Post by Chevalier D'eon on Jan 22, 2013 14:07:06 GMT -5
If you want to know the nature of humans, then simply do them a good deed everyday. Pretty soon that deed becomes expected, it becomes part of their life and something they can’t live without… then when the day comes when that gift wants to move on and set out on its own… on that day you will see what truly lies within them.
I gave them everything; every wish they could have asked for was manifested before them. As a member of the village I had a talent that was to be shared. Just like how the men if the fields worked to gather food or the elders kept peace and order; my job was simply to make their desires become real. I felt like my existence had worth, I was connected to the planet and it bestowed me with certain gifts. I was what was called a “ Planet Terminal.” If the planet had chosen me, then I must have a great purpose.
Animals seemed to like having someone they could confide in; while they may not have been the best of story tellers their adventures could still put me on the edge of my seat. I assume it’s because I cared about them, that danger knocking on their door step really could cause worry. But it was like a prequel to a movie, you knew the main character couldn’t die because they were in the next movie. Still they became friends just like those in the village but the difference was, the rabbits and rats and birds… none of them asked me to forefill their dreams. We were friends simply because we were willing to talk with one another.
I had a purpose that was beyond this village, so I informed them that I would pursue my life’s meaning. In a few days time I was going to set out armed with an art-book some food clothes and supplies and the support of the woodland animals. Honestly I had no idea what was awaiting me out there, but I was ready to face it to find out my role in this world. It was something that was important to me, to finally live for my own wishes and dreams instead of someone elses.
I cannot tell to you the pain I must have felt when I woke up with all of my limbs severed. How I even survived the process is a mystery in itself. The reason I can’t tell you is because it was so traumatizing that I was moved to petrification and repression. I was no longer someone’s son, I was no longer someone’s friend, this village saw me as nothing more than an idol. Everything I wanted had become out of reach, I had not the legs to walk me to my dreams or the arms to reach for them. I’d given this village everything and they in return had taken away everything from me.
Then he came, a man of unspeakable power and had also been chosen by this world. I wasn’t a dream granter to him, no I was a small boy who’d been stripped of fantasies and he would not allow this nightmare to continue. So my village was challenged to a game, they would use my mind and use the length of the entire night to create a being that could destroy this man. But they could not, each time their imagination got more desperate and the beings more ridiculous in nature. At one point the stranger wasn’t even bothering to attack them as they had not the function to even exist.
When the sun peaked around the hill, the villagers were wiped out. Those hours of slaughtering mindless creatures almost seemed boring for him. But they took their toll on me, my life expired upon the daybreak and I almost welcomed it. If I was never to have my dreams, what real reason was there to live? It meant little to see those that had doomed me to this die, I lost all respect for them when I realize their true nature. Life didn’t have anything left of substance to offer me.
“Merem Solomon, that’s your name right?”
My name? Yes that was it. The blond man stood above me flipping through the art book. In truth I wasn’t very good at drawing, I could see fantastic things in my mind; but when it came to using a pen to write them down? Well that never went over well… But that aside, why was I even alive?
“I’m thankful they never looked at your sketch book, these would have been far more challenging to defeat. Your dreams are a powerful thing Merem, why not manifest arms and legs that can take you to them?”
I knew then that I would be willing to follow this man to the ends of the earth, not because he saved me… but because he was the only one to ever know my name; despite having that sketch book with my name written inside for so long.
I wanted deeply to give this gift of hope to someone else.
__________
Crimson Moon’s disappearance was not something I took well. My fantasies became corrupted by a blood thirsty vengeance. I lost sight of what made my mind so beautiful and I only wanted to forge something that could destroy. My limbs no longer became mere appendages; no, I used the art-book that Crimson Moon said held power and created weapons. But they were not obedient, I could create them but I was merely the author. The stronger I made them, the more likely they were to set out on their own. I tried to create something beyond me, beyond Crimson Moon; something that forced my mind to delve deep into the recesses of its creativity.
None of them could last, my mind could manifest them but I could not force obedience. They were like rebellious children and it was their power and intelligence that gave them the desire to live outside of the borders of my command. Most died off when their ambitions went too high, an order from the ancestors forbade me from trying further. While vengeance against Zeltrech remained in my mind, in the end my decision was to reinforce Crimson Moons ideals and carry on the same kind of legacy that had made him despised and feared.
___________
I had been working on a simple drawing, some what of a mecha like suit; the inspiration came from the armored suits and machines that were starting to become popular at the time. As with every picture I had written my name at the bottom, even if the art work wasn’t great; I still took pride in what my mind tried to manifest. I’d been laying in the grass while working on this particular piece, Lady Windup had always been something I felt I could improve so she’d started to look more and more feminine and mechanical each time I tried to re-imagine her.
