Chapter 3
Disclaimers: Still don't own shite.
A/N: I had this written up in first-person many, many years ago – since I last updated actually. Sorry. It works better in third person perspective, and makes more sense. I also shuffled around, massively decluttered and added a few things to this chapter: what with FF VII Remake being in the works, it feels fitting to give this another go!
Weird dreams and hallucinations:
An Inquiry into the nature of Cloud Strife's sanity
Cloud's point of view
If you could slip down one of the immeasurable depths of any pockets of time, which one would you choose? Would it be the one to take you back to all those years when opportunities are abundant and mistakes none too rebuffed and always with a 'next time, kiddo...'; when second chances aren't hard to come by and there's always spares to go round; when you believe someone when they say- the world is your oyster? If you could make anything, anything at all, right, what would you do?
Cloud thinks about this often, everyday, every night- implicitly his dreams play charades with him- like going through the motions, the tumbling, perpetual motions. It never goes away, and he can't make it stop. Looking back is everyone's favorite piece of luxury, pastime when your mind is not at ease with itself and it starts to wander. It's toxic to remember what Cloud remembers.
But he lives in the present, not a constant flux, he couldn't want for more, shouldn't, this gift that a precious prayer has answered for. It had taken Cloud and company a lot to get here, an impossible lot, and he can't keep vacillating between here and there, though it has its gleaming appeal, he needs something to anchor him in this place.
Everyone has guilt. Cloud lives his life with nauseous contrition, but the point is, he's still here.
He feels like he's been falling forever, before landing on his two feet again. It's a telltale sign: a room or some sort of nebulous space, you can't put a finger on it, you just know. He's here again, through hazy vision, he opens his eyes to a dream.
'Pick one.'
Cloud has to lower his line of vision to register a child with spiky blonde hair standing a few inches in front of him. He takes a step back. This child is craning his head up and is smiling.
'Pick what?' Looking out as far as the white, cloudy space stretches informs Cloud that there is nothing to physically pick from, let alone look at.
'One of these!' The kid beams and gestures everywhere about the void, making flailing arm movement, and is getting noticeably buoyant by the second with his feet tip-toeing, lifting his height up and the down.
'I can't see anything.'
'You have to pick or you can't leave.' He grimaces.
Cloud looks at him but notices that he doesn't look like anything, that is, not faceless, but just, it's hard to grasp- it's as if his face is unremarkable in the most earnest sense of the word. He has a face that isn't. But somehow he feels like he knows this kid. That's how Cloud can best describe it. 'Is this where you turn into something scary?'
'If you want me to. But you don't.' And with precision of a surgeon, and a sly grin, he says with his cutting words, 'You want to stay here and dawdle in the old dreams.'
Shocked by the accusation of a child, Cloud raises his voice slightly,' I don't.' He shuts his eyes, willing himself to wake up. When light enters his vision again all he can see is the kid staring back at him, grinning as if in the knowledge of his escape attempt.
'You can't leave.'
'This is my dream, I'll leave if I want to.' This is tiresome, he has to get out.
'You're too caught up in yourself, Cloud,' speaks a voice that is as young as his age, but then it changes to several octaves lower, gradual like a wound up tape until the sentence finishes on the last letter of his name. 'Cloud.' Cloud's head is telling him he's looking at an elderly man, with pale blond but equally spiky hair, in a wheelchair. He has undistinguished features like the boy before him, and holds a magnificent cane. A glimpse is all Cloud gets, because he's gone, and reappears in his place is a shape of a man.
'What the hell is going on?' Cloud demands, looking around this place as if it had walls, and feeling like they're closing in on him.
'Who do you want to see the most?' A deep voice calmly asks from where it's coming from, mere inches away.
'Nobody!' Cloud knows what he's talking about. 'This is a nightmare! Waking up, I'm waking up from it!' Though he know he's not let off so easily, so crouching down, he folds himself, hands spread across his face, seeking non-existent reprieve. 'Who are you?' he wonders out loud.
'Who do you want me to be?'
Sephiroth looks at him with boring green eyes, close enough that Cloud can see his pupils dilate whilst his hands remove the covers of Cloud's hands from his own face.
