Babylon
The city of Sacred-Heart has a particular urban organization. At the center of the city, a huge composite building, Babylon, was erected on what used to be an emerald-colored hill in ancient times. Babylon was made up of a pile of constructions built progressively at different times of human history. Thus many different architectures coexist - baroque, industrial, gothic, neoclassical, etc. It spans over such an extended area that Babylon could be seen as a city of its own. In fact, people from Babylon never interacts with people from outside the tower. All around Babylon, an endless area of miserable buildings and shacks was divided into multiple districts. This destitute area is where the vast majority of the population lives. My name is Canau Ghyn and this where I live. Today, I’m over 80 years old but I’ve never left the place where I was born but once, the District Nine which is notorious for being the highest ranking district among all.
A small dog was playing with a ball that arrived at my feet. Seeing that I didn’t intend to play along with the ball, the dog came over me and sat quietly between my legs. This familiar scenery made me remember a curious dream of mine in which I hid in a forest while fleeing persecution. As my mind was drifting in memories of past glories, I was blinded by flashing lights coming from the direction of Babylon. What I primarily saw was the lights reflected by the windows of the building beyond reach. It was the end of the afternoon and the sun was already setting over the abandoned car I’ve been sitting next to for the past few weeks. One of these windows opened and thunderous music paced at an entrancing and magnetic rhythm echoed out of it over the whole District. An arm poured some champaign from the window. I heard laughs which started faintly until becoming louder. Some indistinct voices were speaking religious sentences praying for salvation. Soon, many other shattering voices joined the feverish laughs, assembling a hysterical choir. Then the window was closed.
People from the Districts grow up in a poverty-stricken environment where there is very little hope of living a decent life. This had been true for as long as one can remember, except for District Nine a few decades ago. Among the millions of inhabitants of Sacred-Heart, many are those who are born with superior intelligence and capabilities, but few have the opportunity to cultivate and hone their skills, resulting in vaguely cynic isolated people. But 5 decades ago, one of the many districts of Sacred-Heart, the District Nine, knew a phenomenon which was later called the Generation of the Miracle. At that time, fate had blessed the population of District Nine with a tremendous number of high-potential children. While people used to live disoriented and aimless lives, the Generation of the Miracle established a system in which all were able to develop their own skills in fields they had predispositions for. Some showed talent for physical activities, some for science, some other for arts, etc. As for myself, I was part of this Generation and I trained in martial arts and poetry every single day in order to bring more justice to our Disctrict.
People of the Generation of the Miracle exhibited with no doubt rare talents and skillfulness. But, even among them, one single person, gifted with unusual intelligence and showing exceptional leadership, was standing out as the natural ruler and representative. His name was Jahad. No one ever really knew where he truly came from, but everyone agreed to say that Jahad was an orphan. Despite never meeting his parents, he grew up to be the bright leader we all trusted in the District. Jahad knew better than anyone how harsh living in the districts could be, that’s why he carefully elaborated a plan to open the access to the tower which demonstrated signs of extravagant luxury everyday.
Jahad united the many versatile talents of this generation under one banner. One day, four decades ago, Jahad and the Generation of the Miracle set out on a journey to the Tower. Together, we left our home and marched across the forbidden boarder until we reached the door of Babylon. It had been said since ancient times that becoming a saint was the privilege of those who opened the door of Babylon by their own hands. As a consequence, I was surprised to see one single guardian introducing itself before us as we opened the door.
I don’t remember what happened that day after the guardian welcomed us, even though I’ve spent countless nights trying to picture Jahad, firmly holding his powerful sword, running to the guardian. Despite not remembering what happened, there is one thing that I figured out after all these years. Four decades ago, we were in our prime. We were strong, smart and full of energy. Jahad was so bright that he could have led us onto a path of justice and peace. However, instead of building a home of our own, we resolved to try the impossible and had our wings burnt for attempting to reach God.