Phoenix

I didn't understand it myself. It was strange, even unethical, until I saw for myself what it was all about, what it was.

I was twenty-five years old. It was the last day of my life. The last and also the first, because when something ends, something else, something new begins. Later... I just knew.

That day, the sun was shining, there was a cloudless blue sky. It was a Saturday in August, around three o'clock. I was walking home from the city center, to the outskirts where I'd always lived.

I was walking along the roadside. I still had about two miles to go home. The sun was mercilessly strong, and I had no way to hide from it. The road was empty. A bad sign. I was hoping for someone to give me a ride home. I'd had enough of this sun.

After a while, I heard that sound, the sound of an approaching car. I felt waves of hope wash over me from head to toe. Driven by my faith in human kindness, I stepped onto the road and began waving my arms desperately to be noticed.

The sound approached, and with it the barely visible silhouette of a red car. A Ferrari sports car. An old model, it was a wonder anyone still drove one.

The ever-faster shape of the red car unsettled me. I felt a slight sting, as if someone were warning me. But I stood there, waving my arms more and more desperately. But it kept rushing. It was getting closer… closer…

My heart leaped into my throat, I could almost feel it cutting off my airflow. The thought of my doomed fate had already blossomed in my mind… not yet…

And so I stood, unable to move my limbs, any part of my terrified body. My eyes widened to their limits, my voice caught in my throat. I felt paralyzing terror and helplessness, a terrible, overwhelming helplessness. I closed my eyes.

And then… I felt the heat of the asphalt and a searing pain throughout my entire body. The left side of my face was drowning in blood, my head was splitting with pain. Afterward, I couldn't feel my legs at all. My eyelids felt heavy. I was tired. My head was buzzing. I could almost feel my thoughts slowly disappearing into the pleasant coolness of the darkness. Into the abyss of nothingness. I closed my eyes.

A blinding brightness burst into my mind. I felt like a raped virgin. A brutal light entered my head unbidden, touching all my thoughts, all my memories. I felt empty. Naked.

When I opened my eyes, I felt light. As if this mental rape had stripped me of all my worries, all my problems; I felt beyond all pain and sin. I was free, so pleasantly free.

The first thing I saw were the clouds. A thick blue-and-white fog enveloping absolutely everything. I looked around, fascinated, until I saw HIM.

He sat on a rich throne, on a high proscenium, surrounded by throngs of others like HIM, standing behind wooden lecterns. I felt like I was at an interrogation. I stood before him. Naked, with an open mind. Oh, Lord, deliver me!

And he looked at me with his wise eyes, as deep as a thousand oceans, made a concerned face, stroking his long white beard, and spoke as if to a child:

"Did it hurt so much? Forgive me for being so brutal, but I warned you. You didn't listen. I don't blame you, son. I needed you here anyway.

" "Me? For what...?

" "For a mission, son. You are a great man. And you certainly will be, unless all this goes to your head. If you don't agree... you stay here, and I'll look for someone else.

" "But... I'm no one special... what could I do for you?

" "Pray to your creator." I will teach you a prayer that will be both your salvation and your curse. Pray!

His voice echoed everywhere. I knelt down. I looked at him and repeated the words of the prayer after him. My great God…

I will never forget that day, and it would be difficult. I was standing before God Himself. I felt His closeness, I was looking at Him. It's impossible to forget.

I woke up. Just like that. I opened my eyes and saw darkness surrounding me. I was in my home, in my room, in my own bed. The words of the prayer kept resonating in my head. Prayers to HIM, for life.

Since then, I have meticulously fulfilled my mission. I did it because He asked me to, but above all, out of gratitude for the life He gave me. I believe in the nobility of my actions. I am not God, I am His messenger.

I am currently thirty-three years old with eight years of service behind me. But that is still not enough. Thanks to HIM, I believed, and that gave me strength. A lot of strength.

What am I like today? I am like all 26th-century youth. I live in a time when it's impossible to attract attention. And certainly not me. I ride a black motorcycle, wear black leather, long hair, and a large cross on my chest. I leave no trace behind me; only memories remain.

I remember my first time very clearly. Want to know? I'll tell you.

It was a week after my encounter with God. A week after my rebirth. After my resurrection. Those seven days were a learning experience, but in a different, more adult way. I was young, but I had to understand the world completely differently than before.

My first step was moving to the very center of the eternal city – Helsinki. I lived in one of those dingy skyscrapers; at the time, that was becoming quite fashionable. Later, those skyscrapers flooded the entire world like a great flood.

I lived on the 8th floor, which had three other apartments besides mine. In three years, my best friend and companion, my confidante—my only confidante—would move into one of them. For now, however, I shared all my worries within the walls of my small apartment.