Cloud wakes up, his eyes smoothly sliding open. Even though his heart rate is audibly rapid as if he'd been running a marathon, he feels oddly at peace; because he's had this dream before, many a time before that he's lost count. The torments have worryingly become a regularity. It doesn't make it easier, but every time he feels like he's getting closer to something. Some unnameable thing that's coming to pass. But another day is going to be here soon, so he puts his hazy, morning thoughts away with reservation.
He comes to the conclusion that he shouldn't think too much on the content of his most recent dream, not least a certain figure that is no longer, not even a trace, a part of this planet.
Cloud can tell he's getting agitated by the way he's trying to keep his tail from lashing out, thrashing on the soil beneath them, the flame on its tip still one minute, shooting out into a fist-sized orb the next. 'We have yet to pinpoint the exact locations of the anomalies we had received in these reports. Reeves is far from unperturbed, to say the least.' There's tension in the canine's voice. Red XIII spares a glance at Cloud, and then looks out onto the wide yawn of the earth several hundreds of feet beneath where they stand.
'It's good to see you, too, Red,' Cloud smiles evenly. The canine is invariably, chronically, a worrier, to which real extent Cloud has come to learn over the years of working together on W.R.O projects. It's been quite a long time since he had last been assigned on Red's team.
Red returns the sentiment with a reciprocal smile, but continues pacing, ''We've sent out several recon parties. Cid must still be out with the Highwind, investigating the Northern Crater with his team.' He saunters out further away from Cloud and closer to the edge of the cliff, the red sand of Cosmo Canyon stirs then settles as his paws shuffle by. Years have come and gone, and Red XIII has grown into a fearsome-looking beast even though he is still in the early years of his life span. His height on his four legs comes at least up to Cloud's neck.
'Right.' Cloud can sense concern in Red's tone of voice, but this can't be anything grave, it couldn't. Cloud's not an ancient, but he can sense things, things that nobody sees coming, things that are of great consequence to the planet, and lately all he's been feeling are sentiments that are not of any concern to anyone else but himself, a nagging in his head that can be likened to a fish bone stuck in his throat. At least he doesn't think it is; no, it can't be, he's just being paranoid. 'What's this about?' He circles his thumb on the chrome handlebar of Fenrir, the sensation is soothing.
'We have reports of Lifestream activities all across the Planet. Edge, Gongaga, Mideel – and areas in the Northern Continent in particular. Furthermore, heightened aggression has been observed in monsters around these locations.' Red glances back at Cloud, and after letting the words sink in, continues, 'It could be nothing, but we're preparing for the worst.'
Cloud freezes. He knows what this means, he knows the implications. Not again, not again. Oh Gaia, not again. He can't muster a response, but he can hear Red's voice calling out placidly, jolting him out of his dark misgivings.
'Do you feel lonely?'
'Excuse me?' His face must be making an odd mixture of expressions right now, especially after the canine's disclosure of a possible Third Calamity; surprised, confused, annoyed, slightly insulted. 'With all due respect, Red, what the hell?' Cloud makes a little laugh in his throat, 'what does this have to do with anything?
Red ignores Cloud's strings of questions, elaborates, his face completely solemn with no hint of irony, 'Through the adversity and the misfortunes that had seemed at the time impossible, I had fought together with you, as one of your comrades. We had achieved great feats together, all of us; but you in particular, you are the one whom people speak of,' he pauses, ponders his next words, 'whom are admired by all, including and especially, by your own companions. We have seen what you are capable of, and none of us can hope to measure against your strengths.' Red turns around to face Cloud fully then, his face smiling and placid, no discernible bitterness, just honest esteem.
Frowning somewhat, Cloud says, 'that is complete nonsense. I couldn't have done all those things without your help, all of you. It was common purpose that had driven us, not distinction.' It's true, he loathes distinction. He's grown out of that aspiration a long time ago; past events have thoroughly sobered him, now Cloud likes to spoil himself in the peace of anonymity.
'It is a gift Cloud, do not deny it. We are all blessed in one way or another, but you were bestowed with that specific one.' The creature looks up to the sky, where white and royal blue make a stark contrast with the expanse of coppery red sand they're standing on like a block colour painting.
'If I didn't know better, I'd say you're talking like an ancient,' Cloud manages a grin.
'You know our people are more in tune to Mother Earth.'
Cloud does know. But just because he understands where Red's coming from doesn't mean he has to agree with what he's saying, so Cloud keeps his peace.
'The precipice is a lonely place, is it not?' Red's eyes bore directly into Cloud's.
