The Devil Dream

“I have seen the bodies of children carved by zealous knives lying at the foot of altars to dead Gods. I have seen weeping Nazis standing in fields of innocent meat. I have seen the end, and I do not fear it anymore. It is the only place where the Flesh of the innocent is spared the daggers of Madmen.” The Abyss/DJ Peach Cobbler.

The rain stopped.

The sun overhead, glaring at me.

I’m getting sick of all this shit. All this flesh and blood ripping around my so-called “soul”.

I stopped somewhere far from the gore, deciding to rest.

It's not like I needed the rest, but I wanted to walk around a bit.

Getting off the bike I started to walk around and then took a seat to clean my blade. Always clean the blood off a blade due to the corrosiveness, or else the blade will rust. Remind me of the good old days… Well, ones that weren’t too awfully great. So the old days would fit better... Well, compared to my current circumstances, anything is better. While cleaning was on my mind, I took apart my gun and cleaned it the best I could given the circumstances. I counted my rounds and placed a mag into my pistol. You're supposed to keep your gun unloaded when not in combat, but I’m always in combat; that's why I bring my knife in the bath.

My mind wanders back to when I was with the group; the mage decided to put a self-cleaning and fixing spell on my clothes. So any damage or blood that my clothes gain disappears or has repaired itself in time. Been thankful to Celeste for that one.

Before I could rest, I took a piss on a tree, wiped my hands, and took a swig from the flask.

It was hot, and the wind was still.

I leaned my bike against a rock and rested my head beside my bike and upon the stone.

The metal chain of my pocket watch filled my left hand; pressing the button on top of the watch, I placed it to my left ear. For a bit I just listened to the ticks, the ticks of time I’ll never get back. A tree was overhead, covering me in shade. My eyes grew weary due to the two hours of sleep I had gotten in the last twenty-four hours, and drifted into a slumber.

“I’ve seen the horror that you’ve seen…” The second part of Apocalypse Now Redux boomed out from these old giant CRTs. I sink into my old blue coat, half-watching, half-drunk. It was some Saturday afternoon with the summer going hot and the cicadas deafening, yearning to fuck. A lucky strike hung light from my lips with my past hanging heavy on my conscience.

My past self thought about the past, sitting on a different blue couch, looking at a different television, but watching the same damn film (pretty much). This much younger me must have been in early teens. Home alone, sitting in the old basement. My mind was split in this distant memory, thinking about the little pocketknife in my pocket, hence the name… A Swiss Army pocket knife, to be exact. One of those fat ones filled with tools for survival.

The reason for the blade sitting in my pocket was for this little oddity I would sometimes do, where I would open the blade and just hold it up to my skin and do nothing… Never going all the way; I just stood there. Once more the feeling, this urge that shot around my skull driving me mad, had struck me to do such a thing; I was just finding a when to do it.

The older version of my memories me had read a paper on the topic years later out of boredom and curiosity about why people would go through with the act, and none of them had ever held true to me.

For me, it was out of curiosity, of course; my curiosity has always been in the controlled room whenever I do something foolish… And it seems that curiosity had come a-knocking once more.

Pausing the film and moving to the bathroom, I closed the white-painted door so that my cat wouldn't be slipping in and out every so often behind me. It was a small room with a fluorescent lamp, or were they LED? The white-painted walls and the floor had bits of kitty litter all over. With the jet-black heater sitting silent behind an openable white wall.

The blade was open, and I stood in front of the mirror that hangs over the sink, pondering why I kept doing this. What was the point of curiosity without figuring it out, solving the mystery? Maybe the mystery was the lie of the mind.

My eyes looked into the mirror, but I could no longer tell what the thing that was looking back was.

This black, inky abyss filled the mirror.

Only the aching of finding out reality was held within my mind.

The blade was clean, showing the reflex of I.

I painted it red.

Hiding my face from looking back at me…

The curiosity had grown teeth and had sunk its teeth into my arm.

I did what I wanted, to see what would happen, and so I did.

There was a sting with the cut.

Like any other cut.

