Month: June 2014

Christoph struggled to make sense of it all. His body lay limp on the floor as the lift lowered him back to the ground floor; the effects of the drug were begging to take effect. He closed his eyes, trying to collect himself. If he could just get home and leave this all behind, maybe it would blow over. No, he thought. That was a naive thought; he was now accomplice to the murder of the most powerful person in the world, there was no walking away from this. The elevator dinged, announcing he had reached the ground floor, daylight forced its way through reluctant cracks in Christoph’s eyes. The doors slide open. It took him a moment to process the sight he saw before him. Christoph’s heart both sank and jolted; the lobby that had been swarming with people not 20 minutes ago was now silent. Blood flecked the ground and walls, bodies littered the pristine marble floor, their torsos sprayed with bullets. In the center of the lobby, walking with an eerie calmness toward Christoph was the mysterious man dressed in black.

Christoph mustering all the strength he could, scrambled to his knees, but lost his balance and fell out of the lift clumsily onto the floor. “Relax, Mr Newter. If I wanted you to come to harm I would not of written you that helpful note.” The man explained.

Christoph felt angry, for the first time since he was entangled in this debacle he felt genuinely angry. He had not wanted to play any part in whatever cause the events that had transpired were trying to achieve. He did not want to murder anyone, or lose his friend. And yet he had been thrown into the center of things. “So. What are you?” Christoph said scornfully, “Terrorists? Insurgents?” He questioned, his hands balling into fists. The man laughed, “No-no, I do not believe I am any of those, nor are my followers. We might be likened to something in the way of…divine intervention…” The man replied.

“DO NOT GIVE ME THAT.” Christoph screamed, “You are not gods of any kind! You are not holy or invulnerable I have seen one of you die! You are corrupt politicians at best and cowards!” Christoph vented, shaking with rage but his eyes watering. “If we can be killed, why does that not make us gods? Are we not able to create and destroy? Do we not preside over this world? The ground you are lying on is built in the name of a god, this very building serves as a temple. Just because we are not immortal does not mean we are not at least in some way akin to the gods.” The man versed, his usual expressionless face gave no indication of his intentions.

“We. You say ‘we’ as if you are a god also.” Christoph pointed out. In his internal rage he had not fully connected the disjunct dots in his mind. The man laughed.

“Christoph, I thought it was obvious; I am Hades.”

Christoph froze, his anger extinguished he could only stare speechlessly at the figure dressed in black. “W-”

“Why?” Hades interjected “That is a longer story than I care to get into, but it is fair to say many people other than me wished death upon the totalitarian rule the ‘Advocates’ had over this dominion. Your friend Arty was one of them…although in the end he failed in his job. Either way deliveries today have been made to each of the remaining advocates, some couriers knew of the contents of the packages, some, like you, did not.” Hades explained.

“So what now?” Christoph asked, beyond shock or surprise.

Hades let out a smile for the first time since Christoph had run into him,

“It’s a new world, Newtie. Try not to get in my way and you might end up alive.” Hades turned and walked toward the doors, Christoph tried to struggle to his feet but fell. “The pill I gave you should wear off soon; nothing serious just an emetic and a weak sedator. I have some loose ends to tie. Some of the advocates are alive and I need to fix that.

Goodbye, Christoph.”

Christoph watched Hades walk out the door onto the street, he tried to keep his eyes open but their weight was too much and fell out of consciousness. To awake in a new changed world.

 

 

 

The sun flees behind the horizon, and I have an hour at best. Each time I come here, I am able to remember all of it, the entire tribulation splays itself out onto my mind from every life I’ve ever lived in every instance, and its overwhelming. But I am starting to notice patterns, rules, things that make sense, and its reassuring. I feel like I am closer to an answer than I was before and I am taking refuge in this. I suppose this log, or journal or whatever you may call it is another way for me to keep myself sane. Piecing together these events will let me look for subtle differences, minute clues that will allow me to shake free this wretched curse.

 

I know few things, but what I do know is there is always a throne, and through usurpation or inheritance I am placed on it. And there is always an insurgent, who overthrows the crown and takes control.

And through abstruse means both die at the hands of the other. In their dying moments they are both granted a second chance, the king offered a simple peasant life, and the rebel offered birth into a noble bloodline. In desperation they accept, after all, no one wants to die.

 

And thats how I have ended up traversing this fathomless desert land, the medium between my past life and the next. Only to swap positions and become the insurgent who murders the king, and then to switch once again, ad infinitum.

 

Only, I plan to make things go differently this time.

 

Ouroboro, thats the name unless my memory fails me. The name of the man who first presented me with the ultimatum. I am perhaps hasty in referring to him as a man. Or as anything as tangible as a man at all. What is known is he appeared, just before I was destined to leave this world, and “granted me a second chance”  as it was put to me. I suppose in a way it was as such, but I was a fool in believing my fate was not set in stone inexorably. This endless desert stands as an in-between, an intersect between my last life and my next. Although both will cause me to end up traversing these sands once again. But as I say, I intend to change my fate.

 

I cannot say how exactly I am planning on escaping from this cyclic reincarnation, or at least I cannot put it into words. I am certain that these sands are where Ouroboro presides, and even more certain that he is watching me write this entire thing.

 

Perhaps.

 

Wait, did I just write that?

 

Technically, yes. But I am the one who made you write it.

 

What is going on? I have no recollection of writing that. This is bizarre…

 

It seems you are a little slow on the uptake. I was under the impression you were somewhat astute, especially as you have figured so much about me.

 

This is absurd. I am not going to dignify having a conversation with myself on a notepad.

 

Suit yourself.

 

Wait. So you are Ouroboro?

 

Nothing gets past you, mortal.

 

What are you?

 

I don’t think that is important now.

 

Why is that?

 

You will forget everything you have learnt when I reincarnate you.

 

All the more reason for you to unreservedly answer all my questions.

 

I think you are grossly overestimating how much power you have over the situation.

 

If you haven’t come to answer my questions, why engage in this séance in the first place?

 

Why not?

 

So you’re just here to mess with my head.

 

Again; perhaps.

 

So an omniscient immortal being has nothing better to do than to screw with the mind of a man alone in a desert?

 

Who said I was omniscient?

 

Educated guess.

Are you?

 

No. But I am a darn lot smarter than you.

 

Oh, I get it now.

 

What?

 

You want to know what my plan is.

 

I don’t care what your plan is, it’s not going to matter in about 20 minutes anyway.

 

I bet it’s killing you.

 

That would imply I can be killed.

 

I should probably note how surreal this is.

 

What? That I am possessing your subconscious in order to communicate with you? Or that you’ve used over half the ink of that quill pen.

 

Both.

 

Eh. This situation is rather mundane for me.

 

Do something then.

 

What?

 

You’re some kind of deity, correct? Then do something godly. Put on a show.

How unimpressive.

 

I don’t need your validation to prove I am godly.

Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not going to work.

 

So lame.

 

I do not have to prove anything to you. Enjoy your next life you antagonistic wretch.

 

Hmph. Spoilsport.

 

I think he is gone. Well as gone as an omnipresent being can be. At least now I can try to concentrate. If I felt thirst in this demi-deceased state , I might have been able to blame my lack of focus on dehydration, but I am only barely keeping my cool about getting on the wrong side of a malicious deity. A feat I consider quite admirable, especially as keeping one’s cool is a desert is difficult enough as it is. Either way, in-between lives I’ve spent a great deal of time negotiating these flaxen dunes, I have yet to meet the one other man who shares the same fate as me.

 

But now it seems I am closer; after traversing this desert for hours, I’ve finally found footprints that aren’t mine.