“Merem Solomon, that’s your name right?”
For a moment the voice almost seemed to fuse itself with the same words that came from Crimson Moon’s mouth. Quickly my eyes rose from my work in order to look upon… a dark haired boy that hardly looked too different from me. Blinking a bit dumbfounded, I couldn’t help but notice this boy was in crutches. This one lacked the use of his legs? I could relate to that most certainly. “First guess, I don’t think I’ll have such an easy time figuring out your name though.”
The boy leaned his weight into the crutches in order to put a small finger to his lips, suggesting the nature of his name. “That’s not something I’m too open about. But if you spend some time around me, maybe you’ll figure it out?”
So it was a game then? Out of all the names in the world I had to try and figure out his? “ I accept your challenge. But just to get this out of the way, its not Rumpelstiltskin by chance is it?”
“I’m not German.” Though the attempt at humor didn’t fall short, there was a sustained smile on the boys face; though it seemed to me it was not entirely spawned by comedy.
_____
I saw him quite regularly, normally I would have moved on from such a place; but the sick boy held my interest. It was someone else of my nature which naturally made us drawn to one another. After a while, name attempts were more like a toll so that I had a viable excuse to be around him. We both could envision great things, just of different natures. But his were much more based off concepts that had already been scene, twists on already established monsters or heroes. Also after they were done being drawn, they were almost a forgotten memory as he began working on something new. I asked him about that one time and he simply responded with, “A father needs to let their children go once they’ve fully developed.”
I must have tried hundreds of names, it didn’t help that the name he wrote on his art-book certainly wasn’t the one given to him at birth. It said Casurayga which quite honestly I’d never heard a word quite like it. There was no meaning behind it, he’d admitted as much. It was a name simply so that there was some title to attach to him, but it wasn’t how to identify him. A lot of artist used fake names, but this was so much more than that. A name so that he didn’t have to have a name.
The reason for his paralysis of the legs was a disease called Guillian Barre syndrome, while my village had stripped me of my arms and legs; his were being taken away by his own immune system. Two boys that had lost the ability to set off in search of their own path, but this time it was the body itself that deemed the dreamer needed to die. How was anyone supposed to face the world with beautiful dreams when their own body wanted them dead? But why should I be granted a chance to seek my ideals while this one slowly was taken apart by his own body… I wanted to make Crimson Moon proud, to show him that he’d chosen someone of merit that deserved to be spared, that I could see the same potentially in people.
This decision made it clear; I would never be Crimson Moon.
After becoming a Dead Apostle, he gained powers that directly contradicted mine. If my powers were fueled by wishes of the mind, his were caused by what the mind wanted to reject but couldn’t free itself. They were brought to the surface almost like a nightmare, but it was nothing that simple. My creations were only of my mind and creativity; his creations took the experiences of the soulless and tapped into a potential life force to create a form of pseudo soul. In essence my power came from myself and his came from everything not himself.
Typically the only source that had enough potency to actually become living was something that experienced a great deal of battle. Clashes, blood, vows, and when someone gave the weapon or defensive tool a name… these were experiences that gave the chance to bare life… With these as the only reality he understood, darkness became the only concept he could relate to and gradually my friend was corrupted… No, I think that corruption had always been there, but I had just given it the power to bloom.
My failure to bring hope lead to the undeniable truth that Casurayga had to be destroyed. Luckily I didn’t have to bare the burden of eliminating what I had created; becoming a Dead Apostle didn’t stop the disease in his body. His body still understood the absolute evil that was in this boy and kept eating away at him. I simply stayed by his side waiting for it all to end. Casurayga was going to have a short Bucket List and then expire; this mess would clean itself up.
____
So eventually the time came when he could no longer function and true to form, he acted as if his whole life was ahead of him. There was no acknowledgement that he’d lost the ability to move, he was reduced to nothing more than words and yet the words coming out of his mouth were no different then the days before. That disease could devour his body whole but it seemed his soul was something beyond its reach. I think I feared him more in his last day then I ever had at the peak of his power.
“Tell me your dream Merem.” It was an odd final request, this was deaths door; his last minutes - anyone could see it. Did he want to die hearing something beautiful? Why wasn’t he begging me to find some way to save his life? Did he still believe in his immortality while in this deteriorating state? Still they were a last request, I had to honor something like that.
“To give someone else something to dream and hope for.”
“I’m glad I never asked you that before then, I would have… found out… the person I was bond to… was completely……… disgusting…”
Watching him turn to ashes and blow into the wind, I wondered if Crimson Moon had ever made the same mistake I had? Did he see the decomposing face of failure and still pursue the same outcome? Or was this image engraved in his mind as a testament of one simple reality…
a demon can never be saved.
