[Warning! This solo contains heavy religious references. Viewer discretion is advised.]
When Leucite awoke again, his body burned with pain and it was all he could do to open his eyes. He looked down at his hands, bandaged as they were, and then slowly cast his eyes upward. Ah, right, he had climbed to the top of the crevasse, plucked the cross shaped crystal from its formation and then had climbed down. He had bled, he had be pricked and cut and torn into by the wicked spikes of the crevasse. Yet here he sat, alive and, for the most part, in one piece.
Looking down at the cross shaped crystal in his lap he smiled a small smile of hope. Perhaps with this final work, he would find the solace he required. Perhaps in the hours it took him to drill through the base of the cross he would find the peace he sought.
But where to drill? The top in the style of a standard crucifix? He shook his head at that notion. No, that would not do. The crystal was no proper crucifix, and it would not do to affix it as such. This left him with scant options as to how to proceed. In that sense it was humbling. How to do honor to God but still suit his needs.
It hit him as he sat there, and he let out a small, weak laugh. Of course. The answer was there all along. He reached into his bag, even as his fingers screamed for him to stop moving them, and pulled out the sharp crystal he had been using to drill. Turning the cross upside down, Leucite began to drill the hole in the base of the cross.
He had been humbled by the wounds he had incurred from the crevasse. He was a mortal being of flesh and blood. One day he too would die, and the souls trapped within him would return to God. Until then, he was but a humble vessel for that which he contained. So, in the like mind of Saint Peter, his rosary would bear the humble cross. Inverted, as the saint had done. Humble to his last moments.
So too, Leucite realized, must he be humble. He was strong, he was skilled, but these were gifts from God, and what the Lord giveth, he can easily take. He knew this now more than ever, his arms weak from the myriad cuts from the crevasse. His head stung from the many pricks and cuts from the sharp spikes of the crevasse. The rosary would be a constant reminder of his need to be humble before God.
He continued to drill through the pain, his body constantly reminding him of the wounds he had endured. But he pressed on, unwilling to give up when he was so close to his goal. If it took him all day he would sit there and drill. He would drill until there was a hole for him to use. He would not be denied this final thing. Not after he had come so far.
He drilled, and drilled, and drilled, hands screaming and burning with pain as he rolled the crystal between them as quickly as he was able. It was slow, painful work when he wasn’t covered in cuts and scratches. Now it was torturous. The pain of his wounds only served to enhance the pain of the creation of the object before him.
The hours dragged on, Leucite could not keep track of how many had passed. In truth he did not care. His sole focus was the completion of the cross. He was transfixed on it. He worked with a fervor that bordered on manic. He had not been driven this much since his outburst at the gallery a few months back.
He poured everything he had into the drilling, unrelenting, until finally it was done. How much of the day had passed he did not know. All he knew was hunger, pain and thirst. His lips were dry and cracked. His body stung from dozens of wounds. His stomach growled and rumbled and gnawed at the emptiness within it.
He was tired, weak now. So tired. He placed the cross in his lap, and shakily reached for a bottle of water, taking a sip of it slowly, trying to hydrate himself once more. His whole body shook. He hurt, but if he were going to be honest, he felt better than he ever had in his life.
It was as if all the darkness had lifted. Not a single blemish remained on his soul. He had committed the ultimate sin, yes, but he was forgiven. For one day he would die. He would die and everything in him would be freed. God would have both of his lambs back to the flock. So he need not worry himself about it. In time all would be made right.
He was exhausted once again. He needed to rest, he knew that much. So he would rest, and the next day complete his rosary, and his pilgrimage. Then he would return home. He wondered how many days it had been since he had left? He had lost track of the days the day before, after dealing with the crevasse. Hopefully it had not been too long. But even so, he would make things work once he returned.
Now though, his only concern was to rest. Rest and regain his energy so that he could complete his task on the morrow. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep. He dreamed. Good dreams. Dreams of success, of hope, of love and of lust. Dreams of happiness and wholeness. He had overcome his guilt and his sorrow. He had fought his battle against sin and won.
He was whole now, complete in the righteous embrace of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Mary watched over him, as did all the Saints. He was absolved and made whole. His faith was restored and renewed once more.
