriothrax looked out, his own machinations occupying his hive-like mind.
What is his purpose with these teleportations? Or perhaps am I giving this buffoon too great a benefit of the doubt in assuming that he has any sort of initiative in his actions whatsoever?
Now that I think about it, that is a more likely scenario. Still, even if subconsciously, there must be a link. And nothing escapes my eyes, no variable exists that I cannot quantify. There is nothing, NOTHING, that exists beyond the reach of my fist.
Jeffbob, ignoring the strangely malicious murmurings of his cricket companion, found his gaze drawn to that which stood before him. They had appeared in the silent ruins of a city, no doubt once grand, neon-lit skyscrapers framing the skyline. Now, they had all been razed, leaving behind only strange, colossal skeletons that seemed to have grown from the ground itself.
That cognitive dissonance amplified when he thought about those ancient, indestructible ruins, but he brushed that idea from his mind for they were not what caught his eye. Far smaller, more insignificant than such colossal things, in the middle of a crater almost a hundred metres wide, was a kneeling statue.
It was stone, its figure indistinct in the dark of the night. Even as the first rays of the yellow dawn shone over the horizon, the statue remained engulfed by shadow as it remained kneeling in the crater.
"Do you understand, cricket?"
The question seemed odd, seemingly framed by nothing whatsoever. Ziriothrax narrowed his eyes.
"Understand what?"
"That which lies before you, is an end. Tell me, cricket. Is it good?"
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Ziriothrax found himself hesitating, countless answers running through his mind, but for that moment, it felt like they fell short. Eventually, he spat out his words as if they caused him personal affront to have to say.
"Good? Does it matter if it is good? It's ended, that's all that really matters."
Jeffbob shook his head sadly.
"You see too much, little cricket, and in doing so you blind yourself. Sometimes, the bigger picture leads us to gloss over that which was right in front of us all along."
Ziriothrax scoffed.
"You preach to the converted, great lumbering buffoon. You think me capable of such a mistake as overlooking a detail? I see everything, I understand everything. Not a tree breathes, not an ant walks, that I have not accounted for it."
"If that is so, little cricket, that what are you doing here, following me?"
The question caught Ziriothrax off-guard. Looking up at Jeffbob, he saw that burning spark of madness in his eyes threaten to overflow. He remained silent, Jeffbob continuing to speak in his baritone voice.
"Hide from it, rationalise it to the ends of the world, little cricket. This truth is what haunts you. An end, can be good. I think that you fear that, deep down."
Ziriothrax grated his teeth, his eyes bloodshot, squeezing out the wrathful syllables.
"You think that if he were to be granted an opportunity to rewrite his end, he would not wish it any other way? I had thought your naivety a consequence of your condition, but such a foolish idea can only come from a bone-deep obsession with such lunacy. And, of all people, you dare to lecture me? My end is not my own. I gave up such liberty when I took on the mantle of my Name."
He paused, building up the tension.
"For the sake of all cricket-kind."
Eh, kind of anti-climactic I guess. Oh well, he is just a cricket.
Twitch.
"How strange," Jeffbob appeared to be amused, though Ziriothrax only found his endless hate growing.
"What?"
"Nothing, it just occurred to me. That of the two of us, the idealist is none other than yourself. You realise it not, but the privilege to choose one's end is not afforded to everyone. Some..."
He gestured to the kneeling statue in the centre of the crater.
"Some are not strong enough to resist Fate, and claw out against Destiny. The small people, Ziriothrax. Don't let yourself be consumed by the cancerous growth of ego. It is all a matter of perspective, after all."
He turned to look down at the cricket and, for the first time, Ziriothrax felt Jeffbob loom over him truly, like a mountain blocking out the sun.
"No matter how we grow, we are all small people to somebody."
Turning back, Jeffbob looked over the stone, kneeling statue. He knew not its name, nor what placed it there. But, in the twisting whispers of the wind, in the sinuous rays of the sun, he could read its meaning.
A crystal teardrop, shining with the colours of insanity, gradually fell from the corner of his eye. As it fell, it caught the light of the morning sun for a brief moment and, within its pellucid depths, Ziriothrax swore he saw a glimpse.
A soul, a mind. A heart aflame.
But before it could even hit the ground, another flash of purple and they were gone. As the sun rose further, the statue gradually emerged from the shade. Even kneeling, it was almost as large as a grown man, but its stone shape was rough and worn. Strangely, clutched in its right hand was a piece of cloth.