That evening, I strolled the streets of Helsinki. It was late; the sun had dipped below the horizon a few hours earlier, and it was my time. Phoenix time.

I didn't really know what to do with myself. I simply wandered around, passing the time, as an observer. I preferred not to get too involved in the city life. I lit a cigarette—to relieve stress. God told me it wasn't a sin, but a human weakness, just like adultery or premarital sex.

I inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled the smoke, savoring every particle of the deadly smoke. It was a wonderful feeling. From the alley around the corner, I could hear the sound of human anger. Out of curiosity and decency, I decided to observe the entire incident without getting involved.

A drunk man was shouting at his 8- or 9-year-old son. When the boy didn't respond to his father's insults, he was punched in the head. Blow after blow. The boy looked at his father with tearful eyes (at that moment, I felt the smoldering cigarette fall from between my fingers), forcing himself to whisper something that infuriated the man beyond measure. He poured his rage on the boy, punching him, not stopping even after he fell, finishing with powerful kicks to the stomach and face. A few minutes later, the staggering executioner simply moved in a direction known only to him.

I stood and watched him disappear into the darkness of the street. As the darkness of night swallowed him, I emerged from my hiding place and approached the boy. He lay dead in a pool of blood, his face mangled and his limbs broken. I closed my eyes in a surge of anger and pain.

I knelt beside him. I placed his head on my thighs; my pants were instantly soaked with blood. Tears welled up in my eyes. I remembered God's words: "Remember, only those for whom the Grim Reaper wasn't waiting around the corner. Those whose lives were taken. Don't fail me..."

I turned my gaze to the dark sky. "Now?" I whispered to the stars. "Now..." I heard in my head.

And so it began. The Phoenix steps onto the path of justice.

I placed my left hand on his head, almost feeling the shattered skull and blood beneath my fingers, so much red, sticky blood. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath, and from my lips, like a well-known hymn, the words of my own prayer began to pour out.

My Great God,

Protector of lost souls,

Shepherd...

From dust you arose. From dust

you became.

My Great God...

My right hand impulsively began to trace the sign of the cross on the little boy's chest. And I continued to pray.

You, whose son triumphed over death,

You who raised Lazarus

, resurrect your son...

Resurrect the destroyed body...

My God,

Amen.

My right hand rested on the boy's chest. I opened my eyes.

And then God descended to Earth.

The boy's body sucked in the blood it had shed. The bones were healing before my eyes, his skull whole again! The mangled face was once again the face of a small, defenseless boy. More than that! He was smiling at me!

I felt relief. Immense relief, as if someone had lifted a huge boulder from my heart, hindering my life. It was God. I knew. I simply knew.

The memories of that day are yet another that will always accompany me. With each passing day, I am enriched by another memory, another experience. These are my private lessons in life.

Today I am 33 years old. The year is 2501. My eternal city – Helsinki, with all its secrets and sins. With all the secrets hidden in the darkness of night. And me. A phoenix. Sent by God.

Friday. Academic holy day. My neighbor and friend, like every Friday, will be honoring this day with bottles of beer, or maybe something stronger like eternal vodka. He will be celebrating with his friends.

I met him as he was leaving for the mail. It was evening; surely more Friday worshippers would be arriving any moment.

"Hello Stu!" he called out when he saw me.

We shook hands.

"What's up, friend? Are you sure you won't be coming to the party?" he asked

. "Not really, but thanks for the invitation. I'm always happy to be there.

" "But you never come.

" "Sorry. You know how it is...

" "Sure, you don't have to explain. Work tonight too?

" "Like every night. You know that's when the busiest time is.

" "Yes, I know. So, good luck, friend, and take care."

"Thanks. I'll definitely be there."

We were both going back to our separate ways when Ashley, with a hint of concern in his voice, spoke again:

"Stu…?

" "Yes, Ash?

" "Have you heard of that girl? You know… the one from Espoo?

" "No, what?

" "They wrote about her in the papers this morning. I left one for you in the kitchen. Read it, you'll be interested.

" "Thanks…" I replied, not quite understanding what was going on.

We said goodbye, and, driven by irresistible curiosity, I quickly ran to my small kitchen to grab the newspaper.

It lay in the very center of the wooden table. The colorful cover drew the viewer's eyes like a magnet, but this time there was something… different about it. I picked it up and began reading as if in some hypnotic trance:

Suicide of a Sixteen-Year-Old Girl.

