An old voice said with a stern voice, "Life is tedious, no matter who you are. Even those gifted with talent suffer. The expectation of those who possess talent is anguish, like the solitude of talentlessness, or maybe even more. A man with talent is a person tormented not solely by the world's aloofness, not simply by their mind's comparison to others, but also by Heaven's judgment for their failure to live up to their great abilities. When some have nothing, not even hope, a person wasting all their gifts, what more putrid audacity can there be in this world? Your truancy may seem fickle now, but it is something you must not allow even one step into your life."
A younger voice replied, "I know too well of what you say. It is like a needle pressed against the brain, striking again and again, reminding oneself of one's shame without fail. I have endured it a thousand times, teacher. Knowing how exceedingly able you are, and seeing how miserably you are living, it is such misery. You begin to hate, that hate festering into madness, and then into strangeness. You would wonder, is it fate, is it a lack of effort, or, most frightening of all, perhaps it is yourself being worthless and unable to reach for your dreams. That feeling one would feel, that one could never come to accomplish anything they felt they deserved, is heinous and horrible. Yet there is no salvation for you in effort and dutifulness, because in this world, those things are not rewarded. In the end, is there anything promised to any person? Whether born with gifts or born pedestrian, in the end, the world is cold and indifferent; only those blessed by fate are gifted any calm in this storm. This reality is striking, and stirring, and it's bound to leave a man a bit too rash! Our minds are then filled inexplicably by a bit of complacency and defeat. If what is destined is decided, then no matter how much effort I put in, it is useless; then everything is fruitless; if what is promised for effort is a lie, then life is broken. Then what is there in life but sorrow, and if so, why bother to live? So a man is left weak and malleable by the nature of living, turning to drinks and drugs. So corrupted by such things, men begin to sneer at the world, without any power. That is what happens; that is our fate, the fate of the lowly. Whether talented or not. We are all left broken, left to watch the fortunate from our holes. Hence, as you say, teacher, we must always step carefully, never allowing ourselves to fall, for we haven't the grace of consideration, and care to ever get another chance. Yet, I cannot apologize for not attending that meeting, I had a meeting with something far important. I felt something burning within, dissolving this darkness that had taken over me recently with my endless failures. Why must this all be our reality? Why must what is define what can be? Why must the world be so distinct for those born privileged and those born? I have seen this plight, and I feel within me a need to rectify it."
The older of the two, the teacher of the young man, his eyes were fixed, and so was his intention on repairing what he saw as wrong, leaving him restless. Though he knew the boy's testimony was just as fixed, he could not let it be so simply. He complained with a sorrowful heart, "You must see that there is a time for childish arrogance, and instead, it is a time for mature servility. You do not seem to understand, though your words speak as if you do. There is a difference between us and them. They rule over us, and with one word, we could lose everything. That is the horror of them. She is the city lord's wife, and thus she is like the Heavens of this city. This is not about passion and despair; it is about life and death. Do not think too greatly of yourself that you can escape their wrath."
The student also took great heed to copy his teacher's words down, keeping them as closely as he could to his mind and heart. For he knew truly, his teacher kept him in mind, far more than any other person he had lived with, more than anyone else he had faith in his teacher. With such a blessing, how utterly wasteful would it be to carelessly throw away such concern for mere ego?
Though he had to admit, his teacher's speech truly went far beyond his quiet acceptance. He felt a bit exasperated to feel the residency of such a fate over his heart, he did not wish to ever accept it again, that pitiful excuse that some stood high above, and the rest far below.
He politely excused himself, not overstepping his teacher's instructions, "I understand, teacher, what you wish to say. You are aggrieved by what I did, but you yourself can observe how that woman, how she treats people like me. Rumors are not completely unfounded in her case, and enough of them exist to fill the sea. It isn't unsurprising that I would be less than willing to subject myself to such needless torture. I would rather die than exist venerated before her whims. It is practically a living death, breathing the same air as that vicious woman, and her cold, arrogant looks. Even I have some pride, to be talked to as if a dog, and to still settle my temper is the best I can offer, to indulge in meetings with her too frequently would demand too much from me. I know you wish to make me take on her orders, but I have little care to take them on. Of course, that is not an excuse. I promised you my presence, and yet I was absent. So take that as my fault."
The old man's eyes seemed to narrow, though it was unknown whether it was his awful bouts of narcolepsy or whether it was the sternness burning at his brows.
