An Eldian's Journal
Chapter 11 - More Chaos
I sat in an alley.
There was no complexity to it. I simply sat.
The ridiculousness of the chase before turned into sewage and disappeared into the drain. All that was left were the unfiltered surroundings.
I sat away from the devils that grazed in the street near me as cattle. They reeked of many things: coal, shame, pain, anger, and its synonyms and occasional antonyms. Their actions were single syllables as well for they lacked complexity.
The complexity of my being grew more and more as the questions in my mind grew with an unruly demeanor. These thoughts/questions…they tasted so unabashedly bitter. It was as if they didn't care that they were disturbing the already disturbed equilibrium of my morning. There was an ingredient of self-berating mixed in as well (as there typically is).
It was then that the imaginary Ymir entered my vision. She simply sat down next to me without even dropping a sassy comment. Her mouth stayed closed as she listened to me along with the audience of broken dust on the pavement.
"I didn't know it was going to be this much trouble…just to find a damn journalist. I thought…just maybe…that he could help me find Reiner."
I received a blank response. The chorus of dust and scum whistled and sizzled around me. "…"
"I just wanted to ask Reiner a few things. Is that so bad?"
I got up and walked over to a trash can nearby. The stench grew layers as I approached with each step. When I stood in front of it, a new stray dog peered out from behind it as if I was barging into its home. It unsheathed its teeth to me; its breakfast coated the teeth as an extra layer of intimidation.
Its growls collaborated with the persistent moans of my partially deprived stomach. I kicked the trash can. With it, I felt the unsavory twinge rise through my ankle and to my right calf.
A thought: 'Why didn't I just ask Falco? He's an honorary marleyan, maybe he knows where I can find Reiner.'
I kicked the can a little harder with an extra icing of velocity. My leg wore an extra icing made of pain as a result.
Another thought: 'What am I saying? Reiner isn't some random person I can just talk to on the street.'
The third time I kicked the can, the swing of my leg led to an agonizing throb in my toes. The can itself fell over and its contents bathed the already filth-ridden dog in more filth. The dog let out a whimper; probably because it got free rotten food.
In shock, I fell backward and landed on my back. The contents of the can had spilled, so did the contents of eyes once more.
My hand morphed into a fist and I slammed it onto the pavement.
"All I want to know is… who are those islanders? Why do people here beat each other when someone doesn't hate the islanders? Why do people fight when they don't hate the same things?..."
I looked back at the useless Ymir. "Why do I even ask you things? It's not like you know anything."
"Yea… I'm dumb. I'm just you after all…but in a feminine package."
"I wish you were the actual Ymir."
"…"
I think that was the first time that I truly silenced her.
I took a deep breath, taking in section F's air but when I was about to return it, I heard:
"Heinrich!"
My name was thrown out from somewhere. It was hurled from some location I couldn't exactly pinpoint. Yet, it still managed to crawl over to me despite the traffic of smoke and slowly dissipating fog.
It didn't stay for long for it left my brain under my tension.
I got off the ground while dropping a sigh with a light texture of swear words as I raised myself. I also managed to catch a glimpse of the useless goddess walking away. She always liked coming and going whenever she pleased.
I then looked at the bike I had stolen. I almost imagined the U-shaped handlebars morphing into a frown thinking about the short adventure we had together.
Next to it, my last bit of hope for a decent day laid as a crutch on the sidewalk.
It wasn't an actual crutch but rather a slice of hope in the form of words oozing of dried ink and propaganda: a few newspapers. If there was anything fruitful coming out of that morning, I was hoping to go to the Liberio Daily building and get at least a proper wage.
That last crutch snapped in two when I realized that I left most of my unsold newspapers in some other alley.
"Shiiittttt"
***LOCATION UPDATE***
Street 1006: The street I ran down with Falco after I stole some pastries in Chapter 9
An alley: I walked left into an alley where I met the con-woman trying to sell her shitty items
1005: The street I turned left into and had a bunch of lunatics chasing after me
Another alley: I walked right into an alley where I kicked a trash can.
1004: The street that intersects with the "Another alley"
I then walked out of the "Another alley" and into street 1004.
