Chapter VI

A detatch'd feeling. Floating sensations. Renew'd lustre of hope and reality. There was a tingling of knowing all over Riccardo. There was something different about himself. It felt as if he were a penguin that was suddenly airborne. He was above and a spectator of the world. The world unto, he open'd eyes.

And how remarkable it was! The explosion of colour, the sheer virtuosity of sound, the flowery scents that fill'd every pore of him! It was almost more than he could stand! And he look'd down, down onto those pitiful people. A dis-used church with three bodies fallen. A flood of blood dampening pink into dark scarlet. Two head-less, one a boy, another a man. The other and last body was a small child, a small girl.

"Poor souls," he thought.

Poor little boy who laid there. That boy was only so innocent. All his life he had only liv'd to want the best for his parents. He only want'd to make things better. It was only peace for that boy's family, that small, back-broken farm. It wasn't his destiny to kill... But it was his destiny to die. He knew the story, he knew it all. The story did not matter. That boy was now lost, and he was found.

He felt a sense at his back, and turning himself around, he felt The Beacon beckoning. He could spot it in the distance like a candle in the darkness. There was an attraction, a pull. He wanted to go to that beacon, and be in its presence. That's all he want'd. The Beacon.

Looking about, he saw that others too, were being drawn to it. He saw forms that look'd human, elf, and all sorts of self- conscious kin. All kin. All together. Some were not even in resemblance to anything he has ever seen. They were like large sheets that cover'd the sky, moving and flowing as the gelatin fish does in the sea. A slight tinge of recognition tugg'd at him as he look'd onto a soul. It was one of the bodies below, a gruff and middle-ag'd man. The man saw him as well, but quickly went on his way, in the same direction of them all.

He was past the ceiling of the church now, right through the solid roof and into the open sun. Now he felt the light as a gentle bath of temperate ecstasy. There was no such thing as cold. There was no such thing as hot. There was only This. This feeling that could bring modest joy and even more modest pleasures. He was on fire with water.

"Come to me."

Three simple words. He want'd to come, with all his strength, he want'd to. With all his being, he want'd to. Being all he was, he made what not just every other soul and spirit was making, but his own decision, that he want'd to come to The Beacon.

"I come," he thought.

To The Beacon...