The student, frightened by this, quickened his speech, practically marching through the smaller points, and then going on to say, "Teacher, you must understand, these people, they are whom I wish to use my talents for. Not that woman, or her husband, or any of these lazy people indulging in wine, women, and gold. They are mere decorations without any substance or effort, each so minuscule in quality. In their hands, my creations are no more than toys and trinkets for them to show off. There is no use in it; nothing I do is worth anything when it comes to them. That shouldn't be so, I should do something of effort, or meaning, or else I ought just fall and die."
He stood up, "She demands mere furnishings from us, that is an utter insult! You must see this too! I will now surrender my crafts should you wish I continue down this tedious path. All I have was born through your teachings, and years of my efforts. To fund and feed into these cravings, and madness that is too much to ask. So I won't ask your permission or acceptance. I ought to do what I can, shouldn't I? When I have something to give, what use is keeping it tucked in my pocket? To aid the weary, to give them a bit of help, to just stand firmly against the rising tide! A roof in the pouring rain. That is what I seek to be, what I strive for each moment! This feeling it does not stop."
The old man, though, seemed unwilling to accord his apprentice with such an idea, and said, "What makes you think you are good enough to do such feats? What prejudice guides you to such foolishness? Do you think you know more than I? I say all things in the name of your own wellness! Do you think the comfort you currently enjoy comes from those with nothing? The allowance and support of the rich is what allows us to stay afloat. The poor do nothing more for us than weigh on our consciousness. Fine, have some pity and give them some money, but do not cast yourself into hell for them! Anything else is just a naive utterance. You truly believe a person can live on good intentions and moral actions? The world will squash you like a bug! Nothing will change. You won't even have an ounce of thanks from the poor; you will only find danger, disregarding the powerful. Though you may insult them and spite them, considering them a wasteful evil bunch, but to take your bias away and see the truth! Is it pride or empathy that causes your inability to see the true malice of this world? I know you despise this suffocating feeling, I know you despise freedom, but be realistic. In this world, the rich are not the only evil; everything is ugly, everything is filth. Why bother about anyone else? The rich mold this world, securely they puppet everyone else, and drive out any intelligent souls, enslaving us like pets! Yet we are alive, we eat food finer than silk, and have nothing out of hand. Sure, we may have to dance to their whims, but we are secure. Why throw that away for the crooks of this world, the undeserving and pathetic? Mind yourself, your safety first, boy!"
He understood such things, surrendering with a nod of acceptance. His master's dutifulness in proposing such things showed his scars stretching down into the depths when light had not touched him yet. As his student knew well how this world stunk like rot, simply because each life that stood till the end stood atop a mountain of corpses, we do countless terrible things to exist.
Yet he could not accept that his fate was to simply bow his head and work diligently upon others' whims. He thought, "To do something, that ought to be any capable man's responsibility!"
Though he could not tell himself whether such things were truly in the name of generosity, or simply a pardon to exaggerate his pride, to fuel it. He wondered what to do. He thought, "I was once so sure, and yet teachers' words they make my mind wonder. I wonder if I have a weak will, or does he have a stranglehold over my heart?"
For he was far too ingrained into the null of fear, he had turned numb to action. It was strange and not a natural instinct. This valley of desperation kept him in place, its depth nearly impossible to escape.
What so revolted against nature was crushed. Nothing could change that. Yet he began to ponder on his heartbeat. He thought of staying still, and his heart was calm, but then, when he thought of acting, he felt his heart race. His hand pressed against his beating chest, and he felt he knew what to do. Something exciting to defeat this deadpan, lazy life, where nothing was worth being cherished.
It was an extreme that so possessed him, and took hold of his rash mind! Though his teacher's words served to make the flame blistering his heart yield a touch, in the end, it could not conquer it wholly!
Even his own pragmatism, that he so cherished at times, showed no sign of use! For this monster of a source, this human intention was unprecedentedly infectious, stirring every molecule into a reverie, with such ferocity that he ought to escape!
So though his teacher had spoken, and though he felt a slightness of his self falter between each moment, he paid no true heed to such a condition.
This dream of his was a salient reflection of his wants and desires, and for truly it demanded of him far more than the plainness of obedience.
He said loudly, "Life like this in a way was indeed breathtakingly amazing, but living it subservient under others wants, and needs, such that you are suffocated into something more dead than alive, then one must be certain to either cut the sickness, or die trying!"
