Memories besieged the exterior of his consciousness. They flooded the barriers he had long erected, threatening to bring down the facade of lies he had immersed himself in. In the shock of the realization and the sudden onset of pressure from within his own mind, he surrendered, allowing the gates to open and the memories to flood in. Transcending the layers of denial by which he had concealed it, the hidden scenes emerged like a sprout from the ground, blooming into a vision of devastating clarity and precision...

...The blade sang through the air, edge gleaming with a vicious light. But for the first time it was not stopped in midair by Kefka's seemingly impenetrable wards. Locke yelled in triumph as he felt the blade bite deep into the soft flesh of a leathery wing, black as night. Golden ichor spilled from the wound as Kefka roared in pain. Head thrown back in the agony of the blow, he was oblivious to the violent, violet blur streaming towards him. Then he turned his eyes down in shock, scream dying in his mouth as he saw the figure crouching near his torso, clawed limb elbow-deep inside his chest.

Terra withdrew her arm covered in a layer of thick liquid gold. A breath escaped Kefka's mouth and the terrible figure of the god fell to its knees. As he opened streaming eyes, the bright flame of hatred danced in his sockets. The magnificent robes of red, yellow, and green were stained with the red of their blood and the gold of his own. He opened his mouth to speak but only a whisper escaped his painted, cracked lips. "I hate you, and you, and you, and you," he rasped pointing at each of them in turn.

Locke took a step forward, brandishing the sword, gleaming silver stained gold, but Terra put a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly, "Stand down, Locke. It's over."

Kefka snarled at the group as the fire in his eyes began to dim. The dancing flames ceased and with the last of his breath, a silent whisper of wind, he cursed them, "Be damned."

Distracted by the fall of the god, the swivel of the great cannon atop its perch went unnoticed. It's glow however, alerted everyone. "Look out!" Sabin screamed, "The light!"

The mouth of the cannon bubbled with energy and Locke, Terra, and Sabin stood frozen, awaiting their fate; only Celes moved. She stepped in front of the group, shoving Locke unceremoniously to the ground. Her blonde hair swirled around her face, in tune with the incredible energy that was already escaping from the wreckage of its prison of flesh. It was this energy she harnessed as she cast her spell. She held her sword out in front of her like a lightning rod, tracing runes in the air with its glowing blade. The succeeding flash of light blinded everyone in the vicinity of the blast.

As usual, Locke was the first to recover. "Celes!" he screamed, wandering blindly, blinking his eyes to rid them of the oppressive light. As the white faded to gray and some of the color returned to the picture, he let out a moan as he spotted her prone figure. Her rent sword had been flung from her body, and lay in a steaming wreck several meters away. He knelt beside her and lay his head on her chest. Hand shaking violently, he placed two fingers on her neck.

And her heart—oh, her heart—beat so slowly. It pulsed a slow and solemn tune, to the beat of a war time drumline. He felt his own heart, beating the life blood around his body, slow to the the pace of hers. He was mumbling incoherently and tears were streaming from his eyes and falling in puddles on her chest. For one delusional moment (one glorious moment) he thought he saw her chest rise and fall. Then, the pressure stopped; her heart beat no more; she was gone.

The rest was a dim collection of still pictures, blurred around the edges by mourning and probably alcohol: Terra kneeling by the corpse, emptying herself of magic in a vain attempt to raise her friend from a place none had known to return from; Sabin pounding the ground in frustration, leaving bloody streaks across the cracked stone; the three of them fleeing, dragging Celes' lifeless, ugly form as the tower decayed around them.

Finally after all had been emptied, like Pandora's box, only one thing was left untouched. Pristine and crystal clear, in stark contrast with the other blurred and half-remembered visions, it was left immaculate: a marble tomb...

...framed by the light of a setting sun. Locke sensed Terra's hand on his shoulder, but he felt nothing; his whole body was numb. He allowed himself to be led like a sheep back to the tiny boat. But as he placed one foot inside the vessel he froze. Coming to very slowly as if from a daze, he felt feeling return to his body. He leapt from the craft and ran, feet naked to the cold, rocky ground.

It took him a moment for his mind to catch up with his body, and when he came around, he was at the base of a mountain. Placing one foot in front of the other meticulously, he climbed the winding path up the bluff. Then, abruptly, he was there and he could see the stained purple ocean spreading in all directions. Where it met the bruised sky, it was similar in color and it was difficult to tell where one started and the next began. The only marker was the brilliant golden sun, halfway descended below the horizon.

Solemnly, he approached the edge. It was not a dizzying height, but it left him in no uncertain terms of what his fate would be. He wondered how, ages ago, Celes had been able to survive the fall. What were the words she had told him in confidence when the two of them were alone on the airship? When people were feeling down, they'd hike up here and take a leap of faith. Perk 'em right up.

That was what he needed, a leap of faith. He would let nature and whatever gods were left after Kefka's fall decide his fate, but while he told himself he had a coin flip chance, he was already resigned to his doom. And when his body lay broken on the shore below he would be free.

Footsteps sounded on the ridge but it was already too late, he was committed to his course of action. Emerald flashed in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head a minute degree. He allowed a sad smile to cross his face, to let her know he was sorry. And with a flick of his shoulders, and a shuffle of his feet he was gone, lost to nature and chance, spinning like Edgar's coin...

heads, tails, heads, tails

(heads, heads, heads)

I told you it would all make sense now. But just in case it still doesn't, here is a list of things you can do to remedy that.

1. Reread the story and meditate over it for a few hours. If you still don't get it, maybe you're meditating wrong.

2. Go watch the Scrubs episode "My Screw Up" on Netflix. I basically stole the plot from there.

3. If you're really desperate PM me and I'll try to explain it.

Anyway, hopefully (I use that word a lot in these notes) that helped clear things up. And I hate to say it, but if you're still confused now, you're in trouble, cause the next chapter is a doozy.

P.S. I was kidding, please don't PM me.