An Eldian's Journal
Part 3: Wartime Shenanigans
featuring in any order:
An owl – A flirty bomb – hypotheticals – lackluster riddles – words – three course meals
And more
Another Damn Prologue
Since we got the groove of the story going, I thought I should just take a moment to write directly to you, my reader(s). You are the one(s) reading my legacy after all.
I, almost 19-yr old Heinrich Steiner, would like to have a few words with you.
Let's just have a talk.
I just wanted to reflect on what I have written so far. I read over the previous chapters and I have some thoughts that I want to scribble down. It's amusing really. I'm finally using this journal as an actual journal rather than some janky novel.
Here we go.
Prologue & PART 1 (Prologue - Chapter 3: A Wallkeeper - A home concert)
As you all might have noticed, these were the most lighthearted chapters out of what you've seen so far. Especially chapter 1. I noticed how much joyousness I injected into that chapter with 12-yr old me 'stealing' Lina's bra and all that. I have to say, when writing that I kept having to pick my pen off the paper every couple words since I cringed so hard.
Ah the good old days when I lived a life that was distant from the reality of the internment zones. I will remember those for who knows how much longer I'm going to survive.
I guess what people say is correct, humor is a coping mechanism.
Anyway, that first part was simply a collection of stories that I wanted to tell.
Then came almost 15-yr old me.
PART 2 (Another Prologue - Chapter 12: A Journalist's Tightrope)
"Another Prologue" marked the true beginning of what I wanted to tell with this story.
As you all probably noticed, there was a tone shift. I guessed it really matched how my view of the world started to get darker and murkier.
But what I find interesting is, unlike a 3rd person narrator that knows pretty much all the details, I don't know what goes in everyone's heads. I can only tell you what I noticed and what I saw in those events.
Thus, there is so much ambiguity.
With the journalist and the cabbage man for example, I never knew what was going on in their heads during their malevolent acts nor their reasons why.
(I never knew that the journalist hid a gun in the camera. I only found out after I shot Reiner.)
With Reiner, I didn't know what was going on in his head. I didn't understand why he didn't heal but when Falco arrived, he fixed his wound.
These ambiguities churned questions that you will see younger me try to answer in the coming chapters.
What to expect for PART 3
I decided that I'm going to give this part 3 a title. Creativity is an evolving thing and my brain evolved into somehow deciding that giving titles to the sections is a good idea.
You're going to get reintroductions to a few people that were sidelined in the past chapters. Including a 15-yr old Viktor Dassler. A very old street-dweller. And more people you probably don't give a shit about but since you've come this far, might as well keep reading.
***PART 3'S TITLE***
Wartime Shenanigans
You will understand the meaning of this title soon enough.
You may have noticed already, but I am not your average writer. Mainly because I am not a writer. I am simply a man with a life story to tell and I know my language well enough to write in it.
Each time I write though, it's like I'm playing with words. It's an intriguing approach to storytelling. (At least, I'd like to think so). It's akin to building a house with playing cards. Each time you do it you hope that you get better at it.
Every word I've painted with this pen ink, I feel like the devils in my life are walking through them. I haven't painted them fully for you (even myself for that matter) but I can taste their quirks and whistles. The devils are still here.
(I've even managed to capture the useless Ymir in all her uselessness.)
I have been a camera for you all to experience the stories that I've lived through. I've been a blank slate for you to see my friends/my enemies through.
But don't forget,
I'm still a character in my own story.
I too am a devil with quirks and complexities.
I hope you bear with me.
Bear with my amateur writing skills.
Chuckle at my delicious humor.
Now,
before I drop you back into the life of almost 15 yr old me I must tell you a few more things.
Apparently, there are three Cs to crafting a story:
*The Clock
*The Contract
*The Crucible
Don't ask me how I learned all these (you won't be able to ask me anyway) but let's just say I have a lot of time on my hands nowadays.
These are supposedly the requirements to telling an effective and riveting story.
I say fuck all that.
I told you I'm not a true writer and I'm not going to start being a proper one now.
I'm going to tell you the ending right here.
"Right here? Right now? We're doing this?!", you're probably asking.
Yes, right here and right now.
To me, mystery isn't important. It's quite overrated really. This is called a 'story' after all. The focus is on the 'story' (or journey) rather than the ending.
But also, I'm not sure if I'll live to be able to get to the end of what I want to write. So, I'm just going to have to mention it to you now.
***A TRUTH***
Viktor Dassler didn't deserve to die the way he did.
Or did he?
Many months after I met the two-faced warrior (Reiner), the square jawed fighter (Viktor) wearing ¾ of his limbs laid on the ground with 0/1 of his life. The ¼ of his limbs not attached to his body were being held by a different devil.
He finally lent me a hand.
You may have forgotten him ever since his previous performance in this journal.
I can assure you that I haven't.
Anyway, I just handed you the fate of an individual that inhabited my life. I want you to play a game with it: Place that fate in the back of your head. (Give it a comfy space back there. He was my friend after all). Try to connect the dots as I fill in the gap between chapter 12 and that ending.
You're going to have to play this game for quite a while. We're only around 30% of the way done. Maybe even less.
Viktor Dassler,
my fellow devil in arms,
may we meet again.