'We are standing on a cliff,' Cloud smiles good-naturedly. If Red was a lesser man (man beast), he might have laughed at his jest. But he isn't, so all Cloud gets is a blank look.
'I cannot help but feel you are still grappling with remorse,' he straightens up a little more, coming to his full four-legged height. 'It is as if you are still ill at ease with your decisions, for some reason.' The last words have been clipped, suggesting it hasn't been Red's intention to speak so boldly about such a sensitive topic.
Before he can stop himself, Cloud lets a quiet 'you don't understand' slip out.
'Don't go at it alone, Cloud.'
And then there is silence amongst the two of them: a man and a very astute man-beast.
True, these are issues that Cloud struggles with; not in a way that he's wracking or punishing himself to figure them out, he simply wants to overcome them and be able to really look at the Planet and accept it for what it is, not what it could be for him. That's his simple wish. This is a solitary undertaking.
3 years ago.
'What d'you mean you want to be on the frontline for the W.R.O?' You know that means being on the ground, right spikey-head? You wanna be a toy-soldier again? If you ask me there's too many feathers in that chocobo head of yours. 'S dangerous; fuckers from Deepground and their freaks still running around, not ta mention those mako experiments… So what the fuck do you want to do it for?!' There must be a link between a gifted individual and a crazy individual, the thought revisiting Barrette's mind as he attempted to placate the ever upping-and-leaving Cloud.
'I want to contribute, in a meaningful way: W.R.O is how I can do that. Besides, if you can do it, I certainly can.' Cloud knew that one of the best ways to persuade his spirited, hot-headed friend was to imply that he could be one-upped.
'But you're a family man, aren'tchu?! Plus, I entrusted my Marlene with you!' A death glare accompanied his hollering as the big man mentioned Marlene.
'She's safe with Tifa.' Cloud turned away, even more shame-faced.
'You having your…er troubles with Tif still?'
Instead of answering, Cloud reached into his pocket; he walked over and deftly clapped an envelope onto Barrette's hand, 'I want you to give this to her, Barrette. Don't say it's from me, say it's a gift from you to help with Denzel and Marlene.'
'Wha.. What on the Planet..It's a cheque for a million gil! Don't tell me, blondie-'
'Yeah, I sold the delivery business, it's no big deal. I miss the fighting. Just say that you've been saving up all your pay and bonuses at the W.R.O.' Cloud's business had flourished beyond anyone's imagination since its inception – a delivery service in dangerous lands was indeed a lucrative one.
Barrette stared at Cloud dubiously. 'You're funny, man - anybody would be pissing themselves laughing if I told them this much money could be made at the W.R.O. Just give it to her yourself, man.'
'She doesn't even want to see my face, let alone take money for me.' Cloud could feel the other man's concerned eyes on him. 'We..I—walked out on her.'
'Oh Chocobo-head, why? She's not gna take you back if you pull this stunt again, y'know.'
'I know.'
'Then why the hell did you walk away?'
'I'm losing my mind, again. She deserves much better. It's best for every one this way.'
Barrette gives Cloud an unusually gentle and sympathetic look. 'That motherfucker is gone, y'know. Sephiroth is gone, Cloud.'
'Is he? Then why have I been dreaming about him?' The way Cloud looked then, he might as well have had tears streaming down his face, but there were none, 'Why is he in my head again?'
Cloud thinks he's in his bathroom; he's rising up from the sink having just liberally splashed his face with water. Gradually, he comes to see himself in the mirror; all dark, sleep-deprived eyes and sunken cheek. The reflection looks even more washed out and eerie as he has neglected to turn on the light, and so the dim moon through the window offers the only source of illumination. Turning his face to the side, he inspects his poor complexion, and he can't help but grin at the state he's in. He grins even more, not in spite of, but directly because of his conversation with Red XIII at Cosmo Canyon earlier in the day. Outside, white hot lightning strikes somewhere in the vicinity; the wind weeps, making screechy, discordant howling sounds against the susceptible trees.
Good grief, you're a shadow of your former self.
A pair of strong arms slides across Cloud's chest from behind, tightening. He feels like he's been here before. He looks at the reflection in the mirror of another familiar face disinterestedly. It edges its face ever so closer to Cloud's until they touch cheek to cheek, skin to skin.
It's you again. Go away, figment of imagination.
