Disclaimer: What I said in the second chapter.
Author's Note: Alrighty. Requiem is finished. I've worked on this for... about ten days now. Whew, what a piece this has been.
The quotes you find at the beginning are parts of the general Requiem Mass, which also includes Mozart's Requiem, the central piece of the story. This chapter is really quite morbid, which you can probably guess from the quote below...
- Pie Jesu, pie Jesu, qui tollis peccata mundi dona eis requiem... dona eis requiem sempiternam... -
- (Sweet Jesus, sweet Jesus, who takest away the sins of the world, grant them rest... grant them rest eternal...) -
The sunlight shines on my face.
I stir and awake. I'm rather slow in the morning, and take ages even waking up. A really bad habit, I keep reminding myself, but that doesn't stop my ability to sleep through five alarm clocks ringing at the same time. Talk about tired - I feel like my body is weighed down with lead.
I turn, and I realize I'm cradled in Guntz's arms.
I must have spent the night here. I have only hazy recollections of last night, but I know that. Guntz looks peaceful, truly peaceful and calm lying asleep on the bed. I notice that neither of us are wearing much, and well... I'm blushing. A lot must have happened... I can certainly say that. I stare into his closed eyes, gently touching his cheek and lips, wondering how such a beautiful creature had to be abandoned, had to fall from the world.
He stirs. I've woken him. Guntz opens his eyes slowly, and he blinks twice before his gaze focuses on me. He doesn't look at all surprised to see me next to him; he looks somewhat dazed from sleep for a minute, but then his face breaks into a soft smile. I can't help but smile back. How can I not smile back, when such a handsome creature's grinning at me?
"Good morning," he murmurs gently, his voice deep and soft. Just the way I like it. I lie back down next to him, and bury my face into his chest - ahh, he's so soft, so gentle with me. He's never been so caring, so wonderful, but he's stroking my hair now and murmuring soothing words in a strange language. It feels nice lying with him, his fur warm and silky.
"What is that language?" I ask. His eyes are closed and I momentarily think he's fallen asleep - but then his eyes open again, brighter and more alive than before, and he looks back at me with a dozy grin and a kiss.
"Native Volk." He answers. "My father taught me when I was little. I still remember it now. Come to think of it, Lunatean isn't my primary language." He shifts around in the blankets a little, and continues to speak, his warm hands running down my shoulders. "I've been travelling around so much... I think I know multiple dialects, and Lunatean is just one of many."
"But you speak perfect Lunatean!"
"Yes, because they speak it more than they speak any other language." He replies. "Volk... heh, I was born there. Hell of a happy place it used to be." He stops speaking, looking melancholy, and then for another few minutes I think he's fallen asleep. Then he wakes again and looks down at me. "The villagers would create," he says quietly. "If they know... they'll be looking for you..."
"I don't really care," I say, and I snuggle down with him again. "I'd much rather stay with you. Can we stay like this?"
"If you wish." He smiles, and then we're lying back down, eyes closed, completely relaxed. His fingers lightly ruffle my hair. "I love you."
I'm happy.
One week passes by in pure bliss.
Guntz and I... who would have thought? But we're happy, although we keep our relationship a secret from others. We're happy enough. I've never seen Guntz looking so healthy. His gaunt face has started regaining some more colour, and he doesn't look pinstick-thin anymore. All for the good, I think. He must have been like that once, and now he's regaining his charm. He doesn't laugh, not yet, but his smiles are definitely more frequent. He holds me close every day, telling me that he loves me.
I'm walking over to his house again, ready to give him a deserved hug and perhaps talk with him more. Then maybe we could cook something. Or just talk. Or curl up together to sleep. There are many possibilities, all of them sweet and wonderful, things that would make him smile.
But it appears that I was beaten by another person.
"What-" I stop myself before I say anything more. They're in a serious situation here, and I cannot possibly intervene. What will I do if I just burst in the scene? Besides, didn't she warn me about coming here? Didn't she? What will she say?
I hide in the bundle of bushes under the open window, the net curtain fluttering in my face, and look in to see Leorina and Guntz standing four feet away from each other.
"You're expecting Lolo." She states, not angry but not pleased to be here either. Guntz just seems somewhat flustered, and doesn't answer at all. Leo isn't expecting one.
"Do you even know what all of this could do to her?"
"Why are you here?" Guntz sounds tired. "I thought this was all over?"
"Don't change the subject." She snaps, and inhales again. "Do you not think that your frequent cutting and the bloody record you have on will have an influence on her? This is serious, Guntz, and I heard that she had breakdowns already. Tat sticks up for you, and so does Lolo, but I don't believe them."
