You breathe in.
You breathe out.
Today is gonna be a good day.
Close your eyes.
Think of childhood.
Think of where you used to live.
The memories things that used to be.
What do you imagine?
Good.
That's where you are.
You're in childhood.
You're on the floor.
It's made of grass.
But it's comfortable.
Or, maybe you just don't care anymore.
You open your eyes.
Up are the skies.
Perpetually sunny.
The perfect kind of sunny.
The kind of sunny that makes you fuzzy.
The kind that makes you sleepy.
You could remember imagine laying down on the warm grass.
Each individual blade adjusting for your space.
Hugging you in their green arms as if you were their baby.
In a sense, you could say that you are.
Though, none of that matters now.
You stand up.
Perhaps you ecstatically jump up, excited for what's to come.
Or maybe you slowly rise, wishing you could lay in the welcoming pastures forever.
Neither matter.
You're up either way.
The lights shine in your eyes.
Blinding.
But you adjust to them, even if slowly.
The sun got brighter.
More intense.
Sensing the future events.
They say the sun watches all.
I'm not quite sure what that means.
But I guess they, whoever they are, are right.
Except when they're not.
Except when night comes.
Except when the clouds come to liberate the sky.
Wouldn't that make them a liar?
Don't think about it too much.
Whatever.
What do you imagine?
Perhaps a flying boat?
Maybe it's a big blue duck!
Maybe i-
This is dumb.
I'm not talking to you.
I can tell. Why don't we do something else with our time? What the hell is the point of entertaining this "child" who can't even handle the own weight of their actions?
I.
Am.
Not.
Talking.
To.
You.
Okay.
Alright.
Maybe you imagine a fancy flute.
Wait, wh-
You hear me, fool.
You're immature. It was a joke. I was just getting angry. Get a hold of yourself.
No.
I'm not gonna "calm down".
Now.
You pick up the flute.
You let your fingers explore its surface.
You could imagine it as a recorder, black and plastic. Like those ones from fourth grade.
Or maybe it's more regal? Perhaps its surface is encrusted with sparkling gems.
And you say I'm the child here. Look at yourself. You're a god. Man should not even be able to witness your figure without going insane. And yet, you feel the need to save the sinned from their own destruction. You create this living paradise for them — a space in which they have all the control and can do whatever you want. God should not serve man.
I don't remember asking for your opinions, Esau.
And, why the is the way to enter and exit a flute? Do you realize how silly you sound?
Do you know what a flute represents?
No. Because it doesn't represent anything. Because it's a flute.
Mortals blow into a flute. Breath sustains life. They give their life in order to hear this music.
And…?
You're too simple to understand.
Anyways.
The flute perfectly fits your grip.
You bring it to your lips.
You've never played a flute before, yet you know exactly how to use it.
So you play.
A song of which you've heard before.
A song that you cannot fully grasp.
The words of the Apocrypha…
And it was over.
So abruptly.
Yet, you cannot help but yearn for it.
No one has ever loved you.
And there's no saying that anyone ever will.
But there.
In that false reality.
You were loved.
Despite the two's bickering.
They cared for you.
Which seemed to gnaw at you ever so harshly.
Are nothing more than embarrassing memories that you have long since forgotten.