… or is it. In an truly surprising twist of fate, all thou in classic hollywood fashion, the tides may have turned in the last minute and our hero may still save the day and get the girl.
Or maybe life isn’t made in hollywood and this may not be the tides turning but rather the last twitch, the final uncontrolled reflex of a, otherwise, long dead body. The final cautionary words or just the unintelligible muttering of a dieing beast. The beast that was mortally wounded long time ago, that was expected to die quietly and out of sight. Yet this was a proud beast one that would not die in misery. It screamed and struggled, it lashed out at the ones waiting for it to die maybe with more vigor and indeed more madness than even before. But it would not last. You can’t defeat fate with will alone. After a while it’s violent struggle was reduced to a mere whine a quiet cry till finally it was heard no more. But even then it refused to die. It gained strength occasionally, taunted by the false illusion of hope. Cruel, cold, merciless hope. But it dared not hope to high. It merely wished, not to regain it’s full strength, witch now seemed impossible even to the stubborn beast, but to at least live. The fire in it’s heart may never be a blaze again but a gentle flicker may be enough. But even it didn’t believe that to be true. What a life would that have been for a beast that once soured the skies, that knew no limits or boundaries, that no one could tame. It had to die and it knew it. But it would not die quietly. It’s death would have meaning, it will not be forgotten. But it’s not it’s death but rather it’s life that should be praised and remembered.
This beast may be now truly and finally dead and the cries of it’s ghost may still haunt these places from time to time. But maybe now that it’s death and struggle may be put behind it’s life may have the center stage again. But we should not dwell in memories for too long. While today may have been the last for this beast, it’s agony finally calmed, things may not as grim as they would seem.
The beast may rise again one day like the mighty Phoenix. This beast would have the soul of the old one, it’s pride and stubbornness but it would nonetheless be a new and different beast.
But as it happens in life the new beast may be a mere imperfect copy, an unworthy reincarnation of the old one one that would never rise to the glory and power of the old one. And this new beast may also die one day another step in an seemingly never ending cycle. Yet my hope is that indeed one of these reincarnations may break this cycle. It will be impossible to hurt, impossible to kill it would rise beyond mortality because this beast is no ordinary beast. This beast is above all a symbol, an idea, a hope. And symbols cannot be destroyed, ideas cannot be silenced, hope cannot be killed.
The Day of the Beast will come again and when it does I will be there prepared.