"How would you know, Leorina, when you are so obviously a partying spirit and has never personally witnessed a breakdown?" Guntz says, his voice flat, but there is silent mockery in his words. I try to stop myself from giggling. Leo's eyes are dark.
"Klonoa told me." Leorina says softly, but her eyes are dangerous. I know that look. It's the look she has when she wants to kill. I stand outside, looking through the window, wanting to help but unable to at the same time. "You do know who Klonoa is?"
"I do." Guntz replies, his voice calm and gentle. Leorina draws herself up to her full height, looking at him with faint disgust.
"Lolo told you, hmm? I bet you coaxed information out of her."
"Lolo comes here of her own will, Leo." Guntz says, his voice still so soft. Why doesn't he shout or scream at her? Here's Leo, walking into his house, condemning him, and he isn't resisting. "I did not force her to do anything."
"Lies," She sneers. "That's what you told her to say, I'm guessing, because that's what she said when I asked her."
"Lolo tells the truth."
"Shut up!" She suddenly shouts. Leo never shouts, except when she's ready to explode. Guntz reels back, looking stunned.
"I've had enough of this, Guntz." Leo snarls. "You're breaking Lolo, you know that? She had breakdowns before, because of you, and you're of absolutely no help to her. Why should she come to you - why should anyone come to you when all you do is feeling sorry for yourself-" Her voice steadily rises. "Lolo's just a child! How dare you, Guntz! You shouldn't have shown her all those cuts, you shouldn't have had anything to do with her! It's all your fault, Guntz, your fault!" She looks quite, quite deranged now; her eyes are wide with fury. "Even Tat was on your side, Guntz! You turned everyone away from me! Stop this! Stop making yourself in need of attention! Stop drawing my friends and companions away from me!"
"I never did anything of that kind," Guntz says, his voice still soft. "Leo, I really did lo-"
"Liar!" Leo screams. "You're just a liar! You've never been anything more than a liar! I hate you, you bastard, I hate you! Go on with your cutting, then," She sneers cruelly. "Slash your veins, why don't you? Then you'll be dead and you'll be away from all of our lives."
"Leo-" Guntz tries to say something, but he is silenced, as Leorina's hand harshly slaps across his cheek. He gasps and staggers back, clutching his cheek and staring at her. But she shows no remorse, her blue eyes icy and cold, her expression only showing hate.
"Expect the cops here in a few days or so, Guntz. I can't think why it hasn't happened sooner." And then she walks out, straight out to the rain. I'm hiding behind the bushes, my hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from crying out, or leaping on her out of anger, or doing anything stupid. Guntz comes out also, but he doesn't stop her.
"I'm sorry." He whispers. Leo doesn't look back.
"If you are sorry, then go with the police and stay out of our lives. Stay away from Lolo, stay away from me and everyone else." And she is gone, lost in the rain, lost in the darkness. Guntz falls to his knees, his eyes streaming tears, broken once and for all.
"Goddess, I'm sorry," He cries. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh Leo, my God, I'm so sorry..."
But she is gone, and Guntz is left weeping and saying sorry over and over again, his fists pounding the door of the house. He's bleeding, crimson specks all over the white doors, but he doesn't notice as he's too busy crying and apologizing. I'm sorry, he says over and over, until the words lose all meaning, but he doesn't notice the pointlessness of it all, he doesn't notice the crimson blood staining the white paint, and he cries and his clothing is dripping wet from the endless rain.
I slowly come out from the bushes, but he doesn't see me.
"Guntz..." I put a hand on his shoulder, but he keeps on weeping, although he stops banging on the doors, whispering broken words of an apology, against the rain. What a pitiful, miserable creature he is, I think, and I sigh, wiping away tears from my own cheeks.
I look at him, knowing I can't do anything for him, and realize (with a violent, sudden surge of emotion) that I want nothing more than to kill Leorina.
Her and Klonoa.
They'll both pay for this.
Guntz doesn't answer the door anymore.
I tried to go back three times but he never answers. I hear the Mozart's Requiem record, on full blast, but I don't hear him. I never hear him. I tried pleading with him through the letterbox, but there is only so much one can say through a slit in the door. The white paint is half scraped off, still stained with faint crimson speckles of blood, and it makes me want to retch every time I look at them. Compared to the cuts on Guntz's wrists, those stains are nothing, nothing - but seeing them somehow hurts more, hurts deep inside, and without him I have no answers. Shouts and screams won't solve anything. But neither will soft words and pleas. He is indifferent to both, and I know because I have tried both before. I've only tried coaxing him out of the house - if he is indeed still there - and I can't figure out how to get into his house when he won't open the door.
I've started cutting too.