Tendrils of silvery long hair spill over Cloud's shoulders, chest, arms- he can feel the long hair rustling on against his back as Sephiroth's weight shifts into him from behind- gripping him, binding him more, harder.
Have you been a good puppet?
A beholder is not a believer, because oftentimes seeing is not believing - or at least it shouldn't be.
The scene changes slowly before his eyes, like a wind-up moving picture.
Fluorescent bulbs wash the building floor with their frigid lights. Something feels unnatural, but it's not the freakish cleanliness of the place, not really. The ambience is sterile in ways which are not quite reminiscent of a doctor's office. Quietness belies its own nature. Then Cloud doubles over in insurmountable pain; and he doesn't know- can't know- how much time he's lost wrestling desperately to keep a grasp onto his consciousness; when he opens his eyes he just can't accept what he sees.
It doesn't register at first, of-course, in recovery his mind flits about him like confused butterflies. He's vaguely aware of a sensation akin to walking on wet ground, his feet pitter-pattering on liquid in liberal splashes as he propels himself forward. Funny how some conjecture about concepts and their physical whatsits briefly visits his mind at that moment in time, before the realization dawns. Indistinctly, he tells myself he must be reliving the nightmare again.
He looks down to see red splotches on his boots, his trousers, his hands. There is blood everywhere. So much blood. Seeping out of bodies arranged haphazardly across the floor - corpses- in slow but sure streamlets.
They say things like admiration only exist in your head; ideas as nebulous as they are malleable. Cloud sees Sephiroth standing there amid the macabre amalgamation like an uncanny paragon: hallowed, grotesque.
He doesn't want to be a believer.
The picture is suddenly fuzzy, chaotic, he can hear static noises overcoming his senses like an encompassing television set. When a semblance of a scene finally fades in again, Cloud can see his hometown. He is in his hometown.
Nibelheim looks to Cloud sleepy then, cast in sundown lights and shadows, and smells of lingering childhood, heavily impregnated with the past. A panorama that is hazy, and at the same time, not so much.
'That would be our monster,'
Now they're on the mountain pass, Sephiroth, Zack and Cloud. Silver hair sways in masses as Sephiroth cuts in half a towering dragon with a telescopic precision. The sky is bruised with black stormy clouds. It's raining. A torrential amassment of lightning gathers over the General's head at some point, and as he swipes his muscled arm downward, it surges down in one blinding movement onto another baleful-looking creature.
Yes, Sephiroth is fearsome without question. So it goes without saying that he has sat at the top as Cloud's absolute icon: he's magnificent, but not in any ordinary sense, where things which are so wonderful and obvious quickly cease to become amazing.
'Don't be falling over on us now. Here,'
(Cloud had once been clumsy) One big hand reaches out to his compromised stance, so he feebly take it, shamefaced and red as he is.
Cloud fancies Sephiroth ineffable.
Thus, the subsequent betrayal puts him in a kind of catatonic shock. It's like being cheated of something significant, only it's much worse. Watching Zack being struck down completely shatters his idolatry into tiny fragments, stabbing deeply at Cloud's insides and persists at sticking into them - so he reacts the only way he can then. He lashes out in what must have been anguish.
The air reverberates with a sound of eerie laughter.
Stop acting as if you were sad. There's no need to act as though you're angry either.
As Cloud's pulse slows down, it gradually, very gradually registers that he's back in his bathroom. Straight ahead is this damned mirror, it's the only thing he's allowed to see as his movement is restricted. So Cloud looks into it and sees an ominous simper plastered onto a face that is so handsome and perfect; starlight dancing on his countenance in the blackness only serves to heighten Sephiroth's imposing beauty, and at the same time, his ghoulishness. His cruelty.
Have you been a good puppet, Cloud?
Cloud has to tilt his head away as Sephiroth's lips feel too close to his ear, his breath too hot.
Still playing hero with your friends?
'We've killed you- many, many times over. You're not coming back again', Cloud glares into the mirror.
You'll finally realize, this time, what it is that you're running around for.
'What do you mean? Hey, don't- don't disappear! I'm talking to you! WHY ARE YOU SHOWING ME THESE THINGS?!'
'What the fuck do you want from me?' His voice trails to a whisper as he stares down at his bloodied fists and the tiny little shards of glass dotted around his sink, having shattered the mirror in utter anguish.
Cloud's lost it. He's going crazy: he feels as if it's just a matter of time before he succumbs to his insanity.
