Ariadne

by Cailean Darkwater

Continued from Part I

(I left my bag behind.... That statement looks so innocuous, sitting there on the page. But as I will reveal, its impact was shattering....)

Part II

Tears. Flowing down those sweet features, knives piercing deeply into my heart. It pained me to perceive her pain. In a tortured, choked voice, such a tragic mockery of her angelic tone, Ariadne asked me whether it was true.

She lifted the newspaper from my bag. It was a relatively normal example of a newspaper -- the occasional murder, accidents, war reports, and starving children.

With reluctance, I verified the newspaper's stories. I felt like a parent explaining to their child why their pet couldn't play with them any more. I wasn't in the best state of mind either. I felt like a monster; that I had unleashed such agony within her, albeit unwittingly.

I told this pure innocent of the ways of the world. I bestowed on Ariadne knowledge of death, pain, and hate -- all these things which we deal with every day. It came out in such a rush -- I told her of my pain, my failed hopes, my unrequited love. I just couldn't help it, just a release of everything weighing down my soul.

When I finished, Ariadne just gazed at me, her eyes full of love. Even though she was distressed by this horrendous pain, pain that I had thrust upon her, she could still bring herself to care for her tormentor.

The simple beauty of the act brought me to tears.

Ariadne stroked my shoulder tenderly and my own pain dwindled, eclipsed by her agony. With love in her eyes, Ariadne gave me a faint smile; a brave, sad, little smile.

Nothing would prepare me for what happened next. She aged within moments, her pained features withering centuries in minutes. It seemed like the wind blew and Ariadne fractured -- flaked away, piece by piece, and she was gone. All that remained were her empty clothes and grey dust on the breeze that was already dying down.

Shock. I dropped to my knees in confusion and anguish. Ariadne was gone. Forever. Looking at the dust that was the remains of Ariadne, interspersed in her white dress, I could do nothing but weep.

Zombie-like, I made my way from the ivory tower. Even as the storm broke, I felt shattered and helpless. Although I had never met him, I decided to inform Jeremiah as to the state of his mistress.

Naturally, Jeremiah was devastated and I became the focus of his ire. He explained that Ariadne had been raised from birth with no knowledge of death; since she was ignorant of death, she was immune to its dread touch.

She had been in a state of budding womanhood for over a hundred years.

Her parents, long dead, had wished to preserve her from the agony of life; they had wanted her to be truly timeless. Ever unchanging, ever beautiful, ever perfect. He further spoke of his bloodline, which had altered their features to resemble the first Jeremiah -- when Ariadne was growing up. He was of an age similar to myself, not the grizzled 60 year-old that he seemed. His true age showed now, his pain, his anger, his sadness. I had brought about the destruction of his family's legacy to Ariadne -- I had revealed the concept of death to her and that had called the pale rider to claim her.

I'm sure that Jeremiah burned with the wish for retribution towards me, but for the moment his sorrow outweighed his wrath. I'd already done enough damage -- I left him to his grief.

Let me tell you, I felt totally worthless. Through such a minor mistake, I had caused so much damage; I had destroyed something that would have been truly eternal.

As the sun pierced the tempest, I was struck with an epiphany:

The true beauty of Ariadne was revealed at the end of her life. Knowing that the world was fundamentally uncaring, she could still care for others. She could ignore her pain and still manage to love. That we can love one another in this cruel mockery of existence is truly miraculous. A miracle of which we all are capable.

We appreciate beauty more when we know that it will be gone some day. The rose, while beautiful, will wilt, the plant will die. While the rose blooms, we love its beauty, because it won't last forever. The metaphor for human existence. We grow, we bloom and then we die. We are all the more precious to one another since we know it will all end one day.

I do not regret my actions. I did what I thought was right. I may have disturbed the universe, but such is my right, such is my duty. I live in it, after all. Whether I enrich the cosmos or ruin it is up to me. Ariadne had a mockery of life, she was only truly beautiful from her own mortality. Ariadne was only truly in our world for a short time, but she enriched this world before she left it.

We have turned our back on paradise -- it is now up to us to create our own paradise.

About The Author

Cailean Darkwater is a young writer who has been writing for about 9 months now. She focuses on writing inspirational works that can help other people just by reading them, a form of "passive, indirect counseling". She invites readers to respond to her work by writing to her at cailean@mailandnews.com 

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