There was this boy once. And I have to tell you this happened a long long time ago, before men started putting stories into songs and legends. He was a tiny boy, tiny for his age anyway. Nothing remarkable in him, except perhaps that you'd always be able to pinpoint him from afar because of the flaming red cloak that he wore.
The boy with the flaming red cloak played and sang and danced, as little boys and girls do today. In fact, most things were the same then as they are today. Well, except for one thing. The wall.
You see, in those days, a high and terrible wall stretching towards the sky stood at the farthest end of their tiny village. It was seemingly endless in either direction and so high that it blocked the light of the sun, throwing everything around the village into shadows. Nobody knew how and when it had been built. The wall had always stood there.
The fact that there was an impossibly tall wall separating them from the rest of the world did not bother them a bit. Nor the fact that they were in perpetual darkness because of the wall's thick black shadow looming over their tiny village. Why wonder when the mountains began or why the stones were hard or why the snow was cold? Such things were, and so was the wall.
There was no light---the wall was to blame, as we have now established---so the people lived in the darkness. They ate in the darkness, worked in the darkness, played in the darkness. They stumbled about in the village, feeling their way to different activities, barely able to see one another or even where they're going. And perhaps because of the darkness, they would walk with their heads bowed down, as if they carried the weight of the world upon their shoulders.
Only the boy dared to look up at that threatening wall, his flaming red cloak streaming behind him.
He approached a young man leaning on a lamp post, a jug of water balanced on top of his head.
"What is the wall for?" he asked the water-bearer.
"To keep the monsters," the young man replied and went his way.
Still, the boy looked up at the wall.
"What is the wall for?" he asked the old man chopping wood.
"To protect us," the old man said.
"To protect us from what?"
"From very bad things. That's why there is a wall. Don't ever go beyond the wall or you will die."
The old man collected the chopped firewood and left.
The boy climbed a tree beside a stone house, looking out the top, his flaming red cloak streaming behind him. "What is the wall for?" he hollered at the girl napping lazily on the rooftop of the stone house.
"What wall?" the girl asked.
The boy with the flaming red cloak thrust his finger pointedly toward the wall.
"That's not a wall," the girl said, drowsy. "That's just how the sky looks over there."
"But it's a wall," the boy insisted. "A giant wall."
"Hmm… yes, it's a wall," the boy nodded. "It must be there for a reason. Don't go beyond it, or you will probably die."
But of course, these answers did not satisfy the boy who dared to look up. He figured, if he climbs to the top of the wall but keeps to the space on this side of it, then he should be safe.
So, one night while the rest of the village slept, he sneaked from his home with a bundle of supplies. It was a rather black night, with nary a star peeking out from the sky. Everywhere was darkness; always in the shadow of the wall. With a few hesitant steps, he started his trek toward the wall.
The boy traveled far. But the land was safe indeed. No predators hunted him, and no bad spirits assaulted him. The wind that accompanied him was pleasant even and played with his cloak, making it flutter behind him like a flag as he walked.
At long last, the boy with the flaming red cloak stood before the wall. His jaw began to drop as he slowly took in its size. It was truly expansive, running as far as he could see in either direction. And its height! It reached almost to the moon! The sheer massiveness of the wall was enough to shrink resolve from the stoutest hearts. But not this boy, as you will soon see.
There were outercroppings on the wall, he began to notice. There were vines as big as his forearm and spikes---or more like spears---jutting out on its front. He had climbed the highest trees in his village all through his youth. He knew he could do this.
The boy started climbing.
The climb took days. Or nights, in this case. (It was always night on his side of the wall as we now know.) At times, when he needed to rest, he would tie himself a hammock out of his cloak and sleep there. He picked out his village at one point, remarking at how small it seemed, now that he was high.
As he neared the top, he finally began to fear what he would find on the other side. Yet curiosity---the one that killed the proverbial cat---overwhelmef his fear. So it was that he finally struggled to the very top and stood to see the other side.
The hidden side…
The boy saw the steps first. The back side of the wall was crisscrossed with enormous sets of steps leading down to the ground.
The boy with the flaming red cloak stared at those steps, and suddenly the sharp jutting spears on his side of the wall made sense. The way it cast everything into shadow. The wall did indeed hide something evil, something frightening---it was the people, like the boy and his village. He realized the wall wasn't meant to keep something in, but to keep something out.
Because they were the monsters. And the people living on this side of the wall were their prey.
As he descended those steps, a terrible hunger began to flow inside him.
THE END
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