The Rose and Her Bandit...

Bearing a black bandana, a black coat of arms and in his chest a blackened heart, the bandit brings sorrow to all he encounters. With traitorous soul, deceptive mind and despicable manner, the rogue brings tears to many who are on his path.
Search the skies for the eagle, search the seas for the whale, search the plains for the tiger, but look no further than the distant cries of women to find the bandit. Standard raised and flapping in the wind, he holds control over his domain using fear. Death, doom and destruction, his name is synonymous with these words.
The sun rose upon a bloodstained battlefield, a lone white flower bent in its midst. Drops of blood stained its pristine petals, tears of sacrifice for love. Yet the bandit had come and destroyed all that she knew.
The white rose loved the blue eyes of the bandit, the depth of their eternal abysses. She loved him dearly, sacrificed all she had for him. But he had done nothing but enslave her, deceive her and molest her innocence.
She was unable to do much but cry. Her heart once filled with gentle compassion burned with the fires of hate. Yet her love for him prevented her from laying waste upon his tender face.
The rose stood, high, mighty, glorious and beautiful. A ray of hope for lives ended, families shattered and relatives divided by her love’s hand. She sought his change and that of her own.
Little existed to describe her deep infatuation, but her emotions mingled with that of loathe. Shame! What woe did she speak upon her love’s evil, upon her love’s delirium!
The rose walked to the polished pebbles. The sun’s light cast silver upon rushing liquid. Crystal clear and cool, the waters rushed along. The rose set her hands upon the currents to wash away the blood. She immersed her trunk in the water, washing away the grime of war, purifying herself in the tranquil stream.
She called out in vain; her cries could not be heard. The lone witness of her despair was the river. The river called to her, its gurgled noise seemingly took the form of human speech. The river told her of the wonders it flowed through, the valleys it cut through, the lakes it fed and the falls it leapt over. But it told her that nowhere did it see water so pure as that which trickled down her cheeks.
The rose called out to the playful naiad, she asked if it knew how to help her. The naiad turned away sadly and said it did not. It was simply too immersed in the world’s beauty to know. It was too deeply intoxicated in childish innocence that it did not know what to say.
The rose turned away sadly and thanked the naiad. But she had one request, for the river to take her to see the places it had so beautifully described. The river was more than happy to comply.
For days, she sat upon the currents as the river showed her the things it had seen. It never paused speaking through the rising of the sun and the setting of the moon. The rose awed at what it saw, but they did little to distract the rose from thoughts of the bandit.
One day as the river gurgled along happily with its new companion; it was distracted for a while and did not notice the rose being washed up upon the roots of a massive tree. The rose did not notice either for it had slipped into a quiet slumber.
*** *** ***
The black standard of the one-man army fluttered in the breeze. His eyes were blinded by the searing sun. He had embarked on a journey, one of self discovery. He never deemed the extent of his delusion.
The gentle cawing of an eagle resounded high above, its sounds blending into a wild but graceful voice. Full of raw ferocity, it spoke well of the world it saw.
As the bandit rode down below on his steed, the eagle wove its tale. It told the bandit of the horrors it saw in the world, of the wars and bloodshed it bore witness to. The bandit did but blink at these stories, but his newly discovered self cringed in disgust.
The eagle flew high above, took him into its wings and showed it the horrors it had seen. Tears almost fell when the bandit saw the blood strewn battlefield that he had created. They descended and the eagle landed upon his armoured shoulder. It told him to continue down the path he had found, reach higher and he shall find his new companion.
*** *** ***
The rose looked up and saw the massive tree with its gnarled branches. Its crown of leaves was lush and green. The wind rustled through the branches and made a sound that would pass for a human tongue.
The tree told the rose that in the time he stood there, he had not seen such youth in distress. He had seen the sky’s wrath and the river’s rage, but he had never seen such sadness in any of them. He told the rose of the things he saw as he stood there, of the little animals that played among his branches and of the small shoots that grew at his roots.
The rose asked him if he knew enough to help and he replied immediately that he did indeed. But when the rose began to speak of war and plains, the tree was puzzled; it did not know what she talked of.
