Beatrice
Book II:
Identity
Chapter 1: Running
Whatever would end up happening to me in the future-- distant or near, whichever, I knew one thing for absolute sure, and it was this: I couldn't forget... I could not forget what had happened to me in the past, and if I was somehow able to-- as so many of us have attempted, it would end up being both a blessing and a curse for me. Why? Because of everything that had happened to me, I had been made into a different person, and although half the time I spent wandering the streets, searching for answers, I wanted to just drop down dead, I knew that if I did, it would have a negative impact on everything-- although sometimes, I just didn't give a damn, this was nevertheless the truth on the matter. The prophecy had stated that I was the link between this world and the others, and if that prophecy was indeed correct, I was the only thing that could save it. The energy from everything that had happened to me in the last decade was what kept me going; a fuel in the never ending hell that life is. I could not forget, and although part of me wanted to forget, the other part wanted me to remember the pain forever. If I remembered the pain, then that meant that the people I had lost would somehow live on-- and that, morbid as it was, was actually quite comforting. Their memories gave me a reason to live-- and a reason to fight. Since they had died, and I had been blessed with life, I would have to live for them, as much as for myself. And if I fought with all my might, I was almost sure that everything would repair itself once again, and my life would be entirely whole again. If I was able to stop whatever was destined to happen from happening, then everything would reverse itself once again, and I would be whole. But was being whole again even possible…? After so many years of doubt, fear, and anxiety, I was now made utterly unsure of this. I wanted to believe in the possible restoration of my previous untroubled life, but I was doubtful of its possibility. After all, the past decade or so hadn't been too "normal" or anything similar to that.
Ever since I had returned to this dismal world in mid 2008, I had been trying my best, albeit in vain, to get as far away as possible from every single thing that reminded me of my former lives… I wanted to have the ability to forget everything that had happened to me in the past nine years, as I stated before, in order to simply move on, and live. But I knew that if I could forget those horrors, I'd probably be even more of a useless bum than I already was today.
I was living a double life now; half of the time, I wanted to forget, and the other half of the time, I wanted to remember, and stop the prophesized horrors involving the death of a world that had been conveyed to me only last year-- although last year seemed like centuries ago. Had I been a bit smarter, when Elaine sent me back home, I would have taken along the bag of jewels and gold the King had given me. I could have pawned them, and gotten some decent cash to start a better life for myself-- but my living situation was pretty irrelevant in the long run. What mattered was the future: I had to stop the prophesized horrors from ever happening. If millions of lives-- not just one or two were lost at one time, I would forever hold myself responsible, and I would hate myself even more.
I had been out of contact with Elaine for a while; I had seen her in a few dreams, but ever since that day when she had helped me get back home, she had disappeared from my life, and I tried not to wonder what she was up to. I tried to keep myself from being too selfish over her; after all, she was a spirit now. Maybe spirits had different agendas than living beings… but then again, being a spirit was simply no excuse to be useless as well. Hadn't those dead guys in the Bible proved to be damn helpful at times? Couldn't Elaine come through for me now? I needed her, after all. Sure, I wasn't a waif, but I needed some help…
Her being useless… hopefully not. Maybe her helping me was going through a rough time; a dry-spell, so to speak. Maybe when the right time came, she would simply pop out of nowhere, and make all of my wishes come true… Wait. I was no Cinderella, and that was far too cliché to ever happen for me. Although, that Cinderella shit had been prevalent in my life when that skank, Jessica and her twit parents had forced me to do hard labor for them in D'Nalge… Well, maybe Elaine was being kept busy-- after all, she had informed me that I wasn't her only godchild, and she had to continue to look after her other godchildren-- even after death. Maybe there was someone out there who was a true waif, and needed her full attention; I couldn't be her sole responsibility. After all, I was already an adult in the eyes of the world. Maybe she expected me to pretty much be looking after myself. Elaine must have deemed me pretty able-- she probably thought I could stand on my own two feet without any assistance. I could, but I still needed some help; otherwise, I wouldn't be stuck in shitty places like this.
As if for emphasis on the thought, I now chose to look up at the ceiling of the large room which I found myself in; I had haunted this place, and many others like it ever since coming back to that sphere I loved; earth. I didn't love these places, however… Quite the contrary. I despised the shit out of them. There were others like me here as well; I felt a heavy sigh escape from my chest. For over a year now, I had been living in places like this all over the city-- scratch that. The state. I could have been in my home as opposed to some filthy homeless shelter, but as I stated before, my housing choices didn't really matter in the long run-- did anything?
Besides, I had been in there.