Guntz is right, it is soothing. I'm keeping the cut he gave me even more secret. It's healing, but the scar will remain for ages. I like it that way. The first time I tried it myself, I was scared. But the pain is rewarding. It feels good. I don't think anyone knows yet, but I'm eager for Klonoa to notice when I have enough. Goddess, the look on his face would be priceless. How would you like that, Klonoa? You thought your harsh words could drive me away from that place. But to no avail, because I love Guntz. Feast your eyes upon my scars, Klonoa! They are the marks you all gave me, one for each hurting remark. One day I'll cut until I can't stop, and I'll probably die of the wounds, and I won't care. I'll laugh. I'll laugh at you down in hell, watching you pathetically crying all over my body, and I'll laugh until I can laugh no more.
I have do all of this also, in secret. Leorina doesn't want me to go there anymore, and she stated that explicitly. "It's for your own good, Lolo," she says. "Guntz is too unstable for anyone to handle. He might kill himself, and he might even talk you into it one day. He's good at stuff like that."
For my own good, Leorina? What good is that? Do you know what we did? Do you know that Guntz has marked my skin? Of course not. Because in the end you're blind, blind to everything, including Tat and Pango, caught up only in your selfish pleasures. You pretend to care, Leo, but you don't. It's obvious you don't care about anything about your life. You seek for pleasure and happiness, but you don't know you're actually fighting off all of the simple pleasures of life. Like Pango, who's a father you never asked for but wanted. Like Chipple, who obviously fancies you like mad. Like Guntz, who loved you, probably still does and you rejected and abandoned. Even Tat, who's been your partner for many years...
Speaking of Tat, I wonder where she is. Leorina was furious with her, because she had stuck up for Guntz. She was on his side all this time. That was Leo's fault too, because she should have noticed. Then maybe she would have understood. Whenever Leorina appears, Tat is no longer with her. From the look of Leorina... she isn't going to answer where Tat is, not anymore, because she just simply doesn't care.
I have to find Tat.
It is easier than I think; she's floating around the Bell's Hill, looking miserable and somewhat malnourished. Her spirit form is somewhat more transparent and keeps flickering, and she isn't smiling. It isn't like Tat. She should be smiling, she should be happy and cheerful, and now she looks so sad. It doesn't look right.
"Tat." I gasp out. "Guntz doesn't answer the door anymore."
"I know." She murmurs. "He won't ever open the door."
"I need to get in there."
"The last time I gave away information about him to anyone, Leo disowned me." That explains her complexion. Spirits usually are bonded with their partner or owner. Leorina must have been her formal partner and bonder. Tat is disowned. An outcast. Like me, really. "Don't try again, Lolo."
"Please, Tat." I plead. "Is there a separate passageway to Guntz's house? He's locked and barred all doors. I know there's one, I just don't know where." Tat shakes her beautiful head, looking sad. "I have to meet him, Tat. I'm going to break in there if I have to. Please, Tat, I need to know."
"...There's a drain manhole in front of the house," Tat finally whispers. "It's not really a manhole. Lift the lid and climb down there. There's a small passageway. When you reach the end open the trapdoor there, it's just a normal wooden trapdoor. You'll come out through the floor. Lift up the carpet, and you'll be right there in the middle of the living room. Leorina used to get in there in secret. That's why it's there."
"Oh, thank you," I sink down on the ground, breathless with relief. "I was so worried... thank you, Tat, thank you!"
"Leorina's going to be so mad at you." Tat says quietly, sounding somewhat regretful. "She already disowned me, there's no reason why she can't do something simillar with you. I don't want to get you in trouble, Lolo!"
"I don't care," I say as fiercely as possible. "I'm going and nobody's going to stop me. Not Leorina, not Pango, and especially not Klonoa. Back for me, Tat, if they ask where I am." She nods, albeit reluctantly, and I'm off. I run down to my house to pack a bag, and I'm out.
I pass Klonoa, who looks at me and holds out an arm to try to stop me. "Lolo! I-"
"Get out of the way," I yell, and I throw his arm off. He staggers back, startled that I've done such a thing, and it's my chance.
I run. And I don't stop.
Guntz's house is not too far away. I reach the house, but don't go for the door; instead I drop to my knees and feel around for the manhole lid. The front of the house is covered with a lawn, and besides, it's dark. I can't exactly see in this conditions.
Ah, there it is! Good old Tat! I lift up the rusty lid and look down. It sure does seem very dark. But no matter. I have a flashlight. I click it on, and shine the light below. I can see the ground of the passage, quite close to the entrance. This must have been purely a simple passage. There are no ladders, so I'll have to drop down. Which I do, closing the manhole behind me as I drop. I can reach the manhole and push it open if I reach upwards, so that's alright. The smell of wet, fresh earth is all around me, and when I half-walk and half-crawl towards the end of the passage there are sounds of cicadas and unlodging earth, pleasantly damp and soft. I smirk as I think about Leorina; how do you feel now, Leorina, that I'm walking along the passageway made for you? It was never yours. The passageway might have been designed for you but that doesn't mean you were fit to walk through it. How do you feel now, that I'm walking across the path that you once trod and disobeying your orders?
