The Final Day

 The first thing I notice is the manner in which the Sun glares down at me. Its pale and harsh rays assault my eyes without any mercy, as if they are out to blind me. But this is beyond that. Something about this scene doesn’t sit right with me. From our world of light, this is not what I would expect. Although, I cannot say why that is, nor do I care enough to investigate the notion any further.

A more pressing issue is the ringing in my ears, loud to the point of causing me genuine pain and pervasive enough that I struggle to imagine it ever fully going away. Yet I know I must be rid of, or at least reduce it to something more manageable. And so, I continue to hold my breath, shake my head, grasping at whatever might be on the other side of this wall of noise. Thinking that eliminating the root cause might be the way, I make an attempt to recall how it all started. To my confusion, I am drawing a blank. Something tells me that I must have hit my head, but I have not the memories to confirm. For all I can tell, the ringing might have always been there.

Quite curious, I think, right as I realize these are not the only pages missing from my book of recollections. As a matter of fact, there seems to be nothing there but pages so muddled and splotchy, they could just as easily be completely empty. Worse yet, I’m not sure why it is that my addled mind only now finds that to be odd in any capacity. Whatever has happened before, how I got here, what I’ve been before, all of that has so little relevance to the present moment, that I just cannot find it in myself to be bothered by the haze.

So what is going on? Right this instant?

I am fighting. For my life. Tooth and nail. Have been doing so for as long as I have existed. Every inch of my body is aching, be it from injury or exertion, yet the fire coursing through my veins and gripping my pounding heart refuses to let any parts break down. In regards to the identity of my opponent, I’m basically as clueless as I am about everything else; thankfully, it takes little thought to recognize a vaguely human-shaped silhouette running towards me with the apparent intent to kill as the enemy. Thus, I strike them down before they could do the same to me. It is not even a choice that I consciously make, my swing without any consideration for my will. Every fiber of my being simply yearns to keep on living, after all. It is but a mere coincidence that this is what I must do in order to achieve that goal.

Another shade approaches. They seem to be howling madly, but my ears fail to pick up on any of it. Just as I thrust my weapon to put them down, the thought occurs that their attack felt odd, almost as if they weren’t even sure how to go about things and merely swung at me in fearful desperation. This could have been their first time taking up arms against another. Now that they’re on the ground, still as a pile of rocks, it makes little difference.

Only a single breath’s worth of lull am I given before a sudden rush of pain once again renders the whole world incomprehensible. All I am able to perceive is a tiny spot of vibrant blackness, not too far from the tip of my nose, slowly expanding towards the edges of my vision and into my skull, inundating me with the smell and taste of metal. I’m not sure exactly how much time passes before the darkness finally recedes, but when it does I find everything to be turned on its side. Somewhere in the deeper recesses of my mind, a voice reminds me that I ought to be familiar with these sensations by now.

I have been hit. Toppled and knocked unconscious, likely by the figure that has just emerged from the unseen part. The metallic flavor I have been inhaling comes from nowhere else but my own blood spilled. Once again blinded by the fires burning above, this time reflected in the blade that intends to finish me off, a bolt of lightning runs through me, making me more awake than I’ve ever been. In a span of time shorter than it takes for them to bring their bludgeon down upon me, I locate the sharpest thing within reach and toss it in their direction. Brain still rattling within my head, all I perceive of this one’s end is that the dark shape before me shudders and then melts into the piercing, all-devouring glow from which they have been inadvertently sheltering me. Staring directly into it inflicts agony of such magnitude that my eyes close on their own before the thought has a chance to form.

In the dark of my own making, I drift in and out of consciousness for an untold amount of time. Without a question, this is what I need. Respite, every fiber of my being howls so loud that they tremble. No matter how short or uneasy, the smallest opportunity to stop ought to do. However, that is only wishful thinking. That fire that has been animating me for so long, for my whole life, in fact, has very little left to burn through and maintain itself. It’s nothing but tiny chunks of charcoal crumbling away in the last few flickering embers. Whether I rest or not, the results would surely be the same.

