muahahahhaa and we have another story:P ok i have no idea what possessed me to write this. but i did.

its kind of an exploration. like why people choose to live the weirdest of reasons sometimes, even though all they really want to do is die. i dunno if that makes sense but its like...

you wake up every morning and you look in the mirror. and you think "what reason have i to live?" and then you come up with stupid answers; ambitions dreams blah blah and somehow the THOUGHT of being happy in the future keeps you going. you keep walking.

so yes thats what this story is about. hope u all enjoy:P

~zo

p.s. thanks a lot for your comment, vibhu. thats why you get a special mention right here :)

Empathia

By Zohaib Hashim

Walketh he through the cold winter nights. Need he no bed to lie upon, nor a roof to lie upon him. Content he is with his thin cloak of tattered fur, with his hat of bristled straw, with his sandals of cracked leather. Feel he no pain on the soles of his toughened feet, and walk on he does everyday, his journey with no goal and no end. He walks both in day and in night, and sometimes both. He rest only long enough to be able to walk again, and so continue his journey.

Why walketh he so aimlessly? Wondered many and few, for t'was the business of none but the walker himself. Yet intrigued was young Johnny Wilkins of the town of Arithia. And wonder he did when the walker came upon Arithia on his journey with no aim.

Walketh to the inn did he, and paid for a room with coins as ordinary as any. Yet as his back was turned, his currency was scrutinized; looking for any point of farce. Suspect him did they for regular he was not; not in face nor hair nor eyes nor clothes nor shoes. Nor the expression of his face. Emotions he did not show, yet at the same time, all colors of the rainbow flowed through his eyes. His face seemed to take on every expression and yet none at all, as if everything were hidden away. Confused were all and scared were many, and the old ones forbade the young ones from going near the walker, for suspecting him of dark magics they did. Yet too scared were they to drive him out and force his journey to continue sooner than intended he. And so the walker stayed, one day and another. And another still. And the folk of the town grew uneasy, for they were unsure how long the unwelcome guest may stay. Yet not uneasy was young Johnny Wilkins, who sought to know more of the walker and his travels.

So one night, when the moon was full and high, Johnny Wilkins downed the last of his ale at the inn tavern, and he turned to the table in the far corner, where the walker sat alone, hidden in the darkness. And Johnny Wilkins swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, and set himself forward. So great was his pace that had he wanted at any point to turn tail and flee, t'would have been impossible. And so he found himself standing before the table of the walker. He looked down at the strange man, yet no change in expression did he see. Clear his throat young Johnny Wilkins did and he said, May I join you at your table, O great traveler from afar? May I join you and share a flagon of ale in exchange for some stories of your travels?

Said nothing the walker, and more than time enough passed for young Wilkins to realize where he was unwanted. Yet adamant was he and flee he would not. Finally the walker gestured down with his eyes, indicating the seat from across him. Delighted was young Wilkins and hurriedly sat down.

What want you to know? Asked the walker, in a hoarse voice. Wilkins was unsure as to the tone of his voice. Had he been crying? Or was he croaking back a laugh? Or perhaps a sickness?

Wilkins ventured forth in the talks. Tell me, great traveler, where have you come from? Look nothing like us you do, nor bear you the look of a villager from near? Where then do you hail from?

The walker gave a small smile of stone; devoid of all emotion and feeling. And then it was that young Wilkins knew what it was that was strangest about the man sat before him. T'was not the strange demeanor of his person, nor the alien look of his body. Strangest was the lack of life in his eyes. Brown were they yet gray they seemed, as if all color had been drained.

The walker looked young Wilkins in the eye and it scared the young man, because he saw something he would never wish upon any person alive. The walker spoke slowly. Matter it not where I am from, or where I go, for neither do I recall and neither do I recognize. My path is to wander and wander till perhaps I can go no further. And then I shall stay where I be and die. Such is my travels, young one.

Wilkins was young, yet child he was not and he recognized what it was that the traveler suffered from. He leaned forward and placed a hand on the shoulder of the walker. The traveler looked Wilkins in the eye, then stood gently, letting Wilkins arm slip away from him. I need not your empathy, the man said to Wilkins and Wilkins smiled. You need it not but I give it none the less. For I understand what it is that haunts you.

The traveler looked away, and young Wilkins would swear he saw ten years of lines add to his tired and weather beaten face. You know nothing, he said to young Wilkins, and he made his way upstairs to the room he had paid. I shall leave at first light tomorrow, he said over his shoulder, as he slowly climbed the stairs. Welcome I am not in your town and as such I will not bring displeasure for any further hospitality there may yet be left in you. I will bother you no more and I would ask the same of you.

Wilkins sat at the table late into the night, well past the time when the villagers talk turned to whispered rumors, then to drunken laughter. He stayed till the fires of the inn tavern were on their last embers, screaming for the cold settling in. Finally he stood up and made his way home down the cobbled street, for Arithia was but a small town, one of many on the walker's journeys.

