Disclaimer: Final Fantasy is owned by Square Enix, not me. A Christmas Carol is also not mine. That right goes to the esteemed Mr. Charles Dickens. But like many others before me I have decided to interpret the famous story in my own fashion. For example, Scrooge just happens to wield a massive, fifty-pound sword.
I hope you enjoy this adaptation of A Christmas Carol. Happy Holidays everyone!
Note: I will be posting a chapter every Thursday (hopefully) until Christmas Eve.
~Stave One: A SOLDIER's Ghost~
The weather, like everything else in the forsaken ruins of Midgar, was bleak. As dusk crept closer the temperature rapidly dropped, until it felt like the air was biting at exposed flesh. It was even colder on a motorcycle. Cloud Strife grimaced as he took a gloved hand off the handle and zipped up his knit vest in order to protect his neck. Then with his other hand he rotated the grip on the throttle. Fenrir let out a snarl and a burst of speed in response, until the shapes and colors of the already blurred landscape were rushing away with the wind.
This manic speed through the rubble of what used to be sector five continued until his destination came in sight. Easing up on the throttle, Fenrir coasted to a halt, purring contentedly after the long journey. After a moment Cloud reluctantly allowed the motor to rest. The silence that ensued was near deafening after the motorbike's endless roar. He dismounted, checked to make sure the compartments that housed his various swords were tightly sealed and then made his way up the cracked stone stairs that led to the doors of the church.
Cloud didn't live here because he was particularly religious. In fact, he didn't believe that any type of god existed. If one did, certainly all that had happened to the Planet in the past few years, and what was happening even now, would not have been allowed. No, he stayed here because this place offered relief to his vexed mind. And because there was nowhere else he could go.
As if in direct contradiction to that thought, his cell phone rang. Cloud didn't need to read the words on the front screen to know the identity of the caller. He tried to ignore the ringing, each second feeling more guilty and miserable. Mercifully the answering machine picked up. He let out the breath he'd been unknowingly holding, as if he had tried to be quiet in case the phone would somehow betray him and answer on its own accord. Soon three quick bursts of vibration signaled he had a new message. That would be listened to later, if he could face listening to Tifa's worried voice. She wasn't the only one from his old team that had been checking up on him. Yuffie, Barret, even Reeve had called within the past couple of days, wondering what he was up to.
Battered yet still intact wooden doors creaked open to reveal the sanctuary. The Church in the Slums had certainly seen better days. The high vaulted ceiling was partially caved in where one of the massive stone columns had collapsed, revealing a darkening sky that promised generous helpings of snow within the next day. Stained glass windows that once upon a time must have been glorious to view were coated with grime, obscuring vast portions of their images. Somehow fiends had yet to infiltrate this place, while throughout the rest of the dead city of Midgar fiends ran rampant, breeding in the shadows like cockroaches.
Cloud walked wearily over to where his bed roll was lying on the floor, near the array of white and yellow lilies that grew from the patch of dirt where the worn wooden floorboards had been ripped up. A year ago these flowers had been flourishing, but without proper care their numbers had decreased until all that remained were a few emaciated stalks. The sight stirred up a deep sadness in Cloud. Aerith would have been appalled to see her beloved garden now. He wanted to do something to stop the inevitable, to preserve this small sample of beauty. But like the rest of his life he didn't know how to help. The flowers would wither and die, like everything else. Unconsciously Cloud raised his right hand to grip his left upper arm. Perhaps he would still be here to watch their final days. Perhaps.
Goggles and gloves went on the box besides his makeshift bed, but he decided to keep his boots on due to the cold. It was rather early to sleep, but he didn't want to remain awake and dwell on what was constantly plaguing his mind. Geostigma. That one word would have been meaningless a year ago. Even six months ago it was merely rumor, some strange story people were telling to scare each other. But by now the disease was very real. Far too real for Cloud's taste.
He got as comfortable as was possible with only a thin canvas between him and the frozen floor. A spare blanket tucked around his muscular frame ensured no cold drafts would reach him. The constant worrying made Cloud feel more tired than all the travelling he had done recently, for his delivery job as well as his more secret project. It wasn't long before he fell asleep.
xxxxx
Someone was calling to him. The voice was achingly familiar, though it took him a moment to remember to whom it belonged.