Such thoughts have no place here, anyway. I am needed back up on my feet, swinging, shooting, pummeling, doing harm in whichever way I am able to. Drown them in missiles from afar. When those run out, impale them with steel until the vengeful blood covers every inch with rust and shatters it into pieces. Then come out everything else, from heavy rocks and pointed utensils to helmets and other articles of clothing. Even when there is nothing left but my naked self, my arms, legs and teeth, there is still more that can and thus must be done. There is nothing else for me, nor has there ever been, much as it pains to admit. Truly, to fight is to persist. The second I were to stop would be the moment of my passing. And in spite of the ache in my heart, the complete absence of hatred, and this cursed exhaustion, a part of me simply cannot allow me to give in. Not as long as there’s still an arm attached that I can throw at someone else.

And so, I leap at another shape in the sea of chaotic creatures some might naively mistake for people. It seems that I’ve caught them unawares, stumbling from the first blow, then tripping on their own before my second strike could reach its target. They have next to no idea what they are meant to do under these circumstances as I hold them down and proceed with my assault. The thought occurs that somewhere within the meat I feel upon my fist, there might be a boy who has never had a chance for anything else. That what his eyes no doubt perceive upon him right now is another of the countless demons prowling the field of battle, bathed in the sickly glow of our elderly Sun. It is the same from over this side as well, after all. But whatever the truth may be, it will not stand for much longer.

Everything I have left is being channeled into this barrage of attacks. One after the other, my fists land where I presume a face, the effectiveness of each successive signaled by the thrashing of the body underneath my heels. From the ruptured skin on my knuckles, up to the swollen tissue connecting my arms to my torso, I am aching more and more the longer I keep it going. The notion that this is entirely without merit makes every motion heavier than the last, yet I must persist. One may not let up until the other no longer moves; so dictates the lesson ingrained so deeply into my being that even if I were to will it otherwise, my arms would disobey. And this one still sways. I wish they would, that they could understand why this must continue, but it appears they have no intention of bestowing that mercy on either of us.

By the time stillness sets in, red is all I can see. Boy, monster, shade, what have you, they are pure red now. The ground beneath us shimmers with it. All the way up to my elbows, splattered over my chest and legs, maybe even my face, it coats me. It’s inside me, burrowed into my deepest recesses, flowing all throughout me, confident that no means exist by which I could separate it from myself, no matter the pandemonium it conjures. As it runs through my nervous system unabated, my body constricts against my will, throwing my head back, exposing me to the frightening truth that I’ve been trying to avoid.

At some point, our spillage has spread further than anyone could have anticipated, tainting the very heavens above. Where once a deep blue has reigned eternally, is now a murky canvas of various shades of crimson, with clouds of black swirling with delightful furor. But those seem like mere symptoms to the root cause, indication of that which cannot be beheld without a part of one’s mind shattering irrecoverably. It’s the Sun, our diligent Lightbringer, finally submitting to the vileness he has had to watch over since time immemorial, reflecting back the hateful redness coursing through our veins. In his passing moment, what is left is only a tin ring of sputtering fire around the gaping hole the place from whence all light and warmth originates. In that spot, that is no blackness, but a profound absence of everything. Over there is the end of everything. It is of our own making.

Like most everyone else still breathing, I stare at it in a daze. Had I still had the ability left to form words with my lips, I would have prayed aloud to wake, for this could only be a nightmare. A disturbed dream I am having in the back of a carriage. Fueled by fever and anemia from all the wounds I’ve sustained in the battle, it must be a fiendish congealment of memories old and new, a lifetime of war turned into a singular moment of hell just for me. Perhaps it’s a prophecy for things to come, a message from the world beyond, either warning or mocking me by showing the only possible outcome that could await the likes of me.

Be that as it may, I cannot help but wish that this wouldn’t be what I see in my final moment. This should not be the world I inhabit. Surely, I have had something else. Something beyond the red. The solitude. The fight. A life that creates and is worth living. I am confident that I also had that in me. Maybe not now, nor for a very, very long time, but sometime in the past. Before all of this. Back when I might have had a choice.

I want to go back there. Straight into their arms. Should I be given the chance, I would show that I would have been capable of more. For them, I would construct a man worth remembering fondly.

If only I could do that!