Scattered Rambling Fable

Once upon a time, before time existed (or had any meaning), there was a boy who had absolutely nothing in the world but the clothes on his back and a stick which he used for walking and/or fighting. His life was a lonely one, for the most part; he spent his days wandering around, through rivers and over mountains and across deserts and out in space itself. He had a very active imagination which allowed him to breathe underwater, smoke cigarettes beyond the confines of our atmosphere, and change things deeply.

Every day, he walked through a small but generally fruitful bazaar in a city whose name is lost to the wind. This city might still exist but the name probably doesn't, or the place exists in memories and ancient texts nobody can read anymore.

There, the boy would gaze upon the various goods sold at varying prices. Fish, meat, ox skulls, leather, jams, spices, weaponry from "lands beyond our borders", and various useless trinkets. Hungrily, he marched through, leaving only with the dirty looks people gave him; he rarely had money to buy anything. When he did have money, it would generally go to one of three places: the local charity, a homeless person, or the stand that sold fruit. Despite his calm and comparatively gentle nature, scorn was always cast upon him. Unfazed as he seemed, every now and then, it stung.

In that same bazaar was a merchant who had everything a man in those days could need, or want. Money, power, respect, decent health, a harem of shapely beautiful women, food, shelter, and much more. They say that his home was made of pure marble lined with gold and silver so when the sun shone upon it at dawn, one could catch a glimpse of heaven, or go blind. This was not true. His home, despite his wealth, was a relatively simple albeit large structure. It was made of stone that had been painted to give the appearance of marble. Nothing was missing. He was healthy, rich, powerful, and surrounded by beautiful women.

He had it all.

Or did he...?

No.

He was unhappy.

He could not figure out why he was unhappy. By the standards of that time, he had no reason to complain. Everything was going well for him. But he could not figure out why something felt like it was wrong. He lost sleep thinking about what may have been missing from his life. This, in turn, only made things worse; not knowing was his ultimate torture. It made him feel even more miserable and poor. The cold bitter sting of desperation poured torrents of venom into his veins and into his heart making his soul writhe and wail.

On the other hand, the boy, despite his own misfortunes, was content. This was evident by the smile on his face that he carried through the bazaar. A true and genuine smile, or smirk. Not trying too hard to do anything out of the ordinary, just an expression of contentment. The merchant, curious and aching with desperation, stopped the boy one day. The boy simply walked, whistling and admiring the sights surrounding him when the merchant spotted him and sprang from his seat!

"You there! Boy!" he shouted, in a manic frenzy that seemed to terrify the world! "Stop! I need you!"

The boy was startled and took flight! Or he ran really fast. He was not fast enough to escape the merchant as his maniacal glee gave him energy he had not possessed since he was young.

"Come with me, boy. I must pick your brain for I do not know what to do and I need your help."

And the two walked back to the merchant's tent where he asked the boy all sorts of questions regarding his lineage, home, profession, sexual orientation, to what gods he prayed and so on. All this in the hopes of uncovering his secrets and possibly obtain the answers he sought to cure his unhappiness. It came to pass that the boy answered all the questions willingly but could not help but feel sorry for the merchant as he was unable to provide him with a cure for his unhappiness. The merchant felt slightly better but still the merchant was dissatisfied.

The merchant's heart grew heavier as his smile faded. But desperation clawed at him, nagging him, egging him on, pushing to the edge. He offered the boy his vast wealth in exchange for his secrets. Everything within his power he offered, and begged. Even stuff he could not offer, he offered.

"My women! Take any! Take them all! Take my money! Take my tent! Just tell me!" he sobbed.

"I hold no secrets," he replied, "keep your women and power if you like or abandon them. They matter not."

Confused, insulted, and furious, the merchant cast him out. He didn't have to say anything after that but that didn't stop him from yelling at him some more. Foul things he shouted, enough to make the wind sob, and the earth weep bitterly.

The boy took this in stride and walked into the distance. The merchant back to his tent, where he wept.

Weeks went by and the boy did not pass through the bazaar. The merchant grew sick and felt death embrace him at every turn. But with a tiny spark of hope and desperation, he cast off death each time. "Not until I know." he coughed.

One day, the boy returned much to the delight of the merchant. And some degree of delight for the boy, he was just too... proud, or lazy, to admit it. The merchant pulled the boy into the tent and fed him and gave him new clothes.

"I... well, this isn't easy for me to say, boy. I've never been in this situation before. You see, I'm used to answering to only myself and having others tremble before me. For the most part. I've also never... missed anyone's company. There have been women I've longed for but I've found that they are easily replaceable. Until your heart beats for just one and when she's gone, y- well, a part of you is gone, too."

The merchant sat across from the boy, who was ripping a finely roasted chicken with his teeth.

"I'm sorry." the merchant said. "I real-"

The boy nodded, accepting his apology and without saying a word told him he didn't need to say anything more. The merchant was humbled by this, he had never had to apologize to anyone before. And he had really hurt the boy but the boy forgave him.

They talked for hours. The merchant felt miles away from death's cold black shores. He understood why he felt warm and content. He made a friend. He had actually reached out and made friends with the boy.

"Thats what you were missing, sir," the boy said, "friendship."

Those words sank deep into the merchant's jewel encrusted heart.

Getting up and gathering his belongings, the boy said, "I thank you but I must depart now. May you find friends and happiness. May the winds of fortune guide your ship far across the sea of life to something great."

The merchant knew he could not stop the boy from walking, and as a token of their brief-lived friendship, gave him not just one of his many horses, he gave him his favorite.

"May your journeys be less perilous, my friend." he said as he handed the boy the reins to the magnificent white steed. "Find what you seek and may you find happiness that exceeds mine."

As the horse trod off on the soft golden dust 'neath its hooves and into the golden glory of the sun (as they are wont to do in these kinds of stories), the merchant smiled. He knew what to do now and was content.

They say he sold his tent and wandered the earth seeking more friendship. Others say he built an orphanage to try to fill a need. Others say he was taken by creatures from a planet devoid of friendship. Despite writing this story, I really wouldn't be able to tell you because all friendships vary and have differing effects on the obviously different people involved. But I can tell you this: the merchant was happy. The boy was happy. And the horse didn't care.

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