Kingdom of Heaven by Gazala Anver

You are reading the words of the Last Philosopher. I earned my philosophy in the strangest possible way. I wasn’t born like this, rest assured. Time has forced me to think. Rather, the lack of time has.

Back then, I was only a brilliant mind. I could convince people to do just about anything. Believe me when I say that. But I had no philosophy, I had no soul. Souls were a rare crop, and I didn’t grow up with one. Probably because a soul requires some watering, and, like everything else, there never really was much water to begin with. Lately however, I have watered my soul with tears. If only I had cried back then! Perhaps then I wouldn’t have thought of it. But is the pleasure, the pathetic keening of one man worth listening to, in the name of the greater good? I thought not, and theoretically, I still think not. Practically however….

I grew up to be part of the elite few who were given the job to sustain the illusion of sustainability. My conscience was having a siesta, or perhaps a quietus in itself.

Oh, how the word ‘quietus’ rings bells forlorn! What would I prefer? The quietus of this forlorn philosophy, or the pain I inflict upon myself by the simple act of thinking? Do I deserve this suffering, knowing that I took writing one’s destiny a step further, and wrote my own quietus, going as far as to specify, in explicit detail, the time, date and method?

But I digress. I lived in a brilliant self-constructed world where people of my calibre were very much the New Gods. People looked to me to solve their little problems, and I suppose, that’s where it began. It started off with my clients telling me, “Oh, I have a brilliant idea! Simply brilliant! But…” The list of ‘buts’ would be endless. I would listen, smoking my lean-mean cigar and furnish them with solutions my brand of nihilism had to offer.