A prod on his upper arm. The pressure was light, but it still created a sharp pain when it connected. He moaned and drowsily cracked his eyes open. Through his sleep-bleary vision he saw a face floating above his own, looking down on him. A pale face edged with spiky raven hair and a cross-shaped scar along his jaw line. This triggered a memory, sitting in a near-catatonic state from mako poisoning as a lone person looked after him, chatting in a friendly, encouraging tone.
"Zack..?" Cloud blinked a couple of times, expected the vision to vanish once he woke entirely. But the figure only sharpened.
"Hey there, buddy." Zack Fair was next to him, sitting back on his heels and seeming at ease. The first-class SOLDIER looked exactly as he did the day he died, old uniform and all.
Cloud pushed himself up into a sitting position, wondering if he was still dreaming. "Zack, what are you doing here?"
"Not happy to see me?"
"I don't mean it like that." He stared up at Zack, blonde eyebrows drawing together.
"Wow man, you sound pretty bad. Look pretty bad, too. Why are you down in the dumps?" He grinned wryly, looking around at inside of the battered church. "It's Christmas Eve."
"What's there to be happy about," Cloud mumbled, lowering his gaze. Actually he had lost track of the days. It felt odd to hear Christmas had arrived and he hadn't even known. Then again, it wasn't like he would be celebrating this year.
"What indeed." Zack stood up in a motion reminiscent of the upward half of a squat. "This isn't the first place I'd pick to spend a winter night. Why aren't you at Seventh Heaven?"
Cloud didn't bother asking how Zack knew of Tifa's bar. This entire thing was unreal. "I can't go there," he told Zack.
"I see you got a pretty nice bike out there," the other man observed. "So nothing's physically stopping you… Or is it?"
Cloud curled his left hand into a fist. Beneath the long black sleeve his arm was covered by a dark smudge that expanded day by day, discoloring his skin and making the area achingly tender. The larger it got the more intense the pain when it attacked, unpredictable and completely disabling.
"There's no cure," Cloud quietly replied. He had been thinking it in his head for days now, yet hearing the fact out loud made it nearly unbearable. How many times, how many places on the Planet had he gone in search of the knowledge needed to beat the disease? Enough to wear out two sets of tires. At last his stubborn head finally accepted the bitter truth.
"So, now what?" prompted Zack.
"I don't know." Give up, he imagined. There wasn't anything else he could do. He had failed.
"Give me a break. What happened to SOLDIER honor, huh? You can't quit."
Cloud let out a mirthless huff of a laugh. "I never made SOLDIER, remember?"
Zack gave him one of his patented, insufferable grins. "It's what's in here that counts," he said, tapping a finger against his chest.
"So you say."
The two men were silent for a moment. The moon had now risen to the hole in the ceiling. It peaked out of the thick cloud cover and bathed them in pale light before being hidden once more.
"Out with it," said Zack when he noticed the odd expression on Cloud's face.
"I don't think you're real."
In response, Zack burst out laughing. He spread his arms, palms up, before him. "I'm right here. What, you don't trust your eyes now?"
"I'm not getting deceived again," Cloud replied, suspicious despite his desire to believe his friend was truly there. He had too much experience being manipulated. If Sephiroth could control his mind, it would be a simple task to trick his senses.
"Well, real or not I'm here tonight to warn you, Cloud."
"To warn me?"
"I gotta protect my living legacy, don't I?" Zack grew suddenly serious. "You still have a chance to accomplish what you seek."
"That's impossible." Geostigma couldn't be fought like a normal enemy. He had let his family down and would be destroyed by the disease he had so confidently set out to defeat.
"Anything is possible, and by the end of the night you will know that both my message and I are real. You will be haunted by three spirits."
"I think I'd rather not," replied Cloud. What good would meeting ghosts do? They wouldn't be able to help anymore than him.
"Who says you have a choice?" replied the SOLDIER. Abruptly he began to disappear, light glittery green tendrils licking his body.
"Zack…" Cloud reached out a hand. Even if this was just a dream, he wanted to delay the end of his greatly-missed friend's unexpected visit.
"Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls midnight."
By the last word Zack was gone, his voice lingering a moment longer before fading with him.