A young resident of Espoo, Natalie S., was found last night by a group of teenagers in the forest near the "Trans" disco. The teenager was hanging from a tree, a piece of paper pinned to her chest with the words: "No one is responsible for their own thoughts. I was responsible. Goodbye." Her parents are distraught. No one knows why...

I stood at the table and read each line of text with growing interest. Suicidal... At some point, I felt worthless. Why? Because I thought of this poor girl as my next task. Nay! As a challenge. I shouldn't have.

I sat down. I put down the newspaper and stared at the photo of the girl's mother wiping her eyes with a black handkerchief. Why had she killed herself? Why?

I ran out of the apartment and burst into Ashley's. The guests weren't there yet.

"Ash?

" "Hello, Stu! You dropped by..." He stopped mid-sentence, probably seeing the expression on my face. What was it? Concern, anger? I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

"Are you going?" he asked with a little more concern

. "And you think I shouldn't…?

" "It's your mission, brother.

" "I know… but I'm not sure what I should do. She's suicidal…

" "The decision is yours, brother. Whatever you do will be fine, you know that.

" "I'm confused… you'll take care of…

" "Yes. I'll watch your apartment. Go now.

" "Thanks, Ash.

" "You're welcome. Just… be careful, brother.

" "Thanks, man."

I stormed out of Ashley's apartment, stormed back to my place, grabbed my documents, some cash, and ran to my motorcycle. I decided to go. I don't know what I'll do yet, but I want to go. Espoo is about 20 kilometers away, no more than a half-hour ride.

Just like that, with just a few euros in my pocket, I got on my motorcycle and rode. To Espoo, to her.

I reached the city at about a quarter past 10 p.m. A patrolling policeman stopped me on the access road. He waved at me to stop.

"Where are you going?" he asked, approaching me.

"To Natalie. The suicide victim." I replied dispassionately.

The policeman froze for a moment, looking at me with a somewhat dull look, clearly filled with surprise.

"To that young woman who hanged herself near the "Trans"? There was a viewing at noon today, you're late, buddy.

" "I understand there's a funeral tomorrow. Besides, I wanted to talk to her parents.

" "Yeah...? About what? Do you know anything about her death?

" "I know more about her death than you think. I don't know any more about her death than what was written in the newspapers. Will you tell me which direction her house is?"

The man laughed.

"I'm really sorry, but I don't give out that kind of information. First of all, I'm not allowed to, and besides, I don't like you, man.

You don't like me either, and I can stand you," I thought. "Don't you want to tell me? I'll get it from you myself. After all, I'm a Phoenix."

The policeman stared at me for a moment longer. Then he asked for my documents, and after checking them, he gave me another dirty look. I thanked him, perhaps a little ironically, but I was trying to be nice. I shook his hand.

Yes... exactly. That one mind was a mental rape he didn't even feel, or felt but didn't let on. I know everything about you, my friend, I know you have a 5-year-old daughter and you're sleeping with your wife's friend. Not nice, oh no, not nice. I know everything... I know where Natalie lived..."

A shy smile appeared on his face. And yet, he did. He said goodbye and said a few words to me as he left, telling me to be careful because Natalie's father was terribly jealous of his daughter. Thanks for the advice, buddy. Wouldn't you be jealous of your daughter? I thanked her with a touch of irony and headed towards Natalie's house.

It wasn't hard to find. I once saved a local teenager beaten by his friends, then I stayed in Espoo for a while and managed to get to know the area a bit. A few minutes later, I was standing in front of a small white house. It was a wonder it still stood there; they don't build houses like that anymore; it must have been very old.

I could almost feel my thoughts battling each other in my head. What would I tell her parents when I got there? Good evening, I've come to resurrect your daughter. Please don't worry, she'll look as if she were alive. It makes no sense...

And yet. I came here. Drawn by an impulse, perhaps another one given to me by the Creator himself, or perhaps by remorse because at first I thought of this teenager as my challenge? After all, she would be my first suicide. But I was there. I was standing in front of her house and surely in a moment I would see her in eternal sleep. What would I see in her face? What would I feel when I touched her head? Now I felt a hundred thousand emotions, and what would happen next?

Is the Grim Reaper waiting for suicides? Do they deserve another chance? I wanted to know so much... I felt an inner conflict. As if I were in two parts, one telling me to give this poor teenager back her life, the other that it wouldn't make sense anyway, because since she killed herself, she would try again. My efforts would be in vain. And I so desperately wanted to contact God...

Her mother opened the door. She was wearing a black dress and had swollen eyes. She held a crumpled black handkerchief in her hand. I recognized her; she looked almost exactly like the newspaper photo.