Akin to arteries in the heart, street 1004 is a long ventricle with room for the devil-blooded beings to roam/flow in and out. The chittering and chattering are the cholesterol.
As for how I felt at that moment, I was back to square one in terms of emotions. The only thing that could make me feel better was if I just happened to walk into the journalist.
A reminder. This is An Eldian's Journal. Expect the unexpected.
After walking out of the alley, I looked to a sidewalk and a building on my right. There was a man there, a man with a camera on his back.
It was the journalist hiding in broad daylight behind a newspaper.
The inefficient engine that was my lungs began combusting again. I rushed back into the ally, but I peered around the corner to get a better look.
A thought let itself in: 'I went through all that trouble riding away from a bunch of lunatics. And I couldn't find him. But when I kick a trash can and cry for a bit, I see him around the corner?!'
(A moral: looks like crying can help you get what you want.)
A cigarette was glued to the left side of his lips and his nose was a hook sharp enough to fish with. He wore a brown color vest with buttons that weren't interested in closing and a grey ivy hat. It was standard Eldian worker fashion.
The newspaper he was holding up also happened to be upside down. Was he even reading it?
His nose wrinkled a bit.
It began with a slight wrinkle, then increased in frequency into a twitch. One twitch. Two twitches. One would think he was about to sneeze. Rather, his pinball eyes turned towards me and he sneezed out a few sentences.
"It's you? Get away from me kid! I don't need that mob of idiots following me!"
He rolled up his newspaper and tried shuffling away.
"Wait! Please!—" I noticed the vintage camera strapped to his back as a hostage. "—T-that camera must be heavy, right? I can carry it for you!"
He stopped shuffling and spent a few awkward seconds gluing his eyes on me. Cogs must have been turning in his head. Smoke from his mouth could have been the combustion from all the complex thinking he was doing. To be honest, no one really knows what a journalist thinks until they tell you.
"Well…it is getting kinda annoying to carry. Plus, I'm looking for someone right now and I'm kinda losing time."
I walked near him, and he handed me the camera with the same copy and paste mechanical stare.
"You're looking for something in return, aren't you?" He said that with a voice soaked with rough dryness.
"Um-" I couldn't figure out if I wanted to say Reiner's name explicitly or not. Also, my cognitive processes apparently weren't quick enough for me to answer.
"No one wants to talk to a journalist unless they need something. Now, spill it!"
"Fine…I'm looking for someone as well."
The non-cigarette bearing part of his mouth opened as if he was about to say something, but someone else's words came out instead.
"Heinrich…I found you!..."
I turned towards the intrusion. "Falco?!"
The golden boy stopped next to me with his palms on his knees. He was breathing as if he misplaced a lung somewhere while running after me.
He also happened to be holding a bundle of unsold newspapers.
"My training... was canceled…and when I…walked the opposite direction on…street 1006. I noticed a bunch… of newspapers in an alley…there was a really angry lady there too…anyway I thought they were yours… so I went looking for you…"
"Falco—"
"Long story...short, I managed…to find you."
I was amazed by the fact that an 8–9-year-old boy had more searching skills than a crowd of grown-ass men and women. Then again, it was not that high of a bar to beat.
"That crowd didn't notice you, right?", I asked.
"A crowd? I don't…. think I saw one."
Me and the journalist sighed in relief.
Falco continued. "My training was canceled…for some reason. I think…I think… something is going to happen—"
The journalist grabbed my arm. "We don't have time for this." I could feel the pressure piling with each second he left it on there. He also kept looking back at Falco with beady eyes. I guess he was surprised that I was acquainted with an Honorary Marleyan.
I took my stack of unsold newspapers from the golden boy. "Thanks, Falco."
Despite the labored breathing, he was able to return a smile that was haphazardly crafted in wholesomeness. I gave him a pat on the head. He was still wearing the hat I had given him.
I said, "I need to go now. See ya."
Me and the journalist walked away but when I looked back at Falco, I noticed something peculiar. He waved a few times but then he stopped rather abruptly for his arm fell short of completing a full motion. His eyes folded together. What did he notice?
When we walked far enough away from Falco. The journalist pointed at a 'rare' and 'mystifying' object on the street.
"There's a trash can over there." He said.
