A/N: this first chapter was rewritten. Hope you like. This is Levi's Pov. Enjoy
The light in the room is so dim, I can barely tell the words apart. Yet the sounds of my typewriter fit perfectly with the sounds of the waves hitting the sand, as if it's a reassuring tune that I'm doing the right thing by telling you my story. So I follow the signs blind as a bat and go on. I go on, laying down words even though my back hurts and my shoulders are stiff, because that is the way of the writer.
The great novelists of our time did not write for fame, money or to please the masses. They did not even write because they had something smart to say. They have written their great masterpieces solely because, for people like us, life has no meaning otherwise.
It feels to me as if, you are facing thousands of roads which could be your path in life. And they are all blocked, except for one. One that is full of traps, holes, and misery, but it's the only one available, so you make do.
And there is no other way but forward.
Surely, I am neither Dickens nor Hemingway, but the urge to walk my path is still maneuvering my fingers against the rusty keyboard. So I forget my pain yet again.
This story is no doubt, twisted and complicated, but no worry, I, Levi Ackerman, the most apathetic writer-to-be this System has ever seen, is here to make it even more so:
Paradise Island. An underestimated country, which, in order to be put in its place, is controlled by the party known as "The Titans". Their regime is overwhelming, they rule this nation with an iron fist, they have established the picture-perfect totalitarism, Problems bigger than love such as heat, food, money are in the minds of the inhabitants, and that is because the titans know only to steal, to corrupt, never to teach, never to know. It's worse than Orwell's 1984, which is banned, anyway. Here, everybody is saying "I want to live better", "I want to live healthier", "I want to live like a star".
No one is saying I want to live,
I want to stand and face danger head on,
I want to fight and fly and spit out my color dreams to this grey world. But as they say, you don't need the schools from the West and the money from the East to learn to live. No excuses this time. And no regrets. Even if I'm the only one against this world, I'd rather break my bones against your shitty rules. And so I thought, until…
Yeah yeah, alright, I know you have heard this type of setting before: the Nazism of Germany, the Stalinism of Russia, the Dictatorship in Spain, you name it. However, you have to understand, this is the situation I find myself in. Not the most fortunate one, is it?
Sure, some people are rebelling against our opressors, there is even a Resistance undercover group known as Survey Corps, but the only thing they beat the Titans at is the number of casualties.
So…
Once you've negated everything and done away completely with all forms of existence, once nothing can survive in the path of your negativity, who can you turn to, laughing or crying, if not your own self? Once you have witnessed the fall of the entire world, there is nothing left but for you to fall too. The infinite character of irony cancels all of life's contents, however…
You're not listening, aren't you?
You just skipped over that paragraph like a filthy bastard because you do not give a fuck about what I'm saying, do you?
It's alright, I know you did, there's no need to hide. In fact, I don't mind how utterly predictable you are. I am perfectly aware of your desires and I know precisely what you want to hear.
You don't actually want to read my monologues about my life's philosophy, that's not what you are here for.
You're here to read the love story. You want me to lay down in front of your eyes the romance of the century.
You want me to woo you with my words.
You want an omniscient narrator who will expose the events clearly, along with some polished or overused impressions about the meaning of true love here and there, but not so much that it disturbs the steady flow of verbs and actions.
You can't wait for our confessions, sloppy kisses and dirty-talking, as long as they fit your fantasies.
And you all will devour my every words, so long as I depict things your way, in perfect order, sterile and logical.
I'm so sorry not sorry to disappoint you.
Why is that you want so badly to defile the very notion of passion? The story I have to tell you is so devoid of certainty and balance…Sometimes I ask myself if I imagined the whole thing out of a terror for order.
Isn't love after all a rapture of chaos?
And isn't chaos about your true self? About rejecting all that you have learned?
You come to me empty, bored out of your mind, famished for something you can't even explain.
Luckly for you, my prodigal sons and daughters, I am here to elaborate.
Your hearts are so dull because you have listened all your life to some men and women whose sheer existence has been a long processions of betrayals, and now they preach to you survival techniques so that you only get the good part out of this relationship-ordeal.
What the hell? Imagine staying in a relationship only for the nice, good parts, and leaving as soon as there are troubles. That's called abuse on both parts, brats.
Sorry, as I was saying…
Sure, they do not engulf in the warmth of their partner, but they are dressed well and seem happy. So you are all ears to their advice and unsolicited opinions:
Spend some time away from your partner, you do not belong to them.
Settle boundaries. They are healthy.
Learn to be happy without them.
Focus everything on your career, because it will never get tired of you.
