Creation in Destruction

Aldrian Kyrrith

The essence is permanent, unchanging, perfect. At least, that is what Sasori believes. So enraptured is he with his quest for permanence that he sacrificed his own mortal body to attain it, becoming one with the harmony he so craved.

As I soar over the forests beneath me, I cannot help but think that Sasori is wrong, and his error will only hinder him. Sasori believes that the ideal is unchanging, that the essence is permanent. He may not realize this, but I am more observational then he makes me out to be, and I’ve made some metaphysical observations of my own, and they cannot help but refute Sasori’s precepts.

It is the essence that defines an object’s existence but, if this is so, must it have a reflection of the object itself? I look down, at the forests. So much life there, struggling for survival. The snake which stalks the rodents in the underbrush, and the hawks that cycle about in the sky. What is permanent in nature? What does not die?

I hold the figurine in my hand. A statue, created by my own essence, infused with my own chakra. I toss it to the Earth beneath me and then I trigger the explosion, relishing as the trees are torn asunder even as the statue itself ceases to exist. It is a religious experience for me, the highest manifestation of my art.

Sasori would be disturbed by the vision. Sasori’s convictions would view such actions as a perversion of art, but in this, Sasori is mistaken. All things must be destroyed. Just as the mice fall to the swooping talons of the hawk, so must the hawk someday fall to another beast, the most powerful of which is time itself. Even Sasori, despite his quest for perfection, must someday pass on into oblivion.

I make another one of my bombs and hold it in my hand. It is just a statue. A clay figurine of a bird. Beautiful enough to be destroyed. Worthy to be destroyed.

I take one last look at the forests beneath. Surely, existence is defined by the struggle into oblivion. If that is true, if all living things in the end must die, how can their essence be unchanging? If that is true, their essence then must lie in destruction; in nothingness.

In my hand, I hold a bomb. It is truly a thing of beauty and, in a moment I toss it to the Earth beneath me, eagerly awaiting the ideal moment for detonation. It is the highest form of art. In the moment of their destruction, they are infused with nature’s essence.

The ideal moment comes and the bomb explodes. I smile as I watch the destruction take place, reveling in what I have created. I do not do this to my masterpieces because they deserve to be destroyed. I do this to them because they deserve to exist.

Finis