There is a man in a cave. One eye is as milky white as the reflection of the moon, piercing through the crystalline white of the quartz, on the water of the pond he sits beside. He is not blind… Do not make that mistake. Too many before have made such a mistake and they were lost to this world. He will ask one question, a simple question, a question that is easy to answer yet easy to get completely wrong.
His name is Jeremiah and he has sat by this pond for longer than the vines that have pulled their way up the jagged outer walls of his home. He is dark like midnight and a wispy beard trails down his face. He has knotted the bottom with an old fishing knot he remembers from a life long ago.
Why is he here?
Remember? He is here to ask a question.
We’d been told to keep a steady mind about us. Not to look into the milky eye. To run before he asked the question, though no one would tell us what it was. Just that it was terrible. Others said that it was the only way and that was why forgiveness was a word used in hushed tones. Who would’ve guessed that one man, supposedly, held the key to unraveling centuries of strife.
Like it or not, we went into that cave, with the bag around my shoulders and pushing a wheelchair.