The passage itself is not very long; I've taken literally about twenty steps before I reach the end. I shine my flashlight up, see the wooden trapdoor - and I'm hesitating. What if he isn't in? What if he placed something over the trapdoor? What if he's lying right across the living room floor, sleeping, dying, or even dead?
I struggle with those voices for a while, but then my arm reaches out and pushes the trapdoor open.
The door opens very easily, although there seems to be a certain thing blocking the exit. It's the carpet, I'm sure of it. No matter. I manage to cast off the corner of the carpet and scramble out, closing the trapdoor. The passage is sealed again, and I replace the carpet, before looking around for Guntz.
The sudden fierce strands of the Requiem strikes my ears, and I reel back. The gramophone is on full volume, loud enough to make me dizzy. With an effort I manage to turn the volume down. There is something odd about today. There is usually the scent of incense, cigarette smoke, and blood in the air. His blood. There seems to be... a lot of it. The air is thick with the smell of blood.
"Guntz?" I shout out. "Guntz, where are you?"
There is no response for a moment.
But the sound of footsteps sound in front of me, and suddenly Guntz is there, looking at me with a curious expression. "Lolo." He says softly, not even questioning how I got in. Slowly, his lips part in a smile. "Oh, Lolo."
"Guntz!" I run to him and clutch him tight. "Goddess, I missed you so much!" He merely smiles again, and carries me in his arms, making his way to the couch. He lies down with me, underneath my body, and looks so tenderly at me - ah, how sweet his gaze is! How beautiful!
"Oh Lolo," He sighs, and then the sleeves of his jacket slip. I look down and gasp; the usual cuts have been reopened, the thin trickles of blood becoming a sudden downpour. I look around, and find a razor that is stained with red. It's bent out of shape. That was his weapon of choice.
"I won't always be here for you," He says again, his eyes sad and soft. His voice is unnaturally hoarse. "They're coming to take me away... Leorina called the cops on me. They'll be here next morning." He sighs, tears glistening in his beautiful sapphire eyes. "I don't want to go."
So that was it. He'd contemplated over the endless strains of his Requiem, and had cut, because he hated the news. He was going to be taken away, and he didn't like it; who would? He must have been determined to end it all, end his misery, end his suffering, and started again. He would have pressed hard. He must have reopened all of his healing scars, he must have cut, determined to slice at his flesh until he felt bone, wailing, weeping, tears falling from his eyes. He must have screamed until he was numb to it all, numb to the pain, numb to the hot rush of blood. He would have made himself hoarse in matter of hours like this. I can imagine him, cutting furiously at his arms, screaming and crying. And nobody heard him, nobody heard his despairing screams and wails, because his bloody record is always so loud.
So that's how you're ending it, Guntz. You really got too far this time. With something meager, something small and pathetic like the razor down there. I never minded the nicks you gave yourself up to now. But... now you've gone too far, you fool, and I can't help you. I want to help you, but your cuts are too deep. All you did up to now was to cut, hunt, and feel sorry for yourself while listening to that bloody record. I could have changed it. We could have been so happy.
All you talked about was how worthless you were, how worthless you were to Leorina, to the villagers. But maybe it's your own fault, maybe you made yourself worthless and you're more despicable than I thought. Maybe it was all your fault. You didn't have to be worthless.
Because I love you.
Worthless.
My mind flashes back to Klonoa, but I push him out of my mind.
"Guntz..." I can say nothing. He pats my head softly, and kisses me on the lips again. I feel blood, his blood, seeping into my clothes straight onto my skin, but I'm numb to it. I don't know. His lips are still soft, still so warm, and it feels so nice.
"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. "I'm not going. I'll stay with you, Lolo my love."
How would I love to believe this. But I know it won't come true, it never does.
You were always, always talking about Leorina. About her, the love you had for her that she never returned, her mannerisms, your dreams. Why didn't you warm up, why couldn't you open up to the outside world? But I can't blame you. I'm no better. I pushed everyone away from me. I pushed Klonoa away, I pushed Pango away, I even neglected Popka because I was too worried about you and you alone, along with my reputation. I hated them, Guntz, I hated them, because I loved you and they didn't want me to love you. I am you, Guntz. I am you. You are me. We are equal.
Why are we always so afraid?
What makes us so vulnerable?
Why is there punishment, why is there sin, and why must we suffer both as a consequence to fear?
