I imagine Simon reflecting on his past life, thinking about everything that happened. His teenage years of depression and anxiety, his failed salutary trip to the US and his free fall. He’s seeing himself slowly break, torturing himself even more, because harming yourself is the only thing that seems to work when everything you are is just a wreck, when kindness, optimism and hope are just words, empty sounds in people’s mouth, emtpy letters on blank papers. But those people didn’t even know how he felt back then, how could they even help him?
And then there’s death. It’s not that easy, to die. You have to push yourself hard, far, deep. You would think there’s a reason to that, something or someone, a guilty. But sometimes, it’s just…like that. You open your eyes and you know that it’s you, you and only you. So you decide to end it, for your own sake, and it’s maybe the only positive thing you could find in your life, this death. After all, when everything hurts, when you’re so exposed, skinned by life itself, you’re tempted to think there’s no other solution. If for once you could find yourself in a warm and comforting place…
But life comes again. Nobody saved you, you’re still a lost soul, but you live again. And everything is different, you are different. Are you even still you?
Simon thinks about his mother. Oh, his mother… He loved her, the woman of his life. She believed in him, supporting him when he wasn’t able to breathe without aching. But coming back to life to kill the one who gave him his first life… He’s hating the irony. He’s thinking about Norfolk. His new body didn’t feel much but the distress was real. To ressurect is not a gift, not in this life, not for Simon. He didn’t came back as a Messiah, life kept hurting him but…he was different, he could feel it. This second life took his past away, it took everything he was and gave him something new.
There was hope too, he would be fixed. Fixed… Could someone really fix him? In the end, it was impossible. He knew it and accepted it. What could he do? He wasn’t himself anymore, the suffering was gone, this cry inside, burning, devastating, crawling on your nerves, pouring out from every pore of your skin, amplifying everything. It was gone. There was only despair and guilt, this lack of understanding.
Losing his family, his previous life, and finding the ULA. He’s looking at this old book in his hands. Will he ever grow tired of Yeats? He can still hear his father’s voice on his favourite words. Will those verses one day be less painful and lose their beauty? Could they replace the words of God? And what about the Undead Prophet, what about his words? He put them behind him. He can now hear Kieren’s voice in his head, all the things he shared with him, his story, his concern, his affection. Simon is conflicted with himself, he needs to believe, he needs to feel this powerful hand grasping his soul and pulling him out of his misery, cradling him in an invisible comforting and forgiving embrace. But what he’s found is far more powerful than that. Kieren is so alive… And he walks by his side, not guiding him, not leading him, he doesn’t put Simon behind him, he’s taking him along with him, side by side, showing him they’re different but looking in the same direction. For the first time, he’s walking alone on his feet, one step, and another, and another again. What about his faith? Oh it’s still there, but it’s like the shining sun, the pouring rain, the raging wind, it’s just there. Kieren, this boy, is so much more in his life.
And Simon is finding peace in this, and starts to weave his own redemption. There are still fights, the war is not over, but the pieces of his new self are slowly falling into place. And he’s okay with that.
Yes, I have Simon feels again. Well, they never left…
(the quote is from The Fool by the Roadside by Yeats, obviously.)
theartofmadeline
yousharknotpass