I had been in the house that I had once shared with my parents, and the thought of staying there as a practical refugee had been frightening for me. Sure, living on the streets was no picnic, but I'd rather be here than in the house where both of my parents had been murdered in cold blood; their deaths causing my journey to begin. If only that journey could have begun with both my parents alive. Their living would have made everything so much easier on me…
I had been going from shelter to shelter for over a year now, and whatever way I looked at myself, I was a wreck! I hated myself now… I spent days moping around the streets, knowing that it would never help me find a better life, and yet I continued to do it only because there was nothing better for me to do, only to spend the long nights in homeless shelters… Eating thin soup that tasted like slightly seasoned water every single night… Sleeping in cots surrounded by bums and low lives… I wanted it all to end…
I was running from everything that had happened, and yet I found reminders of the past everywhere; a blonde woman with striking features would remind me of Jacqueline, while a tall man would remind me of my father. I ran from everything, and it continued to follow.
But it wouldn't end… It simply would not end until I admitted to myself the truth. And the truth was this: I was scared. Scared of my destiny…
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"You lived on the streets long, sweetie?" a falsely warm and kind voice asked, bringing me out from my deep thoughts; I rolled my eyes at the question that never failed to be asked. I continued to stare at the date on a nearby calendar that hung on the faded walls; July 1st… what was the importance? It seemed like something important, but what…? An anniversary…? Holiday…? I raked my mind for the answer, but came up short.
I lost myself in thought once again, as I tended to now that there was hardly anything to keep my attention, and then a small cough brought me out of my semi-stupor, and I remembered to answer the woman's unimportant question, "Um… Yeah," I replied, lamely, watching the older woman pouring a ladle full of the steaming soup into my waiting bowl. She was one of those broads who, in order to keep themselves looking "younger" kept their hair dyed. I nearly snickered when I realized that her roots sure as hell needed some touching up-- her hair was dyed a funny auburn color, while she wore huge-ass diamonds in her ears. I had to admit that the uncaring bitch was pretty well-off, and I couldn't help but feel slight envy towards her, "Thanks," I murmured, as I walked away from the counter, trying to find an empty seat in the swarming shelter-- it was filling up quickly. I stole a glance behind me, and found about fifty more people waiting for the crappy meal; I realized that I had been lucky to have gotten there as early as I had… The poor suckers who got their later on would get the thinnest soup-- that meant the slop I was eating would be watered down at least two more times. I had had the unfortunate encounter with the flavor a couple times before. I shuddered.
"Ah, honey," the woman suddenly whispered, grabbing ahold of my left arm with one of her wrinkled leather hands; I nearly screamed at their touch, and narrowly missed dropping the bowl of soup, "Tried to do yourself in?" she sounded sympathetic-- pitying; worse than any of the other bullshit I had to endure from the hired people who worked at the shelters, I absolutely despised it when they tried to sound caring, "What?" I asked, truly miffed, and she gestured towards the scar on my left arm, shaking her head as if I had taken a razor blade to it, "That wasn't very wise of you, girl," she whispered, her false sympathy growing, "you have your whole life ahead of you-- don't you realize that?"
"I didn't try to kill myself-- had I, it would have been a shotgun to the head. That cutting shit usually doesn't work the first couple of times," I tore out of her clutches, and rushed off once again, before she could give me any more of her "motherly advice." I was seething.
Sure. I'd been asked the question a couple of times before in the last six months, and I always gave the same variation of my "shotgun remedy," but all the same, it annoyed me more and more each time I heard it asked; I hated how they could just stand there, and act like they actually gave a damn about anyone's lives other than their own.
But it didn't matter. For all I knew, the bitch would get run over by a bus the following morning-- hopefully she would. Talk about Karma, and besides, I had other things on my mind to worry about just right now.
July 1st…? I wondered, continuing to rake my innermost memories for the significance of the date, and then it came back to me with such ferocity it was almost as if I'd been hit by a bus. I just hadn't thought about it in so long because for the past five years, I had never really known the date or anything-- I had never known when this day had come, and for three years before that, it had been utterly ignored by my father, save for the occasion that he and that skag, Jacqueline had decided to "tie the knot." July 1st, 2009… Today is my twentieth birthday. I was supposed to be a Sophomore in college! I was supposed to have a job, and a place of my own by now. I took a seat at one of three empty tables (there were thirty-six in all); no one joined me, and I was glad of this, as a few of the city's finest perverts had taken to soliciting me for sexual favors behind the dumpster lately, and had offered to pay me upwards of fifteen dollars to buy myself a "nice bottle of vodka." Three of the five guys who had come to me with similar requests had gotten some pretty bad bloody noses; the first two had merely shocked me into disbelief, and I had been unable to react save for a timid "Buzz off." So, no one joined me now because they all thought I was crazy. I didn't give a fuck, because I heard their ramblings late at night; they were the ones who were bonkers, and why should I even want to associate myself with such losers? I bolted down my pitiful supper quickly, which of course tasted like water, in order to avoid the stares of two of the guys who had believed me to be a prostitute. One of them had a cherry-red nose, and I couldn't help but chuckle. At around eleven fifteen, I decided to go to bed; by then the thirty-six tables had been cleared out of the room, and had been replaced by about one hundred and fifty cots; I found one of the less dirty ones, and lay down.
And to the noises of snoring men, my thoughts of destiny and shaskas are drowned out, and I drift off into a dreamless sleep.
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"Wake up, little lady," someone was now whispering; his deep voice bringing me from out of my semi-pleasant sleep almost instantly.
I blinked sleep from out of my eyes. I could barely see anything; my eyes opened only to peer into the deep darkness of night, "What the hell--?"
"Wake up," the guy repeated, and the stench of rotgut wine on his breath led to my eyes opening wide, and I stared at his face, as everything came into focus; he looked like your everyday rapist/drug artist. Just my luck. I groaned at the sight of him; I'd met a couple of people like him before here, and they were troublemakers, "What do you want?" I asked, yawning, and trying to sound every bit as tough as I could, although I couldn't quite pull it off due to the fact that despite the sickening-smelling breath, my eyes were trying to glue themselves back together.
"I need somewhere to sleep, little lady," he replied, smiling wickedly, and I noticed, despite the darkness, that he had yellowed teeth; years of neglect caked on in the form of plaque. I shuddered, glad that I had been given a toothbrush by in a "care package" of sorts the state had provided for nobodies of my kind.
"Do you have to call me that?" I demanded, more annoyed by his nickname than the fact that he had rudely awoken me, "So, I have the pleasure of getting woken up in the middle of the night just because Mr. Beddy-Bye feels like getting in a good night's sleep?" I rolled my eyes, looking around the darkened room at the dozens of the dozing homeless, "Bother someone else, if you don't mind," I muttered, "I'm going back to sleep," I closed my eyes once again, and it was then that he began to shake me.
"Come on," he urged.
"Dear God," I yelled, jumping out of bed, and waking nearly half of the room in the process, "All right! All right! Fuck! Take your goddamn cot, and just leave me the hell alone," he stared at me like I was crazy, and without bothering to watch him climb into my cot, I walked through the open doors of the shelter, and paused to give him one final piece of my mind, "Don't choke in your sleep and die!" I yelled over my shoulder from the threshold, and then I wandered out into the streets, in search of shelter from the cold; knowing that I had most likely succeeded in awakening the rest of the sleeping beauties-- sans the ones who were in drug-induced sleeps from which waking was more difficult.
If there's one thing I hate, it's the city at night.
You never know what could end up happening to you.
One time, I saw some homeless guy stab some arbitrary bimbo to death for the ten bucks she had in her wallet.
It's a jungle out there.
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It's another day... My eyes snap open, and I look at the world around me... It's strange... The sun seems to have been plucked from the sky... Where is the sun...? I wonder, groggily, as muffled screams stop abruptly.
I stand up, and look around at my surroundings... The world has been cast in a black shadow. What has happened? I wonder, panicked... No one is on the streets... I am alone in a strange world. I scream, and feel my heart beginning to pound in my chest. What has happened! I pace the empty streets, searching for any sign of life, but find none. Then, I know what has happened... The apocalypse! The prophecy! A world has ended, and I am the soul survivor... The shaskas have had their ultimate revenge...
"Beatrice..." a voice whispers, from behind me.
"Who's there?" I call out, frightened, as Jacqueline's form appears in front of me, "You cannot escape the past..." she hisses, "You cannot continue to run away from the truth any longer... You must face it."
And she laughs cruelly, as I fall to the floor dead.
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"JACQUELINE!" I screamed, waking with a start; shocked by the strange vision of the dead earth… I looked around my surroundings. The streets were indeed empty, but judging by the distant sounds of police sirens, the city was still in full swing. It was not yet dawn; sometimes I absolutely hated sleeping in empty alleyways; they could be so dangerous, but every now and then, it was good to get away from the shelters-- although tonight, I had hardly had a choice.
A cat screeched nearby, and Jacqueline's words echoed in my mind, loud, clear and frightening: 'You cannot escape the past... You cannot run away from the truth any longer...' Her words actually meant a lot to me. She was right. She was absolutely right.
I sighed, and shivered as a strong gust of wind blew into my face, and a flying newspaper smacked me smartly across it.
What am I to do? I wondered, pulling the newspaper off of my face, and stretching out my legs; I cannot run anymore... It was time to face what would lay in store for me-- for everyone, actually. I had not had a dream like that in a very long time, and it was a warning-- a signal to alert me to the fact that something was going to happen soon-- something that would change everything once again, and I was determined to stop it... Feeling that my back was damp, and noticing that it was raining, I stood up, and began walking away from the city, and back towards my hometown; remembering the way from the signal time I had walked it... It was time that I called upon an old friend who would help me no matter what...