We all put up a brave face to hide how we are so afraid inside. Why must we? Why did we? Why couldn't we break free?
It isn't even your fault. It isn't...
"Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini..." He sings along quietly, softly, to the melody of the record. "Hosanna in excelsis..."
"What does that mean?" I interrupt him gently. He looks at me, his eyes dull and hollow once more, not replying for a while.
"'Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord'," He tells me quietly. "'Hosanna in the highest'. It's part of the Sanctus movement." He says nothing more, his eyes closing. I'm kissing him, kissing his cheek and lips, hoping to get a further reaction, but it doesn't happen.
So your time must be coming now, Guntz.
"Oh, Lolo... Oh, Lolo..." I hear him cry out softly.
It's not my fault you're dying. It's not your fault either. It's nobody's fault.
"Leorina..." He cries weakly, longingly almost, his eyes glazed.
He's delirious.
It was always her, Guntz. Always. But you love me still, don't you? Because I love you, even though you might have loved her best. You're first priority to me. And for always.
I say nothing and rest my head on his chest, snuggling into the soft neck fur. His arms hold me tight, hold me secure, and I'm lost in the gentle warmth of his body. I watch as hot tears slide down his cheeks. It hurts. Cutting hurts. Of course it hurts, because we're harming ourselves, because we're cutting our life short, and he realizes that now. He was never immune to this torture and he knows it. It always hurts, the scars, the feeling of rejection, feeling of not being wanted, feeling worthless. We can try to hide it all we want but it won't work, because it eats at you from the inside, and if you hide it nobody knows. Nobody cares because they don't know.
"Lolo, such a unique angel you are." He whispers, and continues in that hardly audible sing-song voice, amongst the endless chords of Requiem, his arms trembling and fingers tangling in my auburn hair as he strokes it. His fingers brush over the cuts I made on my body, but he passes by them. "Oh Lolo, such a unique angel you are..."
But the words have lost their melody.
I feel the warmth of the sun.
When I wake, I blink and try to figure out where I am. It's hard to see. It must be around noon. There is something trickling down my face, and I touch the wet trail, my fingers coming away from the dark, sticky bloodstains. My fingers are stained with blood. In fact, there's blood all over my body. I'm sure the back of my dress is entirely red from blood, and there are rough marks and stains on my hat too. My face is alright, but even that has a streak of blood on it. I'm lying, curled up with Guntz, my head resting against his half-exposed chest. I fell asleep in his arms, but I no longer feel my lover's arms holding me tight, holding me secure. I feel his soft fur, and I stroke the contours of his face, running my hand down his neck and chest.
I can no longer hear the music. The record must have ended around midnight. There is silence in the room.
Despite the stench of blood I can feel the soothing warmth of the sun.
But I can't feel Guntz's pulse.
I force myself to look at him. He's still in the same position, his arms around me. I further force myself to look at his dead face - his face is pale and gaunt, his lips curved in an odd smile, eyes half open. But they're not seeing. They're not focused. There are tear trails down his cheek, but they're so faint. I can hardly see anything else. My fingers brush his skin, his bare skin beneath the fur, and I flinch. He's so cold already. There's blood everywhere, staining the couch red, dripping onto the floor, congealing into a dark mess.
I'm much too weary to move off him.
But there's a thumping on the doors that I never realized. The thumping grows steadily louder. I look back at Guntz, remembering that he said that the police would be here - I reach out to kiss his cold lips, and I close his eyes, letting him rest in peace.
And I hide, ducking under the trapdoor.
I hear, amongst the silence of the earthy tunnel, the thump of the door breaking open. There are footsteps rushing in, shouting Guntz's name, and there's suddenly a shout and various muffled cries of disgust and fear.
"Goddess, what the hell is this?"
"Look at all this blood..."
"Damn it all, he's dead!"
"Suicide, I take it?" A calm voice says.
"It sure as hell would have been, Suiryu! Look at those cuts! Just how insane was this guy?" Another bunch of footsteps. "My God, did he have a priestess in here?"
"What?" I gasp. And then I realize - I've left my hat there. No matter. They can't track me down. I found him myself. I've looked after him myself. He's simply known as number 43 back in the temple, and they have no means of tracking me down.
"A priestess?"
"It's a priestess hat."
"Don't tell me he actually killed one!"
Of course not, I want to shout at them. Guntz never harmed me. He harmed no one. He didn't even harm himself. I'm saying this because he was no one, because he couldn't let go of the woman he loved, and he forced himself to be no one. So there his fate befell him. But I've loved him, and he loved me too. I'm not going to share details, because I don't want anything more to do with you. You only want to lock people up in instutitions where they never get better. He told me, all about you, and from the sound of it you just plain don't care. Because you don't take the effort to try to know them. Men in white, you all are. White. White shows all the blood. White. Nothing more.