I have grown to hate those wise men because they are lazy, cowardly, and prudent. To their equanimity, which makes them indifferent to both pleasure and pain, I prefer devouring passions. Your sages know neither the tragedy of passion, nor the fear of death, nor risk and enthusiasm, nor barbaric, grotesque, or sublime heroism.
They talk in proverbs and give advice. They do not live, feel, desire, wait for anything. They level down all the incongruities of life and then suffer the consequences.
So much more complex is the man who suffers from limitless anxiety. The wise man's life is empty and sterile, for it is free from contradiction and despair. An existence full of irreconcilable contradictions is so much richer and creative. The wise man's resignation springs from inner void, not inner fire.
I would rather die of fire than of void.
I would rather let her kill me instead of our love.
Have I lost everything? Yes.
Do I regret it? No.
If I had a second chance, knowing that our story has a bad ending, would I still chose to love her? Certainly.
See the difference?
Let me tell you something. Love, the real kind that I had, that you see in the movies and hear about in legends, is not about a healthy distance.
It's about a complete submersion into your partner and likewise. It's about a profound sense of belonging.
You do not tolerate each other only as long as both of you are pleasing and fully charged. Can you imagine the conversations your modern standards imply? "Honey, I will encounter an existential crisis in two days time and I require your support and embraces. Are you available during that time frame?"
"Oh, sorry dear, but I have some projects that need urgent solving. You must turn to your best friend for support. But I am free on Friday at 4 PM if you want to reschedule your dread. Contact me ASAP."
Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? That is so fucked up…No.
No, that's not what it's about.
You listen to them even when you're tired, they fight for you even if they can't win , you change a little so that you fit better against each other.
The true love that you crave is not about building up boundaries.
True love is about destroying them.
And you learn that the merging of the souls is done with great suffering, and there is a price to pay: vulnerability, pain and a certain bitter submission.
But without sacrifice, all is but a lukewarm water to wash away the tragedy of loneliness.
Are you still following? Good, because I have decided to spoil you for once.
I'll tell you all about our first interaction in a nice, respectable order. No flashbacks, no bits to confuse you, and I'll try to lay back on the contemplations.
Why? Oh, it's because you only adore me as long as I please you.
Chapter 1
Once upon a time, ten years ago in a very, very far away place, away from the greatest threat known to mankind: the mundane, your not-so charming antihero was sitting drunk on the sand with the most annoying and serious man on Earth. The sea was acting like a frigid bitch, the wind was howling like a beast and I was constantly one step away from hypothermia. Because back then, I had the guts, or rather, the hope, to be like that:
To like that place even when it turned against me.
To wait for the grand reopening of its arms.
To have an endless patience, like Tantalus.
And, now that I'm walking slowly to my grave and I call my bitterness maturity, I can't believe I put all my faith in a place because it had once urged me to write some silly, beatnik-wannabe poetry.
"I'm only 18,
I love, I'm broke and crazy
No one stands in my way,
I am sure my one-way road
Will lead me somewhere…"
I muttered as I looked far away in the waves for the words to fit the rhyme. Poetry was not my forte, I was more of a prose guy.
My stomach was growling even louder than the sea, but I wanted so much to be like one of those poets that had written masterpieces on an empty stomach and a full mind.
Well, a balanced life was never an option for people like us. The words would've got on the paper soon enough if only I weren't interrupted…
"Cut the crap out, you sappy idealist, you'll never make it as a writer, heh." Sigh. There went the whole mood. Nowadays, you couldn't even feel alive without someone complaining that you were not sitting in your spot, minding your own business. I put the notebook beside me and dropped against the cold sand, lit a Marlboro in my mouth, took a long drag and felt the heat of this place radiating against my back, even though it was night and chilly, mid-September and everybody left. Everybody except him and I. And her. And those amazing stars.
"How about you stop talking like those boys who pretend to read Tolstoy, Farlan?" I spat back overwhelmed with malice and took in the scenery before my eyes: a full moon, clouds, a pitch-black sky decorated with thousands of stars.
I remembered the voice of some poorly-paid scientist saying how much greater and more infinite than us the whole cosmos-crap is. Years-light. The Milky Way, ten thousand times bigger than our planet. Every time I asked someone smart about the Universe, all I got were numbers, reactions, compositions, physics, things like that.
What a big pile of rational bullshit. In truth, I knew the Universe was just another actor, just another poser like us, who enjoyed pretending to be big, when in reality it was anything but.
