Chapter Four
So that was it. It was informative, answering many of the questions I had harboured about the world. But that was the extent of the positives. As I read through the pamphlet, I became more and more concerned as I saw that the world was based on the awful ideas of this one person. The writing was confused, the arguments, plain wrong. It wrote that freedom was unnecessary, control to be good, happiness to be relative. I live its world first hand and though I’m controlled and equal with everyone else I hate it and I hate it for those reasons. I’m unhappy. I want freedom. I want variety. The author doesn’t understand and hasn’t experienced anything of what I feel now. It doesn’t have the right to tell me what’s good. It was so arrogant, so certain of its own correctness that it could not even conceive that it itself was the cause of total anger, boredom, sadness and agitation. I sat for a moment, resolving to commit my feelings at this point to memory. Now that I had realised that this world was the result of unintelligent and illogical musings, I knew that from now on, everything had to change. There would be no more waiting, no more patient endurance. I would have to begin a rebellion at whatever cost. I would create a brotherhood, a successful one. I would banish this world from existence. And if ever my will weakened, I would take my mind back into this moment, this moment of undiluted passion. I would remember how this world was conceived and my will to fight would flare again.
Eventually, the anger subsided and as it did, the facts of my current situation presented itself. I was woefully alone and deep in the territory of my new enemy. I needed to return to my apartment. I replaced the book into the case, found the glass piece I had removed and pushed it down on top. Then, I began to creep out of the library towards the door. My new role as an enemy of the state left me on edge, and so, when I was nearly outside, I managed to hear a quiet thud that seemed to come from back in the library. What was that? I was frozen in a moment of fear and uncertainty, ready to sprint away but also eager to see what it was. It felt like a long time before my head stopped spinning in panic and my hesitation ended. It was curiosity that won out. I turned and headed back toward the library. I soon saw the source of the noise; a book lying awkwardly on the ground that was not there before. Who had knocked it to the ground? Was it dangerous? Was it a trap? Hesitation again. But this time, my thoughts came through clearly and simply. It couldn’t have been a trap. If they wanted to take me they would’ve done so already. There was no need for any deception. I approached the book, picked it up, turned it over and read the title: The Art of War. It was, by coincidence or design, startlingly relevant. I looked around, heard nothing, saw no-one. Someone had definitely dropped it there and I wanted to find them. Then again, they chose to hide themselves for a reason, and it was approaching morning. I was tired. I needed to return to my apartment. With book in hand, I crept to the door and pushed it open.
The sun was low in the sky, casting fantastical orange and pink among the clouds. The silhouette buildings were ensconced by a warm glow and trailed by shadows that were stretched to their limits. It was a sublime sight, and I stood watching it for far longer than I should have. I needed to return to my apartment. I started on the way, but I only made it as far as the steps before I sat down and continued to watch. I was too tired. I knew I needed to get up. I knew I needed to return. It was mesmerising, the way the shades of the buildings changed, the clouds whitened, the sky cooled, as the world faded into normalcy and the beautiful sight I had witnessed earlier disappeared into a memory. It was time to get up and go back. I needed to go back.