"Bring a stretcher here." One man calls from above. "We'll carry him back."
"That isn't necessary," Suiryu's infuriatingly calm voice replies. "We need to inspect the whole area. There is more than just suicide involved."
"I don't think so," The same man calls back. "Who could have killed him but himself?"
"Even so we still need to know a few things about him."
And they leave.
I leave the passageway when they're gone, back up into the house. The house has been severely disturbed alright, with Guntz's body still lying on the couch. He has been covered with a white sheet, a sheet that's steadily turning red from the congealed blood clinging to it. I dare to lift up the sheet, and look at his calm dead face for the last time.
"I love you," I whisper, and kiss him.
And then I leave also, taking my hat and borrowing a long coat from his wardrobe and a razor from the table. I walk away from the dark and dreary place for the last time; without Guntz it feels dull and dark, frightening even. This is a strange feeling I've never noticed before. Maybe I should have felt frightened. I take the long road, along the forest of Jugkettle, and stand head down, thinking. Thinking is my favourite pastime. I think of his guns. All of those guns and the care and cans of polish used for the guns and all the record and all the blood and tears shed at the expense of the record and the cigarette smoke he never smoked and the candles and the incense and the bent razor and the pieces of glass and the lonely hunter who died at his own hands and the books with the pages ripped out to wipe his own blood with and the memories of a lost love that never really existed...
It's all gone now, and nobody knew him, expect for a pirate girl who never cared, and another young girl who wears his blood.
Even that won't last long.
I run and don't stop, until I reach Breezegale, and I stand on top of the Bell's Hill, looking down at the houses. There is a stream nearby, and I drink from it, shuddering as I think about whether I might have swallowed some blood while asleep.
This doesn't feel real. It's like a twisted, morbid fairy tale, a tale no children nor any adults will ever hear or read. Because fairy tales never are morbid to that point. But it's real, and I'm here, the sunlight shining on my hair and the blood on my hat and all over my dress, staring down at my home village.
Stories are always written about invincible heroes who had nothing to fear. Or pitiful anti-heroes who tried to find their purpose. Both come out well, they always do. But what about the ones in the middle? What about the masses who are normal? Nothing. Because nothing about them makes a story. Nothing whatsoever. They're too simple, too boring, too average, and never worthy, never aware, and nobody cares because they only seek fame.
Me.
Me. I bite my lips and close my eyes, sinking down on the hill. Me, and no one else.
Why the hell am I thinking about all of this anyway?
I don't have long to live in this world. I'm merely a Lunatean, not some heroine who gains immortality, or a traveller who rids the world of evil. I'm sixteen years old. In average, Lunateans live to be sixty. That means forty-four years are all I have left in this world, which is not a long time at all. No. Am I supposed to hang in there, am I supposed to live? Yes, I think, because I live after all, it's a life... but odd... I'm just sick. I'm so tired of trying.
I've been for a long time.
I'm weak, I'm pathetic, and I've always been and always will. Ah, Guntz helped me, of course. He wasn't weak. He was one of the unlucky ones who were made weak and died in misery. So in the end, there really is not much difference between us. In stories everyone expect for the villain lives. But that's not true. The weak ones always die, they always are used, they're always taken advantage of, and they get nothing. Born weak equals dying weak. What really is the point, to be honest, in struggling if it doesn't get you anywhere?
Goddess... I think I finally understand Guntz, every little bit about him that I'd never been able to comprehend.
And Goddess help me, I think I feel the same way.
Oh Lolo, sink or float to the surface. And you'll know what to do now.
But for now I'm hanging somewhere in the middle, not sinking, not floating, merely existing and no more.
I want to hang on, but I'm not even sure about that any more.
A Moo passes by me, and looks at me with its bright eyes. I pat its head gently, because it's only a little Moo, and as I have no weapons no Moo is likely to attack me. They're courteous, little animals they may be. It chirps softly, and half-rolls and half-hops towards the distance, to its little circle of friends. It's strange, how the little things in life get ignored all the time and yet they're the most important things in our lives.
I wonder what the villagers would think of me now.
I'm not pretty like Leorina, I'm merely plain little Lolo. My eyes are blue. They are dull, although not entirely lifeless, and they're honest. Yes, honest! That's not a virtue nowadays, but it's a factor I suppose counts nonetheless. But if I enter the scene now, what would they say, a dark look on my face and covered head to foot in blood? Everyone's going to go ballistic. Chipple would go frantic and ask whether anyone had harmed me. Pango would try to take me inside and inspect me for cuts. Popka and Tat would be purely horrified.
