The Combatant – #4

There’s nothing out there. It is as if he finally reached the end of the world he had always imagined as a child. He used to struggle with the idea of ​​infinity. How could that be possible? Everything must have an end. But when he tried to imagine such an end, he was perplexed. He imagined a huge brick wall stretching indefinitely in all directions. But, of course, the obvious question always arose: What lies beyond the wall? Now standing on his porch, staring out at the valley ahead, all he sees is a dark gray massif blotting out his entire field of vision, like his brick wall.

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Fly!

“Who passed through Life in white cloud, / And in placid rest slept, / Who never felt the cold of disgrace, / Who passed through Life and did not suffer, / Was a spectre of man, and not man, / Only passed through life, not lived.”
– Francisco Otaviano –
(by Barry Holubeck / CC BY-SA 3.0 / Desaturated from original)

When a policeman is shot and killed, it is not hard to understand; life in the streets is dangerous, but we know someone must live it if we expect to have a minimum of order and security. So, when that happens, the gossip is about knowing exactly what has occurred: Was it a coward criminal deed? Was it during combat? Or was it the policeman’s corruption that eventually killed him? But we never hear someone questioning the “merit” of such death — policemen and criminals die by the bullet, and that’s it. But when someone dies by jumping from a precipice with small wings between the arms, then the gossip is of a different nature.

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