Holder of Innocence

Holder of Innocence

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask with no hesitation to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Innocence." The worker will say nothing, but a single tear should fall from her eye.

She will guide you to a forgotten hallway in an abandoned wing of the run-down institution. She will not enter the hall with you, but will only look into your eyes with a cautious hope, her own expression seeming to beg for salvation. Should you enter the hall, you will not see much, save for the dirty, broken fragments of what were once beautifully carved ivory statues. Before long, you will hear a soft whimper from the other side. Pay close attention, for if the whimper stops, then all hope is already lost. There is no use in running away.

As you turn the handle of the simple wooden door on the other side, a warm and cozy light will greet your face. You will find yourself in the bedroom of a young boy of eight and a half years. The boy himself will be sitting cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the bed, his only garment an open night-robe, exposing the entirety of his pure body. He is the source of the tortured whimpers, and nothing you say to console him will end him torrent of stifled wails.

Only, if you ask him “Do you have something for me?” He will become silent to glance up towards your face. Behind his ruffled blond hair is a sight that will render you breathless, and if you are still capable of any thought it will be only the realization that in him you see everything in this world that you truly love. Suddenly, you will realize that the boy is bleeding from his facial regions as a grotesque vine emerges from the petite orifice on his face. The object will pulsate with its own life, and you will find that it is hypnotizing you. The vine grows rapidly into a white rose. The white rose is more sublime than any flower, clearer than any gem, and without a touch of impurity. Do not look away, for you do not wish to try its patience.

Soon, the room will disappear before your eyes, and you will be standing in the most serene clearing you have ever witnessed, and all of nature’s fauna that you recognize will go about their lives around you, with no fear of anything, not even death. Suddenly, however, a shadow will fall over the meadow, and you will witness the forest all around burst into a pillar of flame. What happens next, no man can dwell on for long before going insane, but in the strength of the human mind you will endure. In the end you will hear screams and moans and groans, but what will overcome you more than anything are the quiet whimpers, the stifled cries, of all the sullied innocents of the world that was. You realize that these cries will continue to be heard all across the globe until the world’s end. None can endure those near-silent pleas and still maintain the slightest hope for the future.

The illusion will fade, and you will find yourself back in the room. You will find the boy lying dead on the floor, his face a mixture of agony and horror, his already decaying body feeding the now towering vines and giving it a sinister glow.

That white rose is object 4 of 538. If you touch it with caution then it will be yours, but if you let it master you then it will use your body to seek and assemble all the pieces, no matter what the cost.