I gave them everything; every wish they could have asked for was manifested before them. As a member of the village I had a talent that was to be shared. Just like how the men if the fields worked to gather food or the elders kept peace and order; my job was simply to make their desires become real. I felt like my existence had worth, I was connected to the planet and it bestowed me with certain gifts. I was what was called a “ Planet Terminal.” If the planet had chosen me, then I must have a great purpose.
Animals seemed to like having someone they could confide in; while they may not have been the best of story tellers their adventures could still put me on the edge of my seat. I assume it’s because I cared about them, that danger knocking on their door step really could cause worry. But it was like a prequel to a movie, you knew the main character couldn’t die because they were in the next movie. Still they became friends just like those in the village but the difference was, the rabbits and rats and birds… none of them asked me to forefill their dreams. We were friends simply because we were willing to talk with one another.
I had a purpose that was beyond this village, so I informed them that I would pursue my life’s meaning. In a few days time I was going to set out armed with an art-book some food clothes and supplies and the support of the woodland animals. Honestly I had no idea what was awaiting me out there, but I was ready to face it to find out my role in this world. It was something that was important to me, to finally live for my own wishes and dreams instead of someone elses.
I cannot tell to you the pain I must have felt when I woke up with all of my limbs severed. How I even survived the process is a mystery in itself. The reason I can’t tell you is because it was so traumatizing that I was moved to petrification and repression. I was no longer someone’s son, I was no longer someone’s friend, this village saw me as nothing more than an idol. Everything I wanted had become out of reach, I had not the legs to walk me to my dreams or the arms to reach for them. I’d given this village everything and they in return had taken away everything from me.
Then he came, a man of unspeakable power and had also been chosen by this world. I wasn’t a dream granter to him, no I was a small boy who’d been stripped of fantasies and he would not allow this nightmare to continue. So my village was challenged to a game, they would use my mind and use the length of the entire night to create a being that could destroy this man. But they could not, each time their imagination got more desperate and the beings more ridiculous in nature. At one point the stranger wasn’t even bothering to attack them as they had not the function to even exist.
When the sun peaked around the hill, the villagers were wiped out. Those hours of slaughtering mindless creatures almost seemed boring for him. But they took their toll on me, my life expired upon the daybreak and I almost welcomed it. If I was never to have my dreams, what real reason was there to live? It meant little to see those that had doomed me to this die, I lost all respect for them when I realize their true nature. Life didn’t have anything left of substance to offer me.
“Merem Solomon, that’s your name right?”
My name? Yes that was it. The blond man stood above me flipping through the art book. In truth I wasn’t very good at drawing, I could see fantastic things in my mind; but when it came to using a pen to write them down? Well that never went over well… But that aside, why was I even alive?
“I’m thankful they never looked at your sketch book, these would have been far more challenging to defeat. Your dreams are a powerful thing Merem, why not manifest arms and legs that can take you to them?”
I knew then that I would be willing to follow this man to the ends of the earth, not because he saved me… but because he was the only one to ever know my name; despite having that sketch book with my name written inside for so long.
I wanted deeply to give this gift of hope to someone else.
__________
Crimson Moon’s disappearance was not something I took well. My fantasies became corrupted by a blood thirsty vengeance. I lost sight of what made my mind so beautiful and I only wanted to forge something that could destroy. My limbs no longer became mere appendages; no, I used the art-book that Crimson Moon said held power and created weapons. But they were not obedient, I could create them but I was merely the author. The stronger I made them, the more likely they were to set out on their own. I tried to create something beyond me, beyond Crimson Moon; something that forced my mind to delve deep into the recesses of its creativity.
None of them could last, my mind could manifest them but I could not force obedience. They were like rebellious children and it was their power and intelligence that gave them the desire to live outside of the borders of my command. Most died off when their ambitions went too high, an order from the ancestors forbade me from trying further. While vengeance against Zeltrech remained in my mind, in the end my decision was to reinforce Crimson Moons ideals and carry on the same kind of legacy that had made him despised and feared.
___________
I had been working on a simple drawing, some what of a mecha like suit; the inspiration came from the armored suits and machines that were starting to become popular at the time. As with every picture I had written my name at the bottom, even if the art work wasn’t great; I still took pride in what my mind tried to manifest. I’d been laying in the grass while working on this particular piece, Lady Windup had always been something I felt I could improve so she’d started to look more and more feminine and mechanical each time I tried to re-imagine her.
“Merem Solomon, that’s your name right?”
