I am sorry, My Son. As I sit here in my cell, I know that they have killed You and burned You. I tried to stop them, for You and for all of our Sons and Daughters, but I was too weak. You deserve to know how it happened, My Son. I will write as much as I can. When they caught me writing last time, they beat me. But I owe this to You and I owe You so much more, but this is all I can give You now, and I promise that I will write this for You.
They raided the village where I was born. I returned there after You died. I went back, and I committed my life to the protection of Your Book. I tried my best to do all that You asked of me, My Son. I kept The Book in a secret location in my home. I did not open It. I did not tell anyone about It. I was saving It for our future Sons and Daughters, so that The Book could help them when they needed It. And when they came to the village, I did all that I could to protect The Book. I took It from Its hiding place, because if my home was burned, The Book would burn also. I took It in my hands for the first time since I left You, and I locked myself in my cellar, sitting in the lightless corner and holding You in my arms. I swore in that moment, as I had sworn to You, that I would die before I let them take It. I closed my eyes, and as sweat ran down my face, I pictured the moment when You first held my hands in Yours. I was young then, and You had saved my family. I remembered how I felt so warm in that moment, and how, decades ago, standing in the house I sat in now, I had for the first time in my life felt complete. I knew then that it was my purpose to go with You and draw the constellations in the sky.
They seized my home as they seized the homes of all our Sons and Daughters in the village. When I heard them break through my front door, I drove my forehead into my knees and huddled tighter. I shut my eyes hard and took rapid quiet breaths. The dust from The Book burned my throat as I breathed. Eventually they came to the cellar. They forced the door open and found me. There were two of them. They yelled something at me but I was not listening. I pressed the book harder into my chest, as if doing it hard enough would choke them. I should have tried to run, but I did not. I stayed sitting in a ball until they came and dragged me out of my home, into a cart for prisoners. When they took You from my hands, I screamed at them. I tried to fight, but they restrained me. I was too weak to protect You. I am sorry, My Son.
I was taken to their kingdom to work as a slave. I was lucky. They killed many of our Sons. I felt helpless on the journey. I wanted to get out and save You, but I was tied down. I wrestled with the ropes, but I exhausted quickly. I tried not to cry, but I could not stop myself. I could have shouted at them to tell them what they had done to You, but I was afraid of being beaten. I should have shouted. I am sorry, My Son.
I was put in a small cell and told that I would be taken out to work when they needed me. The walls were coarse grey stone. I did not know what to do with my rage, so I abused myself. I beat the walls with my fists until they bled, and I grinded my teeth. I should have preserved my body to fight them, but I was too weak. I acted for myself and not for You. I am sorry, My Son.
It was a few days before they put me to work. I was made to unload wood from carts, to be used for construction. I was fortunate to work with three of our Sons from the village. We were not allowed to communicate during work. The work was hard, but I was not thinking about that. I was thinking of how I could run away and find You. I paid attention every second I could for an opportunity to escape, but there were too many guards. I should have fought them. Maybe I would have succeeded and saved You. But I was too weak. I followed their orders and did their work. I am sorry, My Son.
They took us back to our cells after the first day of work, and one of our Sons from the village told me that they were going to burn all the books from our village that they did not find useful. My heart began to race. I remembered how You told me that The Book was written in the language of the future, and that the men of our time would not be able to understand it. I knew then that they would burn the book, because they would not be able to see its value. I paced in my cell and did not sleep that night. I thought that the only way to stop them from killing You was to talk to someone with power in the kingdom, and convince them of Your Eternity.
When the guards came to take us to work the next morning, I told them that I wanted to speak to an official, because I had information about a valuable relic that had been seized from my village. They told me that they believed I was trying to avoid working. I told them that they were wrong, and I put myself on the ground and begged them to let me speak with an official. They laughed at me. I begged more, and kissed their boots, speaking wildly and breathlessly about my love and respect for their kingdom. I lost myself in that moment, but I needed to do all that I could to save You. After enjoying me for a while, they agreed to let me speak with an official the next morning. I worked silently for the rest of the day. I slept that night, because I knew that I needed to be rested if I wanted to save You.
I woke early and breathed deeply to calm myself. When the guards took our Sons to work, they told me to wait. Two came back for me shortly and led me to a new place, into the center of the kingdom. I stared at the ground as they moved me, because I did not want to look at their buildings. I was taken through a doorway into a large space. I walked on an oakwood floor, and saw fine carpets in the sides of my vision. I was taken through another doorway into a smaller room, where I was to meet with the official.
The guards introduced me as a slave with information about a valuable relic that was taken from a village. They let go of my arms and stepped behind me, waiting on each side of the door. I looked up. I saw a small man sitting at a short desk, which was covered with documents. Every piece of parchment was filled with black writing.
“What do you have to say, slave?”
I tried to respond, but my mouth was empty. What had been so clear to me in my cell that morning was now completely opaque. I became desperate, and produced some garbled sounds. My voice was feint and scathed. I am sorry, My Son.
“What are you saying?”
The guards chuckled. I took a moment to ground myself and tried to speak again. My mouth was full of sawdust, but the words came out this time.
“You cannot burn My Son’s book.”
The guards laughed again. The official showed no amusement. He leaned forward towards me.
“My patience with you is beginning to run dry. Now, what is this relic that you want to tell me about, slave?”
I felt clearer now. I knew what I had to do to save You.
“My Son’s book was taken from me when I was captured. It has more power than you will ever know, and is worth more than all the gold in this kingdom.”
“A book? And why is this book so valuable?”
“Because it was written by My Son. He knew all, and was the world’s savior.”
The official did not understand. I had tried to make him understand, but I had failed. I am sorry, My Son.
“This slave has nothing for us”, said the official to the guards. “Take him back to work.”
They took me away, and I did not fight back. I could not understand why the official did not see You when I spoke to him. By the time the weight of my failure set in, I had already been taken out of the building and was being led back to work. I tried to plead with the guards to take me back, but they did not listen to me, and told me that I had been lying and that lying is the sign of a weak man. I should have fought them and saved You then, but I failed. I am sorry, My Son.
The next morning the guards told me that they had burned You. They jeered at me. I did not fight back. I am sorry, My Son.
I am writing this to You on a piece of stolen parchment from a guard’s quarters. The pen was given to me by one of our Sons. They will try to destroy this if they find it, but I will kill them before they touch it. I have failed You enough, My Son. You gave the world all. You gave me all. And I destroyed You.
I am sorry, My Son.
-- c. 2020