I couldn't decide if I wanted to act surprised for seeing one or not. "Yeah…I can see that."
"Your papers belong in there."
"Wait why?"
"We don't need extra baggage."
"I need to return these!"
"Oh yea? Too bad."
The Journalist ripped the bundle of newspapers out of my hands with his big-knuckled claws. He looked at the trash with a pair of stained eyes. I assumed something was churning in his mind with that look.
He threw my papers in the trash. After that, he pulled some matches from his pocket and lit one.
"When I say run, start running down the street."
"Why?" I replied.
He threw the match in along with the newspapers.
"Run."
I bolted. In my short dash, my legs scorched as if the match lit my legs on fire instead of the trash. In actuality, they must have been sore from the peddling. The tripod of the camera assaulted my back with each step on the sidewalk.
After running down a block I hid behind a truck near a store; a fish truck to be exact.
When I looked back, I could faintly make out slow embers rising from the trash can. The foul smell of trash was amplified with speakers made of fire. As I watched, I saw the journalist walking towards me with next to zero urgency. It was almost as if he had a sign above his head saying, 'I'm a publicly indecent human'.
When he reached me, he covered his hook-shaped nose using his claws. Afterward, came an explanation through a noise filter of a closed nose.
"That trash will become a proper fire soon. When that happens, people should be more focused on that than us. We will be able to walk more freely with less obstacles."
(These are the kinds of shenanigans us Eldians do on weekend mornings)
After a few minutes had passed, a storekeeper noticed us near the truck and asked, "Did you two see that fire?!"
The journalist replied with his eyebrows raised. "Oh no."
The storekeeper ran out and the journalist looked back at me. "Anyway…"
The journalist's bones creaked as he crouched down behind the truck next to me. He proceeded to give me a run-down of who he was searching for. Even during something as important as that, the scent of raw fish gave my depraved stomach some teasing.
"We're looking for a 6 foot 2-inch-tall male with a broad build—"
Ironically, he never mentioned the target's name. He didn't even mention his own name for that matter.
"—he has blonde hair and stern features."
"Don't a lot of people like that though?", I asked.
He cranked out a metallic smirk using the gears controlling his face. He continued: "We are going to stay behind this truck until our target passes by…this is on his way to work."
***A QUESTION FOR YOU***
Who do you think we were following?
During our wait, I asked him an important question.
"Hey…umm"
The journalist interrupted. "Call me Mr. Journalist"
"Ok …Mr. Journalist, why do you want to find this person so much?"
"Journalists don't get any respect around here…You should know that. I can tell you sell newspapers…anyway, if I find this person, I can make a good story."
"How'd you know I sell newspapers?"
"You've been looking disappointed this whole time. Also—" He puffed some cigarette smoke in my face. "You actually give a damn about the papers…I think they're important too—" He gave me shrug. "—Even though I threw them away"
After 10 mins, I tasted a hint of familiarity as I looked out onto the street from my perch behind the fish truck. It tingled my eyes for a moment.
It was the man from Chapter 8.
A man whose upper body was made of newspaper.
He walked on the opposite side of the street but in the same direction I had ran when escaping from the flame engorged trash can. Despite him wearing the same clothes as an average street worker, there was something about the way his head drooped and the way his hat covered his eyes that stuck out to me. He also happened to be reading a newspaper.
The journalist's index finger pointed directly at the man. "That's him."
A light surge ignited the goosebumps on my forearms. A sudden increase in thumping possessed my heart and the raw smell of fish diminished to a tickle for a moment.
'Is this guy an undercover Marleyan?' I thought.
It was time to enact the plan the Journalist came up with while we were waiting.
***THE JOURNALIST'S HIGH IQ PLAN***
"We have to corner him into a different alley a few blocks down."
As we rushed out of our hiding spot as low-key as possible, there was an itch at the back of my neck for I felt confused by the Journalist's methods. Before then, I thought that journalists were supposed to approach people in a professional manner instead of chasing them down like animals. It was another puzzle piece that made up the enigma of 'Mr. Journalist'.
We walked parallel to our target. He was walking on the sidewalk on one side of the street, and we walked on the other.
***OBSTACLE 1***
Get to the other side of the street
the same side as the target
Easier said than done.