"Excuse me... what's your matter...?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"I wanted to..." I began, "I knew your daughter once. I liked her very much. I'm so sorry about what happened to you..." Actually, only the "I'm sorry" part was true; I'd never laid eyes on that girl in my life.

"Your honor..."

"Stuard Norton. You probably don't remember me. It doesn't matter, please don't bother with such nonsense. Your daughter was a truly wonderful girl... could I...? Just for a moment..."

The woman's gaze swept over me. I smiled, to which she responded with an equally hesitant and gentle smile, then invited me in.

The house wasn't large. You entered a not-so-spacious living room with stairs to the second floor, a doorway to the dining room, and a guest room, where a group of people were sitting, probably talking about young Natalie. In the corner of the room I'd been invited to, stood a coffin. Black, upholstered in silk. "And they could afford such an expense...? A coffin upholstered in silk... they must have loved her very much..." I thought, approaching.

SHE lay on the silk pillows. So young... with a still rosy complexion, with a childlike expression. Her fair hair, neatly styled, fell to her shoulders, her lips slightly pink, a touch of powder on her face. Her face seemed peaceful. Was she dying like this? Was she dying knowing she would be better off with HIM?

She was dressed in a black dress, a sin—it covered little more than her panties. It was because of her shapely legs that I looked at her like a man. A true, one-hundred-percent male. Almost every evening, I look at waitresses in bars just so they can spend those few intimate moments with me in the cramped backroom.

And she... was so innocent... her breasts were small, though the dress clung to the slight bulges that seemed so firm... so delicate... Her waist was narrow. Overall, she was quite slim and certainly beautiful. A full mouth, large eyes—though closed, with an extraordinary gleam. Shapely breasts, slim figure, magnificent hips... long legs...

I looked away. Just for a moment. Then I looked at her again, this time differently. With more compassion, with a certain distance, it seemed. No longer like another waitress in some seedy bar, but like a dead teenager.

I took a deep breath. I looked around to make sure no one was looking at me, they weren't. They were too absorbed in their own pain. With my fingertips, I touched her arm... her memories...

Another mental rape. This time, I was the attacker, and she was the victim. She let me into her mind, not defending herself. She showed me all her memories, thoughts, desires.

I saw her as a little girl dancing in her garden with her friends, I saw her laughter, I saw her deep, joyful eyes. I saw her growing up, the candles being blown out on cakes, family holidays, even ordinary days like school… she was a beautiful girl, so innocent…

I saw her friends. And then her tears. Her pain – so deep I could almost feel it in my heart. I saw the words, I saw the thoughts, I saw the emptiness. The emptiness filled with loneliness and suffering. And yet, the emptiness. That's how she considered her life – empty. But it was those words that hurt her the most. The pain in her heart was too great. She couldn't bear it.

Another chance? For whom? For her or her tormentors? For me? No… Good friend Death, what must I do? Will you give her back to me? Will you give her back her stained dreams, her trampled dreams, her broken desires? Will you give her back her tears? You won't give back her joy… I know you too well. Good friend Death…

My great God…

What must I do, Father? What advice would you give your son? Father, I've lost my way...

I looked at her lifeless body.

I placed my hand on her head.

Our minds melded. I found myself inside her head, surrounded by everything she had left—memories, desires. I wandered through her mind, thousands of images flashing past me, only to disappear a moment later into the depths of the blue mist. Hundreds of forgotten words surrounded me, lost in that terrifying silence. Was I in her, or with the Creator?

A voice. A call. The delicate notes of her sweet voice. First, a captivating laugh, and then... a scream. A pained scream accompanied by moans of agony. Her death. This is how she died every night, every day, every time no one was watching, when no one was listening. Her own personal hell was contained within the confines of her narrow mind, slowly strangling all that was good.

I will give you a second chance! You will be born again! You will live as you wish, far from all this! – I screamed.

No… I've already reached the shore of my island… I don't want to go back… I don't want to…

You'll be as you want. You'll be new, perfect. I'll give you all this!

No… please… I won't endure this pain a second time. No… no…

There will be no more pain. I give you my word. I will give you back your dreams… you will come back.

No! NO!

She screamed. Her scream echoed in my head again. She didn't want to. But I was the Phoenix. That was my task. To resurrect. "Don't disappoint me," God told me as he left. I promised. I promised. And she screamed.

I felt her pain. I felt her anger, her hatred. I felt her joy at meeting the Creator. I felt. I dreamed her dreams, dreams of a better life, dreams of eternity, of freedom. Thousands of smiles and thousands of tears. Thousands of gestures and thousands of words. The depths of silence and the infinity of speech. I felt her. How powerful is my prayer…?

My great God…

Guardian of lost souls,

Shepherd…