Klonoa... he'd stand over and watch, his face paler than it already is, staring.
But other than that, who would care? Leorina's out there, away from Breezegale - I'm fairly sure of that. She's so pretty and charming that everyone ignores everyone else when she's around. When she comes back who would care for me, when I am merely Lolo and no more?
Nobody listens to a weed when a rose blooms in the distance.
Tat.
Oh, Tat...
Yes, Tat, you are beautiful. Faded though you may be, but you are beautiful. Yes, you are elegant. Take care of Popka for me, Tat, because I'm too plain and too wasted. Popka will be miserable with me. He loves you, and you only, and I can see that. Even though he's so eager to protect me - bless him - Popka needs love of his own. You're good enough, Tat, that you can lead your life with him. Without Leorina you won't be hindered either. But as the times pass by, people may regret the fact that they never knew us. We look different, but I know you feel like me and vice versa. I'm somebody who just didn't hide her own feelings for the sake of public appearences. I have real feelings, but who's going to write about those? Who cares?
Unlike everyone else, I'm famillar with reality. When I am poisoned of life, there will be no more handsome princes to awaken me with a kiss and lead me away. My prince is dead, lying still under a white sheet, and there will never be another prince for me. I'm like Rapunzel, and Guntz is like the prince. He climbs to the tower of misery I've built around myself, all the while escaping from his bonds himself.
But then the endless scars and bonds win over, and he falls.
Leaving me imprisoned within myself.
I shall be elegantly shabby in the stroke of midnight.
Ah, you lot are only stories. Go back to your storybooks and stay there, where reality can never touch you. I am only Lolo. And that means I need to make something out of myself. And Tat...
Tat...
Goddess Claire! I never thought life would be easy. I've never asked for anything. When did life become so complicated for a girl to comprehend?
I stay up on the hill for hours, watching the world go by. It begins to get dark. Everything makes sense here. The detached parts of local life I've only seen in snippets... they all fit together, and it all makes sense. I will be easily spotted up here, I doubt it not - but that is if anyone bothers. Nobody looks up during the daytime. Pango will be frantic to find me, though... I wish I can quiet wracking his nerves. I love him like a father I'd never had.
Where is that 'sister' of mine? Out toying with guys in Jugkettle? My God, she's never going to settle down. There is Chipple, though, but he never is good enough in her eyes, so there is no hope there. She might see him one day, though.
I need to start hoping more.
I watch Tat and Popka frolic around for a while. It is all good there. Tat, don't let him go. He's too innocent and needs too much love. I'm not going to spoil his mind any more. Take care of him. You'll be so much better than I will ever be when it comes to caring.
Ah, there you are, Leorina. That's it, you two coo disgustingly while being caved up in some corner of Breezegale. But you better come back into your senses, Leo, before Huepow decides you aren't worth bothering with - which neither of you are - and leaves you for good. Goddess! It's like I'm the only one who can see the bloody hearts on their sleeves! So I won't bother with you any more, dears. Enjoy your time together, ignorant things. Who knows how long your worthless relationship will last.
I really need to stop saying that word.
Popka's not worthless. He's nice, and he and Tat fit so well together.
And I am his Lolo.
Popka...
Tat...
Ah, let's stop hiding ourselves. Popka, Tat, I care for you too much. We've got a fresh field of stars to blanket us and watch over us every night. We can all live in a cottage together. We can be accepted. We can imagine we all have loving neighbours, friends and parents who'll never leave us alone, who'll care and love us most dearly. They'll tuck us in with a song. There is no more velvet to bleed on, because we won't bleed. We won't hurt ourselves any more.
Oh, imagine! We can be pretty. We can be wonderful. We can have the world revolving around us. Let's pretend, Popka, Tat, that we don't need to hide anymore. Let's pretend that there are no villagers, no one we know of, who will haunt us.
We can pretend, can't we? We can think of that, can't we?
We can all pretend we're all right.
We can pretend the world is all right.
Yes... we can all do that...
"Lolo?" A timid voice calls me. "Lolo? Why- why are you up there? It's- It's cold! Listen, I-I was mean last week to you, and I shouldn't have-"
"You?" I ask flatly as I watch Klonoa struggling for words.
"...Yes!" He stammers. "Come down, Lolo... and eat something... you.. you don't look very well."
"I'm not."
"Wh... why not come down and eat something?" He looks flushed. Unusually flushed.
"I'm not hungry."
"Lolo, please..." Suddenly I feel like Rapunzel once more, and up comes my savior. But it's just Klonoa, it's just shy, timid little Klonoa, and he's no Prince Charming. More fiction. More make-believe. I laugh again. He looks at me searchingly. Oh, is my heart supposed to be beating now? I'll sigh and faint dead away, shall I, waiting for him to take me into his arms? It's certainly an amusing thought, and I let out another tired chuckle.