For a moment the voice almost seemed to fuse itself with the same words that came from Crimson Moon’s mouth. Quickly my eyes rose from my work in order to look upon… a dark haired boy that hardly looked too different from me. Blinking a bit dumbfounded, I couldn’t help but notice this boy was in crutches. This one lacked the use of his legs? I could relate to that most certainly. “First guess, I don’t think I’ll have such an easy time figuring out your name though.”
The boy leaned his weight into the crutches in order to put a small finger to his lips, suggesting the nature of his name. “That’s not something I’m too open about. But if you spend some time around me, maybe you’ll figure it out?”
So it was a game then? Out of all the names in the world I had to try and figure out his? “ I accept your challenge. But just to get this out of the way, its not Rumpelstiltskin by chance is it?”
“I’m not German.” Though the attempt at humor didn’t fall short, there was a sustained smile on the boys face; though it seemed to me it was not entirely spawned by comedy.
_____
I saw him quite regularly, normally I would have moved on from such a place; but the sick boy held my interest. It was someone else of my nature which naturally made us drawn to one another. After a while, name attempts were more like a toll so that I had a viable excuse to be around him. We both could envision great things, just of different natures. But his were much more based off concepts that had already been scene, twists on already established monsters or heroes. Also after they were done being drawn, they were almost a forgotten memory as he began working on something new. I asked him about that one time and he simply responded with, “A father needs to let their children go once they’ve fully developed.”
I must have tried hundreds of names, it didn’t help that the name he wrote on his art-book certainly wasn’t the one given to him at birth. It said Casurayga which quite honestly I’d never heard a word quite like it. There was no meaning behind it, he’d admitted as much. It was a name simply so that there was some title to attach to him, but it wasn’t how to identify him. A lot of artist used fake names, but this was so much more than that. A name so that he didn’t have to have a name.
The reason for his paralysis of the legs was a disease called Guillian Barre syndrome, while my village had stripped me of my arms and legs; his were being taken away by his own immune system. Two boys that had lost the ability to set off in search of their own path, but this time it was the body itself that deemed the dreamer needed to die. How was anyone supposed to face the world with beautiful dreams when their own body wanted them dead? But why should I be granted a chance to seek my ideals while this one slowly was taken apart by his own body… I wanted to make Crimson Moon proud, to show him that he’d chosen someone of merit that deserved to be spared, that I could see the same potentially in people.
This decision made it clear; I would never be Crimson Moon.
After becoming a Dead Apostle, he gained powers that directly contradicted mine. If my powers were fueled by wishes of the mind, his were caused by what the mind wanted to reject but couldn’t free itself. They were brought to the surface almost like a nightmare, but it was nothing that simple. My creations were only of my mind and creativity; his creations took the experiences of the soulless and tapped into a potential life force to create a form of pseudo soul. In essence my power came from myself and his came from everything not himself.
Typically the only source that had enough potency to actually become living was something that experienced a great deal of battle. Clashes, blood, vows, and when someone gave the weapon or defensive tool a name… these were experiences that gave the chance to bare life… With these as the only reality he understood, darkness became the only concept he could relate to and gradually my friend was corrupted… No, I think that corruption had always been there, but I had just given it the power to bloom.
My failure to bring hope lead to the undeniable truth that Casurayga had to be destroyed. Luckily I didn’t have to bare the burden of eliminating what I had created; becoming a Dead Apostle didn’t stop the disease in his body. His body still understood the absolute evil that was in this boy and kept eating away at him. I simply stayed by his side waiting for it all to end. Casurayga was going to have a short Bucket List and then expire; this mess would clean itself up.
____
So eventually the time came when he could no longer function and true to form, he acted as if his whole life was ahead of him. There was no acknowledgement that he’d lost the ability to move, he was reduced to nothing more than words and yet the words coming out of his mouth were no different then the days before. That disease could devour his body whole but it seemed his soul was something beyond its reach. I think I feared him more in his last day then I ever had at the peak of his power.
“Tell me your dream Merem.” It was an odd final request, this was deaths door; his last minutes - anyone could see it. Did he want to die hearing something beautiful? Why wasn’t he begging me to find some way to save his life? Did he still believe in his immortality while in this deteriorating state? Still they were a last request, I had to honor something like that.
“To give someone else something to dream and hope for.”
“I’m glad I never asked you that before then, I would have… found out… the person I was bond to… was completely……… disgusting…”
Watching him turn to ashes and blow into the wind, I wondered if Crimson Moon had ever made the same mistake I had? Did he see the decomposing face of failure and still pursue the same outcome? Or was this image engraved in his mind as a testament of one simple reality…
a demon can never be saved.
