The Tower of Reminiscence

...Have you ever read the Bible? Keheheh, don't fret, it's not what you assume. A sordid and cruel individual such as myself is immune to the righteous teachings of Christianity. I simply find theology to be incredibly fascinating. Tales, ambiguous in their legitimacy, from thousands of years ago... Well, whether or not these events truly occurred matters little to me. The value we place in stories does not always come to their historical accuracy, instead, that value oftentimes originates from the meaning and messages that the story conveys, whether it actually happened or not. Alas, you may be disappointed, or perhaps relieved, to learn that I am admittedly somewhat of an impostor when it comes to this topic, as I have never read the original texts... Even my boundless knowledge on nearly every conceivable topic in existence has its limits, as there is only so much time in the day for a future lord of darkness such as myself, and as such the opportunity to acquire such texts never presented itself to me. ...Eh? You've seen the Bible on a bookshelf in my personal bibliotheca? And it's alarmingly dusty? ...Hm. I was unaware that you were so skilled in espionage and aplomb at memorization, managing to sneak into restricted chambers and remembering everything you saw... Perhaps if you continue to snoop into my private life, I shall have to promote you to a commanding position on the royal reconnaissance team, and send you out to the most paroxysmal battlefield that we occupy? Surely, with the adroitness and dedication that you possess, you'd find tremendous success! What's that? ...You'd rather remain safely within the bosom of the castle, protected by walls as you study and enjoy your day-to-day life? Then perhaps you should carry out your night-kissed skulking with more circumspection in the future.

...Anyhow. It seems as though we were carried away by the engrossing tirades of conversation. Such happenings are inevitable in dialogues between two intellectuals such as ourselves. Speaking of intellectuals, loathe as I am to admit it, my original query was poised due to a thought I had involving one such individual. Well... Its more of a memory, than a thought. My older brother, you may know him as the Grauerprinz, used to speak to me of tales like those that you may find in the Bible, or other prestigious tomes. He was always so... Distant. I consider myself to be somewhat of a reclusive individual, much preferring to listen to my own highbrow thoughts rather than the meaningless words that often come from others, but he was another matter altogether. ...He'd hardly speak a word to myself or my father, let alone any common folk. But once in a blue moon, when he seemed to be particularly fascinated by a piece of literature that he had read, he would speak in the same, empty voice that always captured my attention with ease, and recite his thoughts to me. Admittedly, it was less similar to a conversation than it was to a lecture, but I always found myself mesmerized by what he had to say. I recount one instance in particular, when my age likely had yet to even reach the double digits by this point, wherein I found myself at the whims of another of his perorations. He spoke of the Tower of Babel, and how captivated he was of the idea of a time in which all people across the world shared a common language. He spoke of the Babylonian's intention to create a tower that reached the Heaven. He spoke of God's punishment directed towards those lofty humans who desired to invade a dimension that did not belong to them. ...That punishment was the eradication of common language. My brother did not tell me directly what he thought of this story, nor could I gleam any sort of emotion from his tone of voice or facial expression. It's not as though he was monotone, or possessed an impossibly stoic face, but rather, it was as if the emotions he did express simply could not even begin to be understood by my mind.

...Unfortunately, my time with him ended before he could finish his monologue. I crudely and foolishly interjected with a question. I remember asking him why God punished his own creation for attempting to return to him, and why it was so devastating to humanity to have their united language be fragmented into the hundreds that we have now. He looked at me, with the same, unreadable expression as always, and merely continued to look at me. He did not scoff, he did not sigh, and he did not berate me. ...I truly think that his silence was more painful than any sound he could have made at that time. This was how every conversation we had went... He would describe an impossibly fascinating and intriguing series of thoughts to me, and I'd listen silently, until my own self control dwindled to but a modicum of what it was originally, and I attempted to chime in with my own opinion, desperate to prove that my thoughts were worthy of validation. But every single time, I was punished with a suffocating silence, that in better circumstances, may have even been tranquil. However, I knew otherwise. That stillness was the very embodiment of his disappointment, his irritation, and perhaps even his pity. I came to hate it more than anything else in the world.

I often wonder, if we were to speak again, what would he think of me now? Surely, after all this time, my intellect has matured, ameliorating much the same as does the lowly caterpillar when metamorphosing into a butterfly. Yes, if I have but one desire, it would be to hear but one word from him. To hear him speak, not just to himself as he always has, but to me, to acknowledge my existence in this world, and to be able to respond in kind. That is the final destination that my endless train of thought will one day arrive at.