"What are you laughing at?" He asks, his pale face looking somewhat pasty and bloodless. Strange, because just moments ago his face was pink.
"Nothing." Is that just me, or is there something hot trickling down my wrist?
"Nothing?"
"Yes." There is something hot running down my wrists. And I'm holding something in the pocket.
"Well... strange, but that's good to hear." He smiles awkwardly at me. I look at him, seeing the green spark of regret in his eyes again. I wonder what I look like to him. I turn and walk away, just being Lolo, the shallow, contemporary, pitiful princess. It's hot on the hilltop now. I take off my coat. I must look a right sight, my hair in a mess, my eyes dull, my clothes pink and plain and...
"B-blood..."
"What?" I turn my eyes towards Klonoa. I've forgotten that I had blood all over my dress. Klonoa's eyes widen, and his eyes drop to my wrists, where blood is trickling down. I've dug deep cuts into my forearm with the borrowed razor whilst thinking.
"B-blood!" Klonoa's eyes are wide, horrified, and he stares only at the back of my dress. "Lo- Lolo! No! Why- but - why do you keep doing this to yourself? Lolo! Why? Why?"
I listen to his whimpering, the soft scared cries as he moves towards me. He touches the dress, flinching at the crusted touch, and looks at my wrist. He says nothing, but runs over to the stream, wetting a hankerchief and wiping the blood away frantically. He hasn't noticed the forearm cuts, because the dress sleeves hide them. It feels nice to have the soothing coolness touch my skin. I don't want it to stop, but I have to say something anyway.
"It's not mine."
"What?"
"The blood on the dress." I turn my morbid eyes towards him. "It's not mine." I repeat flatly.
The blood was spilled from a fragment of a memory. I'll never see him again. It must be the shock ebbing away from me. I'm just realizing that now. Now, of all times. I must be slower than I thought I was, but no matter. I'll never see his tired, thin body or smell his musky scent or stay cradled within his arms listening to that forsaken Requiem again. His deep, melancholy, gentle voice will no longer tell me stories of his adventures or his past love. And he'll never walk on his toes again, and he'll never pretend to stand tall like that again, pretending to reach for something and pretending he can't grasp it... Because he never could. He'll never talk about Leorina again, because she never loved him, and it only hurt him more inside, and he won't pretend to be alright anymore. He'll never cut in front of me again, making me feel sick. But I feel sick now. I think of the house. Dark, smell of incense all around me, cigarettes he never smoked overflowing the ashtray. I want to stop that image. I want to never think of it again. Of the guns he seldom used. Of the perfume he never used, the cigarettes he never smoked, the fresh air outside he never inhaled, and the moonlight that kept him going when he was lonely. The sight of his gaunt, sad face looking at me. His blue, dull, dead eyes staring into space. The razor bent out of shape will still be there, dark blood crusted on the blade. The mug sitting on the wooden coffee table probably still has two unused straws in it...
"Lolo." Klonoa is looking at me.
"...Where were you last night?"
I laugh. Like hell I'll ever tell him.
"You were there again... weren't you?"
"It doesn't matter anymore." I reply. "Guntz died last night."
He gasps. Tears well up in his eyes, not one of sorrow but one of shock. Or is it truly out of sorrow? I don't know. I'm too dizzy to answer. I fall back on the grass, laughing weakly still, and my vision is too blurred for me. The stars above me close down upon me, making me feel like I'm enclosed in the blanket of stars, like I'd imagined.
Take care of Popka, Tat...
"Lolo! Lolo! Stay awake!" Klonoa calls me frantically. He noticed the cuts. "Please, you can't die!"
"Listen, Klonoa." I slur. "The police... will probably be here soon. Even if they don't arrive, tell them..."
"What, Lolo?" He's staring at me, eager for me to continue.
"That I was the priestess in charge... of number 43, and the hunter found dead in Jugkettle... was number 43." My vision is fading. I close my eyes, faintly hearing Klonoa's loud cries for me to come back, and the villagers rushing up to the hill, shouting.
I'm coming, Guntz. And this time...
It'll be just you and me, all right?
What a pathetic, sad little animal you are, love.
It's all going to be perfect.
I know.
What a sad little animal you are.
'Pie Jesu' is not actually a movement in the Mozart Requiem. But it's an optional mass movement, and I thought it fit with the chapter...
This story really did mean a lot to me. Every day passes by in stress and every day I get a little more morbid than it is healthy. This was an exploration piece, using the extremities of the main characters and greatly exaggerating their certain faults to develop into sucidal tendencies.
Did you like it? Reviews make my life really happy. Oh yes.
