Maybe the best thing for me to do is take you to a certain point, and then let you decide from there. Decide whether you would agree, or disagree, I am not fussed, but I’d like to think I at least give people the option of free choice, regardless of if it actually has any effect upon what is at hand.
It’s been ten long years, and twenty before that. Years of development, change, adjustment, gain, loss and ultimately worth. I am where I am because of who I am and what I did with what I was given. My ‘brother’ Saul is where he is because that is how he is born.
For you thinking pleasure, and of course, understanding pleasure, I am going to begin with a woman, starving, on the verge of death, crawling through the streets of her forsaken city. She is with child and will soon be without. She collapses upon the steps of an old church orphanage and is carried within.
The child is saved but the woman is lost.
You see, this is where it all starts to sound a bit like a tale, one of those. Lost child, nameless father, will the father come back, does he have powers, what will this little boy do that we haven’t seen before?
No, no father who comes back, ever. Powers? None. What will you see? Fuck what you will see! What will you think? People see enough in this world without thinking about what it is and what effect it is having, especially when it is far away and seen only through a screen. I want you to form some kind of opinion, maybe even do some thing about it. I don’t just want you to see. I want you to believe.

That is was there, in that very orphanage that my mother died, that I found him. Or more to the point, he found me. Saul, he was, is, like no other person in the world. He too was abandoned here a year back when he was just a baby, not much older then me at the time, a small tag around his foot denoting his name. He was taken in, like many of the boys here, and raised without ever knowing his parents. Looking at Saul, I would have been very surprised had his mother even survived the birth, Saul is by no means a normal boy. His father, most likely stricken with grief, left the child with others, unable to look upon the person that killed his wife. I can understand this, if this is even the case, and a rather macabre one at that, but Saul has never said anything to me about it. I am sure he knows the true story, as Saul knows everything, and I did indeed ask in my youth when I too was curious of my past, but he still never opened up about it. My ‘brother’ and are I share a lot, but I suppose everyone is entitled to their secrets.

Hmm, this next bit is hard. How do I explain what happened when we were young. I suppose at some point Saul decided he didn’t want to be alone anymore. He needed some one to talk to. Now, that’s another thing that is hard to explain. Saul doesn’t ‘talk’. When I say that, I mean he doesn’t talk like you and me. He talks in a different way. A way some people learn, others gain after life-death experiences, some are even born with it. For Saul, given who he is, it is the only way, in a verbal sense, he can communicate with people. This does not leave a person without the ability to tell others what he or she are thinking. The most basic of facial expressions in enough to tell one what you are thinking. A skill we learnt as monkeys.

When I first saw Saul with a long rusty knife he had stolen from the kitchen, I wasn’t quite sure what to think. I was probably six, no older then that. I watched transfixed as Saul drew the blade along his wrist, drawing a small amount of blood. Even with his wound, he was able to hold me down and slide the blade along my own wrist. I had often wished of escape, but never in this way. No matter how many times we had been caught and returned, did I think this was the way out. My arm bleeding, Saul rubbed our wounds together, long before the days when one cared for what might be in their blood. Man has become scared of their own blood in recent years, a ridiculous notion, indeed.
The pain subsided, not due to any healing mumbo jumbo, but due to the distraction, of a voice, saying hello, quiet at first then louder, saying hello deep in my mind, deep in my head, but not my voice, a different voice. A young voice, sweet, deep, crisp, it left no echo. I looked over and saw Saul smiling, really smiling for the first time in his life. You can hear me, can't you? Yes. Sorry to hurt you, but do you understand why I did it? Yes. I am Saul.

I know,

I am Jakye.

I know. Hello, Jakye.

Wicked people rule my world. To retake what is mine, I have to be the wickedest of them all. It is not mean; it is just man's nature.

I am unary, the first of my kind, and I can not do this alone.

Can I come?

Of course you can. If you believe, others will too.