I knew it, because in that moment, as the leather bit into my skin, my fingers were frozen and I felt Farlan's warm but scolding gaze down at me, all the stars, colorful gases and infinite black holes could fit in my soul. They were growing inside, running in my guts, killing me softly, clashing against the walls of my heart.
I felt just like a frail spirit with a hurricane inside that no one would understand anyway.
"What are we gonna do about the army, Levi?" I was, however, completely sure that this pragmatism of his would kill me before my inner burning did, though.
"I'm not going." And my short but sure answer made everything freeze in silence for a damn second.
"What do you mean? Are you crazy?" Farlan yelled with concern.
I turned to one side, and there he was. 3 inches away from me, but whole worlds between our eyes. I liked way too much doing that, defying my best friend, fixing his gaze, trying to get him to surrender that way or another. He used to say that I should fix those pretentious things I wrote instead of spoiling myself with him.
However, the reason I was so out of place with every normal behavior known to this island, was much, much deeper than a need for validation. I did it because I knew.
I knew that I couldn't be vulgar, I couldn't be gross or out of place, as they said. Because back then, I had the day of tomorrow by my side, I was however old I wanted, I could be whatever I pleased.
As for now, I am stuck with a version of myself that I like less and less every day.
"I'm not like you, Farlan. I'm want to be free and I'm not gonna bow."
"The head that is bowed, the sword doesn't cut…"
"But with shame it will bend the chain on its back…" I spat back and took another drag from my cigarette.
"Can you please not act for once like you're the holder of the world's essence?
You're so full of yourself. I've been with you since day one and you still act like everything is a dick measuring contest, except with smart words instead of weapons…why?
Because you have read some books, play guitar and think you're gonna throw the government over? Please, just make sure the Military Police doesn't throw you in a cell and tear you apart." He finished with distaste.
You see? Like I said, no one, however close he may be, was going to understand your inner tornado. They were always going to come up with stupid explanations why you were so fucked up: mommy issues, daddy issues, trauma, bad childhood, Pavlov's dog complex, Don Quijote complex and other things to make themselves feel good about the void in their souls or minds. It was really not their fault.
Not that I was really talking about Farlan. He was such an anchor every time my head was so far in the clouds. He was a good comrade, a great friend, sometimes a nice lover and most of the time simply the bitter medicine I needed.
"You're not free Levi, not at all" and he hoped his words would not haunt me.
In the distance, I heard the sweet voice of my favorite disciple (and the only one, really) inviting us to drink a beer and sing till our throats hurt. She was sweet like a caramel apple and she sure looked like one. Isabel was one of the reasons I did not throw the world on fire.
"Well, my children will be free" I thought of this comeback long before the conversation had even started. "We lost. We were happy that we discovered Pepsi and let the Titans take over. What are they gonna do?"
"Don't you get tired of always chewing on your own smart shit?" I raised an eyebrow, but I could tell by the way he was smiling and running his fingers through his hair, that a part of his own hurricane was agreeing with mine. I started to cough, and I loved it, because somehow it meant that my flesh cage could not keep up with my spirit. I was so much more than this half-decent meat prison I threw left and right, drowning it in alcohol, nicotine and howls with lyrics.
"Can you please stop smoking those cigarettes? If only you didn't have a stupid reason for it…is it about that book you promise to publish someday? That the horse from Marlboro is going to wait you on your street…you're starting to run out of muses."
"Pfff, as if. Stick to your paintings , sweetie. It's a symbol."
"It's a banned American commercial that we sometimes catch when we steal the TV signal…no big deal. I saw it too. Pretty, liberating, but that's about it"
"Well, eyes can't get in the depth of things."
"haha, funny. Then mind explaining it to me?"
"Well…" I got up and close my eyes. "You simply need a different organ to feel it."
"Do you say that to every person that doesn't understand your endless struggling to search a meaning?" he winked at me knowing that I disliked his teasing.
"Do I smell a hint of me in your thoughts?" I questioned him in delight.
"Please bite your tongue. You act like you invented hot water or something..." I laughed more than I'm supposed to. Life had a nice taste back then and it sure felt better to act like a pretentious writer than a copycat painter.
"Levi…" he started when I got up from the sand and began walking towards the camp where Isabell was waiting us . "Please, don't turn into one of those strict, dull adults whose only joy is to mock others, the world will probably end in that moment" and even if he had slapped me he could not have hit me better.
I stopped in my tracks and I faced him like you face your demons: no smart way out, no place to run. Simplicity in things like that were sometimes the key.
"These are things of the surface. Maybe they'll change me too, the Titans, or rather, try to. But then again, this is just like molding some metal to keep what's inside. The Tin-man with the Andromeda galaxy inside."