My mind filled with endorphins.

Nothing else happened; it was just a cut.

No tears, of course; I lost that.

When I lost it or why it was lost, I have no idea.

As long as the mind had run, I was always rather apathetic.

Born and stuck in a meaningless life.

And for a few seconds, I actually felt something. It wasn’t a good feeling, but at least it was something.

The liar lied.

I stood there looking at my young self looking at that wound.

Then snapping back to my older memory self.

The cigarette was still smoking, and my TV was still playing.

I stared at my Bowie knife that was lying on brown coffee and placed my feet upon the table. I reached out and picked up my blade; it merely rested in my hand as it would many times in the future. The weight of the knife couldn’t even be noticed, but the reflection of it held was.

The face of my twenty-five-year-old face stared at me with all its five o’clock glory. My eyes bags were deeper than that of the Mariana Trench. I reeked of cheap booze and stale cigarette smoke. My blue suit, whitish-yellow dress shirt, and red tilted glass still dressed me. My hat hung upon a clothing hanger, and my black loafers still lay upon my feet.

My mind drifted to Fyodor Dostoevsky saying, “I think the devil doesn't exist, but man has created him; he has created him in his own image and likeness.” If that damned thing didn’t describe me, the man-made Devil, I don’t know what would. Because they say, when fighting demons, it’s best to become the Devil.

I rolled back my clothes on my right arm.

My Bowie knife that cut so many other poor bastards down was first fed on my own. The cut was deep; I made damn sure not to cut anything important. Another reason I stopped nicking myself was the amount of work a person gotta put in… I start taking a long drag of what remains of the cig.

Fuck me.

While the smoke filled my lungs and the blood poured, December of '97 invaded my thoughts.

Reaching over to the table on the side of the couch where a lamp lay, and paper towels, which I was too lazy to move, sat. Applying pressure upon the wound, I just let the blood bleed, the smoke smoke, and a piece of shit watch Apocalypse Now Redux.

I sat up now, rather groggy.

The chirping of birds filled my ears.

I stank of cold sweat, alcohol, cigarette smoke, and gasoline somehow.

The sun was shining, and I drank.

There was a river that was rather close by, so I decided to catch and then gut five fish from the river close to where I slept and collect a bundle of sticks. I poured booze upon the stick, opened my lighter and stuck a flame upon the booze-covered stick, then lit the bundle, and stuck the fish on sticks near the flame… Could’ve used salt.

While eating, I thought of how this country's main languages are English and Japanese, and I’m bringing this up because I accidentally stole a novel from the library. It's a dime store detective novel following an alcoholic private dick who was investigating life itself, but he was also investigating the death of a man in a town he was passing through and got pulled into something larger. It reminded me of another book I once read.

None of these things matter, of course. I just throwing up any roadblock I could find to cut out the dream, the memories… I rolled up my sleeves; there was nothing interesting about what I found.

Just odd wounds in lines.

These scars meant nothing. Maybe once they were something different from the rest, but due to my battles… My war I was covered with them.

So I rolled my sleeves back down and got on my bike.

In the King's private corridor, Kenji and King Alexander talked.

“My King, the heroes have returned from training.”

“At ease, Mr. Minamoto, you are not a soldier here; you are a guest in the country, and the people see you as a hero,” said the King

“I would like to discuss the events that took place on the night we fought the so-called Devil if I may.”

“Yes, Mr. Minamoto.”

“I believe even after giving him a mortal wound that should have killed the so-called Devil, he seems to survive.”

“Yes, I read the battle report we received last night about the man appearing during a raid and killing indiscriminately, and those who survived said they saw the Devil. My mind also crossed over the belief that he may still be alive.”

“My King, there is no doubt in my mind that that’s the same man that I battled with on that rainy night.”

“Well, I’ll keep a close look on this.

Were you ever able to find the other man who was with him?”

“I was unable to.”

“Well, at least there’s still a possibility to talk with those men. If our beliefs hold to become true.”

“Well, if you say so, my King.

May I excused myself.”

