Hope

...

The sun was moving across the sky toward its highest point, alerting the populace to noon. The sky was almost cloudless, clear, and in places a beautiful blue. Against this beautiful backdrop, various birds soared, peering curiously down at the gathering of people, constantly growing in size, with new faces as the curious gathered from all sides. A platform had been erected in the courtyard, on which someone had previously placed the trunk of an old tree, marked with numerous marks, likely the result of blows from a sharp object. From somewhere to the side of the courtyard, shouting, conversation, and curses could be heard. A group of several dozen people was approaching from there. When they reached the platform, two individuals emerged from among them, holding a young man, shorter and probably much lighter than the guards. They approached the trunk, ordered him to kneel, and asked if they should blindfold him. He replied no. His hands were shackled, his feet too, but with a chain that allowed him to move. He knelt as ordered, his head resting on the tree trunk. He could smell the wood, reminding him of walks with his beloved in the forest, near the river where they had spent most sunsets. But that was gone, gone forever. A rotten apple roused him from his memories, mercilessly smashing into his face. He could do nothing, nothing, he had to endure it, even though he had already suffered much in his life, only this wasn't physical pain. In the apple's wake came pears, eggs, tomatoes, and even stones. Rivulets of blood began to flow down his face, one of which ran for quite a while, starting from his eyebrows. It flowed as if on a track, surely heading for its destination. This path could have been a trough, albeit an invisible one, formed during the tearful rally that had often made its way down his cheeks in recent weeks. A trickle was about to flow down his chin when a stone struck his mouth, breaking the flow. Drops of blood, against the beautiful sky, danced with the wind, falling silently onto the planks of the platform, seeping into the cracks, leaving a faint trace of the young man. He, his head resting on the tree trunk, tried not to think about it, even though he knew it was only the beginning of his journey to peace. Hope began to form in his mind, hope that the executioner who was supposed to arrive, opening the Gates of Peace, wouldn't arrive in time, and he would be able to enjoy life, even if only one more day. But he was afraid of hope, afraid of it, because he had it when, walking through the forest, he thought things would go well for him with the one he had chosen. Whenever he saw her, whenever he met her, whenever he spoke to her, a tree called Hope grew in his heart. He always wanted this tree to grow into the tree of Love, under which his beloved could sit, never leaving his heart. Everything would be fine if not for one word: "NO." This word, carried on the wind, penetrated inside,It reached the heart, raging on a wave of wind, sowing emptiness around itself until it reached the tree, which was already quite firmly rooted in the heart. The wind raged for a long time, the tree resisted, but it still succumbed, it was broken. All hope was wasted, it proved worthless, it existed only to give man happiness, or rather, the feeling of happiness, only to turn away from him after a while, leaving him alone. He later deeply regretted that the tree had "only" been broken, because the roots remained anyway. Right now, as he waited for his fate, it seemed to him that the tree of Hope was coming back to life; the buds of hope were already beginning to bloom, a hope that flitted through his mind, telling him that the executioner would not come, that he could be at peace. This was precisely what he feared, fearing that the furious wind would break again and destroy the newly formed tree. But despite this, he believed in hope, he believed that he would once again be able to look at the moon and reminisce.

In the distance, the clatter of wheels could be heard, periodically hitting variously sized holes in the cobblestone road. Horse hooves ruthlessly struck the already damaged road, emitting a resonant, metallic sound. As if on cue, the heads of the onlookers turned toward the sounds. Yes, it was a cart, the cart that the executioner was driving, though the young man was unaware of this, as he was facing the opposite direction. After a moment, the entire commotion subsided; now only the occasional thud on the road could be heard, emanating from the hard soles of the executioner's boots.

A man lay in the thicket of grass, an arrow lodged in his heart, and traces of blood on his dirty and sweaty shirt, a sure sign that the arrow had hit the right spot. The man lay alone, with no one nearby to help him. He knew these were his final moments, if they could be called moments, for he had already been lying there for quite some time, and the suffering and pain, instead of diminishing, were growing stronger, reminding the dying man that he would die in pain. He kept wondering why? But the answer was nowhere to be found. He searched the layers of his memory, but as if on a sinking ship, they were flooded with pain. He couldn't access the Book of Memories, he couldn't answer the question, why him. The sun was already setting, the sky on the horizon was turning blood red. He thought it was some kind of sign that at that moment, not only he would pass away to the Land of Peace, but also someone else, other people who, like him, suffered only to find shelter under the cloak of peace...

The executioner climbed the wooden steps to the landing, stood for a moment, and watched the young man for whom he was to open the Gates of Peace today, because it was believed he had killed his loved one because she didn't want to be with him. But the young man knew it wasn't that he hadn't killed her because he loved her too much to do it, he knew she had committed suicide when she said "no" because her father had forbidden her from seeing the young boy. A freshly sharpened axe flashed in the executioner's hand. The executioner asked if the young man was sure he didn't want to be blindfolded. The boy seemed not to hear, but after a moment, he realized the executioner was standing right next to him. Tears suddenly began to flow down his face, which was still streaming with blood. He no longer had the strength to face his fate, knowing that hope had failed him once again, that he was her plaything. He heard the executioner's words again, and he answered as before: "No." The executioner crossed himself and stood for a moment longer, silently praying for the boy, praying for his soul, which would flee to heaven immediately after the blow...

The sun, spreading bloodily across the sky, was already reaching the horizon. The last rays of sunlight reached the axe blade, which proudly reflected them. The axe was raised above the executioner's head, and a small ray of sunlight slid down the blade, disappearing a moment later. The people standing around the dais watched curiously; some women even began to cry, others turned away, unwilling to see what was about to happen, and still others ran out of the crowd. The young man saw some people leaving, unwilling to watch this terrible "spectacle." He thought for a moment more about his beloved. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, a faint smile flickering across his face at the thought of the upcoming meeting, of his chosen one. He smiled for a moment longer, and then the smile vanished forever. A faint crack was heard, probably a broken neck; the head seemed to spin in the air for a moment, only to land with a dull, hollow sound in the basket placed next to the tree trunk. Released drops of blood danced against the bloody sky; in places, it was impossible to distinguish blood from sky; drops flew in all directions, including onto the executioner's black robes, onto the boards, onto the people. The body slumped onto the platform; the sight was not pleasant; people began to disperse, some now openly crying, weeping, loudly shouting why this had happened, how terrible it was, especially for his family. But the executioner knew it wasn't so terrible, because now the young man would be able to be with his beloved forever...

The sun had set completely, and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, as if conversing among themselves about what had happened today. Darkness enveloped the dead man, an arrow proudly thrust into his heart, a reminder of this man's long death. The headless corpse of a young man already lay in a dark pit, being buried under the earth.

Two birds silently flew across the black sky, chatting among themselves about love. They spoke of how people, faced with love, would like to be in the young man's situation—that is, in a clear situation, one who, despite his hopes, quickly lost his life, painlessly. Because no human would want to be faced with love, in the position of a man with an arrow in his heart, because he was constantly suffering, and yet he died, even though he had suffered much more. The birds also spoke of how people should not harbor vain hopes for each other, because it is better to suffer defeat in love by the executioner's axe than by an arrow filled with suffering, which, like an axe, leads to death, but through a more tortuous and long path.