"that's it, then. From now I'm calling you Levi the Tin-man" Farlan said.
"This works the other way too…If I see your art style on some Titan-manifesto flyers, I will make sure to kill you personally" I replied as we took the same path.
Farlan kept walking straight while I did every effort to linger a little bit more. Were they going to take this from us too? This beach I ran on, the footprints I left, the sand in my hair? This really special place was the closest thing to the sky I had felt, so naturally I had this bitter feeling that one day I would be able to smell its end. I started to imagine what it would be like to be burried 6 feet under the sand as collateral victim to the destruction of The Zone. I was going to be the next Icarus, that was for sure.
Hoards and hoards of others were far away, maybe in Shingashina, maybe in Trost or maybe simply lost in the crowds. Because here it's the end of the world, made especially for me and Farlan and Isabel and…
The moon shone, not obstructed by clouds, and for the first time I noticed we were not alone on the beach. A man clearly way too drunk for his own good gazed at the sea in silence, with shame and betrayal. He was sitting in a nasty looking cart that had seen better days.
A young woman was reading next to him, engrossed in some novel, not even lifting her eyes for a second. She was dressed in old fashioned clothes, her hair was a mess, everything looked both odd and fitting on her.
She looked like a doll that had started a rebellion when it was still not in fashion to do so, and then had to face some punishment she had obviously enjoyed. What a view. She had braided seashells in her hair and she was reading Milan Kundera in French. The unbearable lightness of being. Black market stuff. Not allowed anywhere but here . I felt that with every step my feet were getting heavier and heavier and they were opposing to carry me further. She was holding a cigarette between her lips. Marlboro.
"Farlan, hey" I pointed at the drunk man " I am quite certain that Hemingway wrote The Old Man and the Sea with this guy on his mind"
"Yeah, sure, except if you didn't have your head up your ass 24/7 you would know who that is" Farlan said with a frown.
"Enlighten me then, my dearest"
"That, Levi, is the former leader of the guides that take us to this place…he is Doth Pixis, and I think he retired around the time we have started to come here."
"That drunkard is the late leader of the Garrisons?! That can't be, you have to be kidding me... " I couldn't hide the shock from my eyes. I simply refused to imagine that human wreck protecting and guiding those who were against the regime for God knows how long.
"Well, he clearly has seen better days…" Farlan said with content in his voice.
"And the girl sitting next to him?" I tested the waters.
"No idea, really, but I always see her whenever we come here. I don't think she leaves or something, it's really weird. Maybe she is the spirit of this place." He joked wih a small chuckle.
"I don't know, surely suits her." I said with a bored expression and fixed my eyes on her figure. I stopped moving completely as Farlan went on further from me. I was so cold in my leather jacket and I couldn't wait for some nice hot tea with brandy.
Life couldn't wait either. The Universe did not like me to wait. Fate did not like me to wait. My soul did not like me to wait. My lungs did not like to wait. So they filled on their own accord, and before I knew it, my mouth moved and…
"HeY LADY! Call me when you start reading real literature" And her response? This strange creature turned her head to look into my eyes and stuck her tongue out at me. I got nothing but her silence and mockery. How dare she…
I don't know to this day what had gotten into me back then. I was not exactly the most benevolent being, but I also was not some tasteless, ludicrous asshole either.
That did not felt right. It felt awkward and annoying. What the hell was I thinking? I didn't even believe in spirits, love at first sight or shit like that.
The silence was so heavy, it was swallowing my pride, her thick hair strands, the book, until there was nothing left but her eyes. I saw stars in her eyelashes. Her pupils looked at me and mocked me. I liked how they were impertinent and they dared me to come back next summer.
And even with all the rest of the cynical explanation that we were nothing but atoms; it did not mean it was not real, alive and elevating. It would be frightening to believe that in this cosmos full of laws and harmony, only our lives happened at random, only our destinies had no meaning.
"Levi, I'm going to leave you here forever if you don't come right now" Farlan yelled in the distance.
Yes please. Leave me here, Let me be. Let me be a fragile, let me be vulnerable, let me take if not given, let me hold my dreams tight. Let me…
Look at her.
I broke the spell after what seemed like an eternity and went on my way back to camp. I braced myself for Farlan and Isabell's jokes and mockery, although I knew nothing in this world or the other could prepare me for that. Apparently, it was simply forbidden in their agenda for their obnoxious philosopher to act with such a lack of style.
Her eyes were still burning in the back of my mind. All this fiasco was so out of place that…
I can't, to this day, imagine a better start of my love story with her.