The next morning the walker awoke, and slowly rose out of bed. Once more the peace that sleep had brought him was shattered by the thoughts that would forever haunt him. Forced himself on he did, for he understood he was overstaying his welcome, and as such, had already aroused much curiosity.

He made his way downstairs and paused at the last step of the stairs to adjust his torn cloak of furs, his hat of bristled straws, and his sandals of cracking leather. He took a deep breath, then stepped forth. His journey continued. He opened the large door to the inn and walked out, randomly picking one of the ways out of the town of Arithia; yet careful to not choose the path he had arrived from.

Wait! Cried young Wilkins, as he raced up the cobbled street to the front yard of the inn. He stopped before the traveler to catch his breath and slowly raised his eyes to those of the older man. I know what it is that haunts you, said Wilkins slowly. The walker slowly shook his head. You know nothing young one, and pray you never do. He turned to walk away but Wilkins did not relent.

Who was it that you loved so? That your love will not leave even as the distance between you climbs, and how you walk with all your burdens weighed down on you. Who was she that tore your heart open so that you shirk the compassion of all humanity and choose to walk the roads until you die?

The walker had stopped in the middle of the street and slowly he turned around. Tears had come to his eyes of brown and the tears had colored his eyes ever so slightly from the grey, breaking the fragile shield of void he had created to protect himself. For young Wilkins had been right, despite his age being before the graying of any hairs; wisdom of the heart speaking loudest to those that heard it. The walker spoke slowly, and his words choked more than ever before. She was my beloved; my Sarah. Stolen from me she was; from all of us. I… I am from a land far from here, in which direction I know not any more. I was happy with my Sarah once, but such times do not last I think. She was stolen from me and now I walk forever, in search of a rest I shall never find until rest eternal.

Young Wilkins knew not what to say, yet he had expected as much. For in the walker he had seen something no one else had; kinship. He and the walker were much alike, strong of mind and listeners of the heart. And he realized that after the loss of his beloved, the traveler walked. Walked away from all that was familiar, all that he held dear, for he could not stand to be without his beloved. He went out to find her, yet find her he never would, and know this he did too. And so he still walked the lands, waiting for the rest eternal to take him and set him free. Set him free to his Sarah forever more.

Wilkins understood better than most men would, for that is the way of such things. The walker wanted to die, yet he was not ready to let life go just yet. Not ready to die an instant death. And so he walked, and he cursed himself, and the strength of his own mind consumed him, to the point that his emotions would be ghosts in his dreams, animating his body as he slept. And when he would awaken he would feel the last slivers of his emotion draining away and it reminded him of the love he knew no more. Death he wanted; yet for death he was not ready. Scared was he.

Young Johnny Wilkins watched the traveler continue his journey, his lonely walk along forgotten paths. He watched in sorrow and he learned. And from then onwards Johnny Wilkins prayed for the walker whenever he could. And around himself he kept the ones he loved, who increased in numbers as his days dwelt on. From his parents to his siblings, to his wife and their children, and then their grandchildren.

And so it was that many, many years later, old Johnny Wilkins lay on his death bed, surrounded by his grown grandchildren and their children too, and with his dying breaths he recited the story of the walker and his travels. And from this he hoped his progeny would learn that those who listened both to the heart and mind were strong, but strongest were those who cherished all they loved and kept it close. Life is not easy, he told his kin, and the last lesson he gave them was that of compassion. Because sometimes, when life is cruel, all that one loves is robbed from him, and it is those who give most love; and thus require the most love.

Young Wilkins watched the traveler leave, the rising sun to his back, and he felt helpless to save him. And he swore to himself that never would he let his own wander so lost; never would he let his family or friends feel that they no longer had anything left to keep living for.

The sun was all but gone and the snow around him was knee deep, biting past his torn sandals. The fur coat was gone as was his hat, and his bare arms were numb in the cold. T'was there that the walker finally collapsed, many years after he met young Wilkins. More weather beaten his face had become and more color had his hair lost.

He collapsed at the place in the snow from where he would never again rise; never again walk the lonely roads, lost in memory and mind. He fell and turned on his back, the cold biting into him and robbing him of the last shards of life he had. And in his dying moments the man let his emotions go and he cried, and the fast receding life returned to his eyes. I no longer have an excuse to keep living, he said to the clouded sky. I have lived as long as I could, and done all I could. I kept going even when I could not. I have served my time. Let me return to my Sarah. Reunite us so that we may forever be happy.

Johnny Wilkins died in his bed, surrounded by those that loved him. They mourned his loss and his grandchildren carried his example on through the generations. They were compassionate and they loved as much as they could. And they remembered the story of the traveler, be it true or not.

The walker died alone, his body covered by the ever falling snow. He was found many a day later and buried in an unmarked grave, where a priest read a lost soul the last rights. Pity his finders felt for the lost soul; probably someone that had gotten lost on the road. Confused them though, did the expression on his face. He was smiling; smiling for the love he had found again, smiling for the release of the emotions he had buried. Never again would he walk the road; never again would he carry his sorrow. But he died smiling still, his chosen purpose in life complete; to die.