But when the rose asked him of things in the forest, he described everything in great detail. The rose realized with great disappointment that the tree only knew what happened around it. It was impervious to the matters of the world; a self-centered and arrogant being.
Then the rose asked the tree if he could keep her company as she contemplated the world in silence. The tree looked sadly at the rose and told her that he would keep her company. The wind blew the tree’s sigh, it knew it had failed and it did not know enough.
The rose, in its silence saw itself lose hope slowly. When the rains came and her friend the river returned to her and carried her away, she hardly paid attention.
The river chattered on and on as the rose swam in her currents. Soon, the river came to the mouth of the sea. The river pushed her out into the waves of the sea.
The rose talked to the sea lightly and asked many questions. The sea told her much of everything, but its arrogance was too much. It rose its crests higher. It bragged of its power and its strength, but when the sun came out, it cowered in fright. Water began to leech from its surface and formed clouds up high.
The rose asked if the sea knew enough to help her, but it was too busy boasting of itself. The sea knew much strength, but little wisdom and little courage. So the rose simply asked the sea if it would let the river flow back to its source so that she could come upon it back to the land.
The sea hesitated but soon agreed, the river took her once more into its embrace. The river noticed then what the rose truly saw and was ashamed of its endless chattering.
*** *** ***
Lonely, the coyote howls in the light of the moon for the moon. Lonely, the bandit has no companions, his evil left him the despised of mankind. Truth be told, had he not seen his face in the rose’s gentle eyes, he would have spread his evil further.
The eagle cawed out in the distance, the coyote came running. Sly but knowing, its fur was painted in different patterns. No mark of blood stained its chops. No mark of blood on its paws.
It was symbol of wit, primal intelligence. It was an animal clean of sin, doing what it does by dictation of nature. The moment the bandit asked his question, he knew it was not to be answered. The coyote led him on to find his next teacher.
*** *** ***
The river felt a pang of sympathy for the rose that floated upon its currents. The river was lonely and while it felt obliged to help the rose, it felt that it was beginning to discover something about itself.
It had always awed about the world’s beauty, but it had never appreciated it. It was always gurgling, always in a hurry to see more. It always chattered and it never fell silent.
The rose taught it that in silence, one would discover oneself. Now it knew that it wanted to help the rose. Now it knew that it yearned to help the rose.
It took the rose to its source. The mountain was more than happy to see the river. Upon it drifted the rose, the river gently rolled to rouse the rose.
The rose looked up and squinted at the mountain. The mountain laughed gently. It was a laugh that sent a rolling boom through the land. The rose asked the mountain if it could help her.
The mountain didn’t hear. He talked about the land he saw from his peak. He spoke of vast forests and unfathomable lakes spread across the landscape. But alas! The rose asked the mountain if it knew of the bandit. It knew not.
The mountain didn’t know what a human was at all. It still kept talking even as this issue passed. The rose welled up with indignation.
It told the mountain that it was no wise man. It told the mountain that seeing the entire picture without seeing the smaller things was the same as seeing the smallest things but not seeing the entire picture.
The mountain reared up, and swatted the river away. It had been offended. Downstream, the rose, badly bruised washed up. Her friend remained by her side to offer consolation. Beside her was a tiny seed.
*** *** ***
The coyote trotted on, the bandit’s horse followed close behind. It came around a bend and there flowed a crystal clear river. The sun shone from it. Little did the bandit know his next teacher would be cruel.
*** *** ***
The rose saw in the seed herself. She saw that to find what she was she needed to go back to her roots. But it was too late. The bandit came around; his horse crushed the tiny rose. Her screams of pain frightened the poor steed that bucked and threw the bandit from its back.
The coyote stepped back. The bandit sailed through the air. The last thing he saw was his reflection in the river. He realized that all the answers he sought were within him. He just hadn’t known where to look.
Then, the cool embrace of the waters surrounded him. His clothes dragged him to the river bottom. Before he allowed the water to enter his lung, he mouthed “I’m sorry…”
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. A single moment of pain took him and death’s cold embrace wrapped around his body.

There are times when we are obsessed with our quest for truth. There are times when we forget who we are in our obsessed quest to find answers. We forget that we can find all these answers within ourselves. We fail to realize this until it's too late…