Let's Avoid War at All Costs
Reach for It
In the dimly lit cobblestone streets of an ancient city, with its tall buildings casting long, wavering shadows in the evening light, a peculiar scene unfolded. It was an unlikely place for laughter, yet it resonated with the unmistakable sound of a chuckle. At the heart of this paradox was Alexander, a self-proclaimed strategist in the subtle arts of trickery and deceit, especially in the sphere of affectionate conquests. With a balloon vendor's cart as his stage, he had just relieved a would-be romantic of his coin with nothing but a silver tongue and a smile. The red balloon, now in Alexander's possession, was the prize for his performance.
Force and fraud are in war the two cardinal virtues.
— Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679)
Yet Alexander's amusement was not born from malice, but from the irony of his existence. His wars were not of the bloody and brute variety but played out in the intricate dance of the city’s nightlife, his weapons not sword and shield but charm and wit. The balloon was a metaphor of sorts, a bright spot in his monochrome world of shadows and duplicity, a symbol of the joy he could bring with a mere puff of air and a clever line.
As the streets emptied and the night wore on, Alexander’s steps grew heavier with thought. He had always considered his actions a harmless game, a means to an end in a society where only the shrewd prospered. But the laughter of the day had planted a seed of doubt; perhaps there was more to his existence than the constant machinations and manipulations. The sight of the red balloon, now less vivid in the moonlight, seemed to mirror his fading certitude.
When morning broke, Alexander found himself at the grand plaza, his nightly escapades a faded dream in the bustle of the day. It was here that he saw Sophia, an embodiment of grace and genuine mirth, her laughter a stark contrast to the deceitful chuckles of the previous evening. Alexander was struck by an unfamiliar sensation—a desire to reach for something genuine, something that was not won by guile but by truth.
Sophia’s presence was a revelation to Alexander. Her unadorned honesty and the way she inspired smiles without subterfuge made him reconsider the virtues he had held so dear. He found himself questioning the fabric of his being, unravelling threads of deceit to find what truth might lie beneath.
In the presence of such an ideal, Alexander's sense of self was laid bare. The irony of his life, once a source of secret pride, now seemed a hollow achievement. The red balloon, still in his hand, became a symbol not of victory but of choices yet to be made. Would he let it go, releasing his grasp on the life of force and fraud, or would he hold on, reach for it, and attempt to weave a new story where the punchline wasn't at another's expense?
As the plaza swelled with people, Alexander’s gaze met Sophia’s. In her eyes, he found a challenge, an unspoken invitation to a game he had never played—a game where the currency was sincerity and the spoils, perhaps, a shared joy that needed no embellishment. Alexander felt a smile spread across his face, this time untainted by any shadow of deceit. It was a smile that, to his own surprise, seemed to reach all the way to his eyes.
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