“I can’t see a thing in this awful light. Where I come from, the light is so pure, you can see 725 primary colors on a clear day. But this meager stuff– with its gritty photons– makes my eyes feel like they’re being sand-blasted.”
I did my best to emulate Cyril Knight’s example. He kept telling me that violence is never justified, and any problem can be solved without resort to force of arms. So I stood up for what I believed in the most pacifist way possible, and I got the crap beat out of me. I should have known it wouldn’t work for anyone but Cyril. I should have known it was pure fantasy. Of course it was a fantasy– but I fell for it anyway because it was a beautiful one.
When Cyril Knight first took me into his hidden den, I was astounded by the impossible space and the objects placed within it. It seemed proof, at last, he was truly from another world.
I couldn’t hide my unabashed awe. He shrugged it off.
“These trifles are reminders of my homeworld, the few I was allowed to keep. Everything on the planet—from the architecture, to the laws, to the grammar, even the arithmetic—was designed to reflect a great moral order. Our uncompromising ethical code gave us the highest standard of living in the tangible universe.”
“Why would you ever want to leave?”
“I was exiled for petty acts you would not even consider sins, much less crimes. I cannot resist occasional mischief. You see, in a society of gods, a mere saint is a sinner.”
I pleaded with him, “Can’t you use your advanced science to guide us lost Earthlings through the terrible crisis we face?
He replied, “I’m afraid my science is very different from yours. Oh, I’ve tried to understand your notions of physics and biology, but they seem a string of nonsense rules, tailored to please your limited perceptions. Your primitive brains lack the equipment to deal with all the contradictions and paradoxes that embody reality. It is easier to convince you of something wrong than to convince you what you believe is wrong.”
“You know, I believe that.”
“But you are wrong.”
Cyril Knight gropes his way through the muddled illumination of this world, where the dominant species of light lacks definition unless an equal measure of darkness follows wherever it shines, confusing waves and particles, twisting and turning with shadowy gradation and degradation, into a hopelessly complicated maze of values.
Cyril says we are an amazing people, who constantly surprise him with all the brilliant ways we have found to call each other stupid. .
Cyril Knight says he’s from another planet, and if you buy that, maybe you buy into his other fantasies, like problems are best solved by working together, accepting responsibility, communicating honestly, without insults, anger, violence, bribes, or threats. Sometimes he seems to have super-powers or super science, but he hasn’t a clue how we get things accomplished here on Earth. It seems like Cyril interferes all the time, but won’t admit it, passing of strange things that seem to happen around him as mere coincidence, or misperception.
Cyril Knight is a pacifist superhero. But what is the point of having superpowers if you aren’t going to use them?
Cyril Knight says, “It seems like you Earthlings should know what you should do, but what you want to know is what you want to do, so you lie to yourselves, I think. And you know you’re lying, but I can’t tell for sure, because my telepathy is getting hard of hearing.”
The first Cyril Knight story features art by Francis Mao. He inked the opening pages, and had to abandon the work. Mike Hoffman did the majority of the art for the first six pages of the second story. I did the finished art, and page 7.
You can access the Cyril Knight stories here: