[That's Why]
Farfarello
Fresh. Bright. Warm.
Blood.
I dip my finger into it. My victim's lips were parted, but alas, his final scream had been silent. I had sank my dagger deep into the throat, piercing the windpipe. Better luck next time, my dear.
Rather funny. I study the redness on my finger, sniffing it. Behold, this raw, coppery liquid is their fountain of life.
'It's yours too, Farfie.'
Nonsense.
Schuldich, a graceful figure cladded in black, strolls towards me with cat-like elegance. This is the man who once patiently attempted in explaining the concept of pain to me, knowing that it is of no importance to me. He often does these things anyway, to kill time.
I want no lectures from him this time.
'Fine, have it your way. If you want to think yourself invincible, so be it.' Impossibly long legs carry the German away, the sunset-coloured hair whirling as he spins on his heels. 'If you're happier that way.'
Sweet. But your guidance I need not. I need nobody.
They call me insane.
How typical of human foolishness. I live in true tranquillity they will never know or even begin to comprehend. How can anyone define my being using their frivolous standards? Why must one be like all else to be accepted? Why the need of acceptance?
I, unlike all His Children, do not need such things.
'Farfarello, hurry up.'
I sit beside young Nagi as Crawford drives off, Schuldich sitting in the front, as usual. The front seat of Crawford's car is his territory. Nagi, weary from the overuse of telekinesis, finally falls into slumber, leaning against me for comfort.
Strange. How very strange someone can seek comfort in my company. After ending Ruth's life, Nagi told me the tale of Dionysus. 'Agave', he called me. The woman who torn her son apart, recognising him only as a beast. A young man, sane by the standard of men, sleeps without fear, by my side. I'm his Agave.
Nagi. Young, pure, yet untamed. Way too slender, seemingly frail, yet unbelievably strong. How you silently scream and cry, struggle within yourself, like dying men. You intrigue me, child. Every time I pause to look, you have grown, experienced, learned. Every time I pause to look, you scream louder, in deeper desperation, further hopelessness. Lo, you are searching for something, am I correct? You need it for survival. Unlike Schuldich, you have never found what your are looking for. You never know what you are looking for.
'I wonder what he dreams about.'
Undoubtedly reaching into Nagi's mind, the lucky man Schuldich. I envy you at times, your clear path, sure destiny. A knight to your dark prince; a disciple to your dark lord. You, who have all you want, all you need. Ah, how you love the taste of living, how you enjoy it! Unlike any one of us, you are a contented man. Drunk in this blissfulness, you never want to wake again.
'Do you ever dream, Farfie?'
What an... interesting question, I must say. 'Do I?'
A frown. 'I'm asking you.'
What is 'to dream'? The borderline between illusion and reality has always been so fine the two often merges, spinning and twisting together into an inseparable web like candyfloss. A mere puff of sweet nothingness. Any attempts in trying to define dreams and reality are feeble.
'I live in my dream.'
How melodically you laugh, Schuldich. 'I believe you do. That's what I like about you.'
But then again, there is almost nothing you do not like, redhead.
'Doesn't Nags look angelic when he sleeps.' He sighs, reaching back to brush Nagi's hair from his face. The boy does not stir. 'He's dreaming about his earlier years.'
'Sit properly. I can't reach the gearbox.' A voice, cold but not emotionless. Brad Crawford keeps his eyes on the road, thin lips pressed into a frown.
'Yes, commander.' With that, Schuldich snaps back into position, and grins at our leader's reaction to the word 'commander'.
Without purpose, I slide a hand around Crawford's neck as he drives. Nagi falls, his head resting on my lap now. He whispers something unintelligible but does not wake.
Crawford - the reluctant leader. Sometimes I see you merely as an older version of Nagi. Evil, oh yes, you are so very evil, yet... you are... I often lack words to describe you, mister. Pity. You are extremely interesting but I cannot phrase it. Perhaps this is what makes you interesting. You despise responsibility. You resent being in a group. But you are our leader. Poetic injustice, you may say, but I see that you enjoy it now, without knowing it yourself.
Leader. In that position I see you not, but that is the hierarchy. Another useless human system we do not confine ourselves to but pretend to accept. You see yourself as no more than our caretaker: sweet, yet again.
Sweeter than living blood, you all are.
That's why I like Schwarz.
[end]