From the author of
An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine
Phoenix Down.
Part Zeta
Hokhmah
"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways."(Buddha)
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
I groaned. Who could that be, anyway?
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
I groan again, and scream groggily about something along the lines of: Who could that be, leave me alone, and get the fuck off my apartment porch.
But the person at the door kept on thumping.
"Get up off your lazy fuckin' ass, I need to talk to you! It's the apartment manager, don't make me get out the master key and break in."
I yawn, and get up off the couch where I passed out, and answer the door. It was the sour smelling bald man. The apartment manager.
"I loaned you the uh- floor plans of the apartment complex, didn't I?"
I said yeah, and I also told him that I gave them back.
"Yeah, I know, I'm not here to gripe about that. It's just uh- well- I was down in the basement yesterday-"
I suddenly felt more awake, maybe he saw that hallway that stretches for miles into blackness. It's not supposed to be there. But Sephiroth-
"Listen, I KNOW you were down there. I'm not ACCUSING you of anything, but- uh, the far wall-"
Yes, yes, that's where the hallway is- I think to myself-
"It's got all these weird scratches and drawings of angels on it, now. It's really fuckin' creepy. I was just wonderin' who did it. I'm not accusing you, really, I don't care, it's just a fuckin' basement wall. But, uh, I'm wonderin' if we had a break in or something. Did you hear anythin' weird while you were down there?"
I didn't want to get into it, so I shook my head.
"See, the other weird thing is, the angel pictures, they all only got one wing. Maybe you should come down and have a look at it. It's like millions of stick figures somebody scratched on the wall. They all look a little different, but, they all got these halos, and like, three arms, or something. More like two arms, and just one wing. Its-it's fucked up man. Freaky. Go take a look at it."
Clearly, any man could tell that the short, fat, lonely, bald, manager was shaken. His normally greasy body was glazed in cold sweat. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind.
I nodded, and said that I would go look at it when I have a minute.
Weird.
I wonder where the hallway went.
He nodded once more to assure himself, and left.
I went in and showered, more like soaked, for a long time, shaved, and changed clothes. I don't think I had done that in days.
It's disturbing.
I haven't even seen them yet, and those drawings are disturbing.
Maybe I should move.
Find a new job, start all over again on a different side of town, or something.
I decided to go downstairs, and have a look at what he was going on about.
Maybe I'm not crazy.
Maybe the hallway disappeared, or someone is playing a cruel joke.
Maybe things are getting better, and everything is over and done with.
Maybe things are getting a little worse...
Fuck.
I go downstairs, and towards the basement.
Suddenly, it is cold.
So fucking cold.
...
I open the basement door, and walk down the small stair wooden steps.
I don't want to turn on the lights; I don't want to look.
I reach for the light cord, and tug it.
The light bulb hesitates, and flickers on, illuminating the basement.
There still are smatterings of old boxes and memories on the floor.
I don't want to turn my head to the left, and look at the wall.
But I do.
There on the far left brick wall where the endless black hallway used to be, are hundreds of thousands of crudely sketched and scratched drawings of angels.
Hundreds of them.
Maybe thousands.
Chaotically on the wall.
They are all different from another; some of them are like stick figures, and some of them are more realistic, and others are very crude. Some of them have halos. Some are very big and didn't really look like an angel, others were small.
All of them have one wing.
I whisper curses quietly to myself as I let my eyes crawl around.
Then, I notice that the drawings are not only on that one wall.
Most of the floor and ceiling were plastered with them.
Some of them looked like they were torn from the magazines in the basement boxes, then strewn around.
They covered the wall near the stairway.
Fuck. Fuck... Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...
What the hell is this?
Damn.
On the far shadowed wall near the steps, was a poorly drawn face that looked like mine.
Next to it was a long silver haired, one winged angel. The angel was holding a mirror, and smiling and looking at me. Behind it was a huge black hallway, or a corridor, or something.