“You may, Mr. Minamoto; please rest. I'm sure you're tired from being on the front lines of war.”

“Thank you, my lord; I shall take my leave.”

The doors of the king's private room close.

“Hm, the Devil has returned. And the war with demons has grown into a greater threat.

We had a peace accord with Shinrinyoku due to the battle with the demons starting once more.

We are gathering resources for what seems like our last war with the so-called demons. The III Demon & Human War.

I have to ponder if the Devil is truly a demon or a man who is fighting for his ideas.

Well, I can’t throw many resources into finding the man, so I’ll leave him alone for now.” Alexander thought to himself.

After Kenji left, he also thought about his life, and the scar that The Devil gifted to him in our last meeting started to ache from the memory.

“I am still confused about how he could have survived and how he was able to almost kill me without using any magic.

He was only using a gun.

Which means he is not of this world.

Could the Japanese man that Akira brought up have been the same one that we fought on that night? If only I could remember what he looked like. The only thing I remember is the last words he said to me: "I am the Devil and must do my work.”

It has been said in numerous reports about the Devil that he uses the phrase whenever entering a market, almost like a catchphrase.

Well, if it were him, then there would be reports about night rides on slave markets.

We’ve been here a few months now.

I believe that the other two have gotten comfortable in this world, but I’m still unable to.

Every day, I wonder if my family is worried or thinks I’m dead. All I know is that I have to make it back home no matter what or who gets in my way, so I’ll train to become stronger than anyone in this world.”

Returning back to the King’s room, Williams enters the King’s throne room.

“Sir, Sir Albert has just arrived and is coming to meet you.”

“He has always been the type to take his time. I’ll go down to meet him.”

“Oh, Sir, you don’t have to; he’ll be here in a few moments.” Right when Williams finished speaking, the doors slammed open.

(Translation once more done by V.)

“Eum occidisti!”

(You killed him!)

The first thing Albert said upon meeting his old friend.

“Williams, please pardon yourself, and thank you for your warning.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Et illos pueros ad hoc faciendum uteris."

(And you use those children to do it.)

"Tu eras vir qui misit Diabolum."

(You were the man who sent the Devil.)

“Etiamsi mittam Diabolum conabar accelerare opus tuum maledictum.”

(Even if I send the Devil I was trying to quicken your damn job.)

“"Pugnabam contra iudicia.

Sic politica operatur; hoc scire debes plus quam quivis!"

(I was fighting the courts.

That's how politics work; you should know that more than anyone!)

"Ego etiam docui vos quando ambulare circa curias. Omnes scimus quomodo corruptum et inutile est parlamentum revera.

Noli mihi illud dare.

Noli agere ut martyr.

Quia tu rex es, sinite Diabolum esse martyr, et potes honorare eius sacrificium finiendo servitutem.”

(I also taught you when to go around the courts. We all know how corrupt and useless the parliament actually is.

Don't give me that shit.

Don't act like a martyr.

Because you, are the King, allow the Devil to be the martyr, and you can respect his sacrifice by ending slavery.)

“Bene, ne nimis anxius sis de amico tuo quia videtur quasi ad vitam rediit."

(Well, don't be too worry about your friend because it seems as if he came back to life.)

Alexander walks to the back of the throne room and throws the report at Albert's feet.

Albert picked it up and flipped through the pages.

"Arbitror Diabolus numquam vere moritur."

(I guess the Devil never truly dies), Alexander said.

"Ita, puto sic."

(Yeah, I guess so.)

“Albert, I called you here to talk for the Devil, but now war is brewing, and I need a man that I could trust.”

“You should be thankful, I guess.

I knew there was a war brewing, and I placed a man I trusted in charge of my land.”

“So you agree to help me.”

“Yes, Alexander, you are my closest friend.”

The draft was changing, as well as the smell.

The two shake hands, and I stand next to my bike.

I started my bike's engine and started my MP3, trying to drown out reality just for a bit.

“Who knows?

Not me We never lost control.

You're face-to-face.

With the man who sold the world.”

—The Man Who Sold the World by Midge Ure.