Memory

I closed my eyes. Breathe in… Breathe out…just let it come naturally…

What emotion did I feel when I died? Was it shock? Sadness? Was I happy with the life I'd lived? No… I felt deeply, utterly dissatisfied. I let that feeling linger in my mind, going back to how it felt. A cloudy vision, a muffled sound, like trying to remember a dream, no clear vision came to me. I already felt the frustration welling up again, but I suppressed it before it could become a problem. No worries, just focus on the broad strokes. Grey and white. Those were the main colors of my vision. And that sound, I'm pretty sure it was a voice. I began mixing white and black into various shades of gray on my palette. Basic shapes: some rectangles near the top and an arm, my arm I was pretty sure, at the bottom of the painting. What were the rectangles? I focused. There was text on them. They were diploma's and contracts, framed on the wall. My study diploma, the diploma of my car exam, the contract I signed for my job and the one I signed when I bought the house. The voice became clearer too. It was too weak to scream, to weak to shout, so instead it growled:

"Who was it for, then?"

I didn't recognize it at first, but it was mine. My voice. Again and again, more aggressive and desperate each time.

"Who was it for?"

"Who was it for?"

"Who was it for?"

I opened my eyes. The picture I'd just created, that of a dying man looking at his accomplishments from his deathbed, was unsettling. It felt like something was missing, probably because of the enormous, white emptiness that dominated the composition. It felt like it should be filled by something, that any sensible artist would put something there, like…

Like a face. Of a family member. A partner. A friend. Even a nurse or doctor, just… someone. Someone who could bring color into the work. But doing that, placing a person there, that would be lying, betraying my own memories. Despite my efforts to live an amazing, perhaps even perfect life, I died alone and dissatisfied. I sat back in my chair, a little shocked though, when looking back, was it really that much of a surprise? When I thought back to my past life, how many happy memories did I have past my childhood? I wouldn't be able to name any. How about this life, did I have any happy memories here?

Yes, they were of the times I spent with Gika and the old man, and I was sure that if I died here, Gika would be there, just like we'd been there for Paolo.

So, after I died, then what happened? Emptiness. Void. That's what I felt. Bright yellow and black, the next painting was simple. Like a moth, I floated to a great, round light, my mind empty, no body to feel its warmth with. But then… attraction. I felt something filling me with desire, something pulling me towards it. Yellows, oranges, a blue sky behind it. A strangely familiar shape emerged in my painting, the Municipio, pulling me towards its metal surface, until I touched it and then…

Blacks and reds. Noise. Unending screams and stimuli. No sense of distinct self, endlessly claustrophobic, stuck in unmoving metal lacking any sense of time. I wanted out. I screamed, but it just joined the eternal chorus. Save me save me save me save me… I said again and again yet no help came. That's when I felt it, a force weaker than my own, just outside of this hell, that I could push away so I could get out. With all my power I crawled out of my prison and held onto this soul I'd found, tearing it to shreds as I attempted to claim its vessel. I finally succeeded and then…

Silence. A soft yellow, which colored the background, a comfortable light. A human head looked down on me. Who? It was my mother, younger than I'd ever seen her. That was not what made her face so unfamiliar to me, however. Rather, the thing that truly surprised me was the fact that she looked… loving, caring, miles removed from the cold, distant lady I knew her as. Had something changed? Or did I just happen to witness a fluke, a once in a lifetime moment of tenderness?

What was I thinking? She wasn't my mother. I killed her child, then pretended to be hers. If she knew that, why would I ever expect kindness from her? I couldn't bear being among that tempest of souls, and because of my weakness, I destroyed a consciousness weaker than mine. I was evil, or at the very least deeply incompetent. I was… a failure.

"Gavino," I heard my father say from outside my room, "that girl's here again, I assume to help you study."

I hadn't even noticed that I'd started crying until know. I didn't have a mirror at hand, but I knew I looked terrible, not how I wanted Gika to see me.

"One moment please." I replied.

I wiped my tears away, took another breath, then got out of my room to drink some water before I faced Gika. To my uncomfortable surprise, she was already in the living room, waiting for me.

"Uh.. hello." I said.

She looked at me, peered into my eyes, rose from her chair and then hugged me. With just one look, she identified my pain and with just one gesture, she told me it was okay. She was the kindest person I knew, and certainly one of the most skilled. If she wasn't able to resist stealing a vessel, than I don't know who would be able to. What had happened was evil, but I had neither the information nor power to do anything against it, and neither did Gika. The only thing we could do, was make sure we lived the best lives we could in place of the lives we took, and to find out what caused our possession in the first place. I could already guess the answer: the Municipio, its metals attracting the souls of the dead across all worlds. We would stop this.

We would become Uomo Universale, and end whatever was happening at the Municipio!