He mulled uncompromisingly and said, "Teacher, you told me a mind is only loyal towards the enrichment of itself, the fixation, and the extraction of talent into corporeal results. I feel this is the only way to truly bring out the very fixations hidden in my mind, nothing has in my long time under you truly brought me such excitement. The splitting headaches as I try to produce idea, after idea, no longer appear. Now ideas appear as simply as rain in a deluge, keeping me thrilled and consumed! I am even at this moment constructing architecture, designs, and other formulations. I will show you a testament that I truly walk this path! It was you who told me God opens paths, but it is up to you to be ready to walk them. This must be such providence at work, and teacher, though I know your wisdom and affection for me keep you calm enough to think ten steps ahead. As a young man, you cannot expect such a thing from a foolhardy boy like me. I chase, and fantasize upon ideas, and dreams, such a thing is merely the naive exuberance of youth, and though I may regret it, I believe I should, I must still do so. Anything else would be a sinful act."
His teacher seemed just as unsettled, and said, "Don't you understand, this world is something cruel. Do you believe your actions serve to do anything other than fuel your ego? Your fascination borders on the perverse. To do the righteous thing, blind to the harm it may cause you, is a sickness, not a just cause! To think we men are worth saving, blind to the fact we are merely demons abandoned here in this hell that is madness! This world will chew and spit on any good intentions! You will ruin my beloved student, can you not see this, awaken from your crazed temper!"
He silently bowed his head, and said, "Teacher, though you ought to be right, but isn't it still the nature of man to search the unknowns beyond our sight? Is that not why men charge into the great seas knowing their chances of returning are slim, all for romance and thrill? Is that not why parents charge into the great unknown, wasting their fingers to the bone, all for the future of their child? Simply to preserve a chance, perhaps that things may change and become better. To bet it all on tomorrow, that is what it means to live."
However, a sigh released, "You do not know nearly enough to talk about the ways of the world, you spend your days here, or all alone, hardly anywhere else. You are trapped in this damn small city. There's a big, whole world out there, and everything that's worth seeing is out there. All the real things. Spending your time here, stuck up in this city, left to your own devices, it can't be healthy. I fancy you've become a bit too excited, and in turn, your reality and your fantasies have come too close. Wondering about perhaps, and maybes, this world is made of absolutes only. Through the harshness of reality, you'd be left a shell of what you are. I cannot fathom a sight, so remove yourself from this spell. Boy, you've become as spoilt as this stagnant life of yours. You just gotta look, and you'll see there's far too much for someone like you to be stuck here scampering around in the dirt, among the filth. All these little fantasies you have are just because you've never seen anything real and worthy of your true attention. I don't want you to become wretched, broken down by this intolerable world! I want you to grow and become a man, a fine man! You don't know just how much I want you to grow up! It's all I want!"
He could not say anything back, bowing his head like a child. He was shattered, for he was sure that if the roles were reversed, he would eagerly regurgitate the very same rhetoric. Far more than the mere correctness, the sheer weight of their affection far superposed anything quantifiable and reasoned. Thus, they were left breathless by the others' discourse, unable to factually retort or communicate. So they just seemed to be repeating the same thing, hoping to strike true into the other's heart, for in the end, they were both fettered by such things as love.
He finally added, "Teacher, in the end we cannot come to a conclusion, you are certain in your decision, as am I. There is nothing else that must be said. Though I despise myself for worrying you, I must surrender myself to my wishes in this case. I know far too well the price that comes from allowing your desires to unfurl without containment, yet still more so, I am sure of the necessity of action. I cannot stand silently, flushed by the tides of today, worrying about tomorrow! I must stand firmly to my thoughts, and do as I must to make tomorrow a little more bearable! It would otherwise be too ignoble a life to stomach! Just as you say, talent cannot be wasted; that is true. Wasting these talents of mine on otherwise unnecessary preoccupations. To serve these terrible scions and mistresses, who harbor not a single pure, worthy thought but the contest of lust and power. Too obsessed with themselves, that all other lives are as putrid as filth! That cannot be! I cannot simply stand serving these people who do not recognize all that you and I do, who waste our inventions and innovations!"
He walked away with a hearty and heavy stride, saying back with a heavy roar, "I shall do you proud, and I shall reconstruct this world into a better one."
Standing stiffly, the teacher was left to mull; he knew for sure that nothing good could come from such a demonstration. It could incur such alarming panic, and fascinate the ego of these figures who lived freely in the clouds. Witnessing any reactions from those highbrow retinues he was sure would leave him damned in mind, and not even death could free him from such obligations. For it was his duty. So he rubbed his wrinkled forehead, and seemed to settle on a fascinating thought, and then bewitched further and further as those thoughts mulled further and further. He suddenly laughed, assured of what he could do.