Invictus

Swirling clouds on a road flew by in the air. The father and son kept on walking, trying to head south in an attempt to seek a refuge, a safe place from all the violence and disorder that had befallen the world. This was a world of much darkness, of much destruction, and in times like this, it is common for any man to feel the desire to succumb to the death around him. Both father and son felt this feeling, but the father knew he had to persevere, at the very least for his son’s sake if anything else.

The father was deep in thought, but his thought was interrupted by his son.

“Dad, how is it that we go on living in a world where things are so bad? Mom’s died, yet the two of us are still here. It must be hard on you.”

The father took a deep breath. It indeed was hard for him. He thought back to the life he lived—his childhood, his adolescence, and his adulthood—and realized that life had thrown him some curveballs. He thought. He thought some more, and turned inward.

“Things were so much easier back then. To think of all the things I once had and how all of them have fallen into oblivion and mere nothingness—to think that the only things that remind me of that past life that I have lived are my self and the memories which I have and my son—this little child—whom I must care for with all my might—is something which I just realized. Life has dealt us a harsh blow. It has been a cruel mistress fulfilling her own desires on the victim of her destructive passion. Look at me here, moping about this. I need to strengthen my resolve. I can’t lose hope. I can’t lose faith. I have a son, and I will do whatever it takes to give him a place where he can be.”

(The boy, a bit worried about his father, decides to interject at this point.)

“Um, dad..dad…dad!”

Roused from his reverie, the father once more turned his attention to his son, and briefly smiled at him. His face twinkles, and the father, though knowing that death could come to either of them at any moment, tries to present himself as calm, composed and determined.

“Son, I’m here. I apologize for drifting off but I promise you that I will make sure that we both get to safety.”

“Sure, dad.”

Some time passes by, and the sun begins to rise. It hasn’t yet risen, but it has gotten closer to doing so, and the father and son decide to stop and stare to watch the sunrise. At this moment, the son is a little bit anxious; he knows that his father will always be by his side, but he can’t help but still have the feeling that something bad will happen to the two of them. The father notices this, and talks to his son.

“Hey, little man. I see you’re a little worried there, and I get it—that’s a normal feeling to have. At the same time, however, I want you to know that you’re not alone in having that feeling. Others before us have also had it.”

“Really, dad?”

“Really. When I was in high school we had to read and memorize this poem. It was called ‘Invictus’ and the guy who wrote it was facing a situation where there was uncertainty—where he didn’t know what the next day would bring—and yet in spite of that uncertainty, he persevered. Now, it’s been I don’t even know how many years since I read the poem, so my memory of it may not be that great, but I still thought that I should share it with you. Maybe it’ll help you feel better, like it made me feel better.”

“The poem made you feel better? Any reason why, daddy?”
“Well, I don’t want to talk about it now, since it’s a long and complicated thing, but let’s just say that I was struggling with myself, and I almost met the face of death. That is all that I will tell you for now.”

(The boy, though young, understands the implication of what his father is saying. He silently nods.)

At this point, the father turns back to the boy. The boy gives the father his full attention, and now that he has his child’s attention, the father begins to recite the poem.

“Out of the night that covers me
	Black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
	For my unconquered soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstances
	I haven’t winced or cried aloud
Under the bludgeoning of chance
	My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
	Looms the horror of the darkness
And yet the menace of the years
	Finds and will continue to find me unafraid
It doesn’t matter how straight the gate is
	Or how charged with punishments the scroll is
I am the master of my fate
	And the captain of my soul.”

(The father finishes reciting the poem, which he surprisingly enough manages to remember fairly well, and lets out a long exhale. As he exhales, he thinks of the meaning of the poem, and how its relevance, in this post-apocalyptic world, has increased. Then he turns once more to his son, who looks at him, happy yet unsmiling. In his stare, he metamorphoses from a little boy into a man wise beyond his years as he stares back at the man who has led him through the darkness of this new life.)

“Dad, that was quite the poem. If I’m being perfectly honest with you, I do feel better, but I’m also kind of sad too. I know that life is hard, and it’s long, but I’ve thought of that poem. You’d think the writer would be looking at us fondly?”

The father says to the son “I honestly don’t know. I would think so and hope so, but I don’t know. I don’t know.”

(The son turns to the father. It’s starting to be early morning, and both of them are tired, which makes sense as they have been both trekking through the night.)

“Dad, I think we should stay here. I need to lie down and get some sleep.”

“I’m also kinda tired, so I agree with you. Get some rest. I’ll join you soon.”

Sure enough, the son lies on the ground, and before long, is fast asleep. The father, however, remains awake, and as he remains awake, he thinks of what his life has brought to him.

“The battlefield of life has hit me hard. I think of my kid. He doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this. My wife didn’t deserve this. To be honest, no one deserved this, and yet, here we are, soldiers in a desolate world where enemies are found on every corner and where neither of us will know if we will live to see another day. I really pity the man who has to live in this world—it’s a mess in more ways than one—and I wouldn’t want to have it on anyone. I have to think…Has this arduous trek been worth it? Have the two of us just been wasting our energy attempting to find a refuge where none exists? Is all of this as illusory as the windmills the gallant gentlemen of old fought? Has my life and the life of my son been in vain? A man dies countless and innumerable times throughout his life. I have died and so has my son, and in that death, I don’t know well if we can search for life if we have already died before. We may remain with each other. I remain in him and he remains in me, but life is never as easy as that sort of relationship, especially now given how bad everything has become.”

“Honestly, by this point, I’ve ruminated long enough. I can’t continue to second-guess myself this way. My focus has to be on keeping the two of us alive and finding shelter. Everything else is secondary, and yet, I can’t have that focus. I long to have it, yet I cannot, but what can a man do?”

(The father realizes that quite a bit of time has passed. The son by this point has been knocked dead, and the father shortly after lies on the ground, joining him. He holds his hand, and the son slightly rouses before returning back to his fruitful sleep. )

(The sun ultimately rises into the sky, and the day continues, and both of them, holding each other, lie together, holding hands as a testament to the bond between them—a bond that not even a world where death and destruction are common has managed to break. Light pours down from above, and both of them fade into a state of contented bliss. So long as they sleep, their problems (temporarily) go away. So long as they sleep, they will always be together, regardless of whatever challenges they might face all the days of their lives in a world that has gone to hell.)