On the drawing beside that was an elaborate image that looked like the angel and the figure that looked like me, becoming one being.
The mirror was dropped and shattered, and the sketch of the black hallway was gone.
Then, on the last picture, was just the angel as a human being. And I was gone.
I need to get the hell out of here.
An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine
Phoenix Down.
Part Zeta
Hokhmah
"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways."(Buddha)
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
I groaned. Who could that be, anyway?
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
I groan again, and scream groggily about something along the lines of: Who could that be, leave me alone, and get the fuck off my apartment porch.
But the person at the door kept on thumping.
"Get up off your lazy fuckin' ass, I need to talk to you! It's the apartment manager, don't make me get out the master key and break in."
I yawn, and get up off the couch where I passed out, and answer the door. It was the sour smelling bald man. The apartment manager.
"I loaned you the uh- floor plans of the apartment complex, didn't I?"
I said yeah, and I also told him that I gave them back.
"Yeah, I know, I'm not here to gripe about that. It's just uh- well- I was down in the basement yesterday-"
I suddenly felt more awake, maybe he saw that hallway that stretches for miles into blackness. It's not supposed to be there. But Sephiroth-
"Listen, I KNOW you were down there. I'm not ACCUSING you of anything, but- uh, the far wall-"
Yes, yes, that's where the hallway is- I think to myself-
"It's got all these weird scratches and drawings of angels on it, now. It's really fuckin' creepy. I was just wonderin' who did it. I'm not accusing you, really, I don't care, it's just a fuckin' basement wall. But, uh, I'm wonderin' if we had a break in or something. Did you hear anythin' weird while you were down there?"
I didn't want to get into it, so I shook my head.
"See, the other weird thing is, the angel pictures, they all only got one wing. Maybe you should come down and have a look at it. It's like millions of stick figures somebody scratched on the wall. They all look a little different, but, they all got these halos, and like, three arms, or something. More like two arms, and just one wing. Its-it's fucked up man. Freaky. Go take a look at it."
Clearly, any man could tell that the short, fat, lonely, bald, manager was shaken. His normally greasy body was glazed in cold sweat. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind.
I nodded, and said that I would go look at it when I have a minute.
Weird.
I wonder where the hallway went.
He nodded once more to assure himself, and left.
I went in and showered, more like soaked, for a long time, shaved, and changed clothes. I don't think I had done that in days.
It's disturbing.
I haven't even seen them yet, and those drawings are disturbing.
Maybe I should move.
Find a new job, start all over again on a different side of town, or something.
I decided to go downstairs, and have a look at what he was going on about.
Maybe I'm not crazy.
Maybe the hallway disappeared, or someone is playing a cruel joke.
Maybe things are getting better, and everything is over and done with.
Maybe things are getting a little worse...
Fuck.
I go downstairs, and towards the basement.
Suddenly, it is cold.
So fucking cold.
...
I open the basement door, and walk down the small stair wooden steps.
I don't want to turn on the lights; I don't want to look.
I reach for the light cord, and tug it.
The light bulb hesitates, and flickers on, illuminating the basement.
There still are smatterings of old boxes and memories on the floor.
I don't want to turn my head to the left, and look at the wall.
But I do.
There on the far left brick wall where the endless black hallway used to be, are hundreds of thousands of crudely sketched and scratched drawings of angels.
Hundreds of them.
Maybe thousands.
Chaotically on the wall.
They are all different from another; some of them are like stick figures, and some of them are more realistic, and others are very crude. Some of them have halos. Some are very big and didn't really look like an angel, others were small.
All of them have one wing.
I whisper curses quietly to myself as I let my eyes crawl around.
Then, I notice that the drawings are not only on that one wall.
Most of the floor and ceiling were plastered with them.
Some of them looked like they were torn from the magazines in the basement boxes, then strewn around.
They covered the wall near the stairway.
Fuck. Fuck... Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...
What the hell is this?
Damn.
On the far shadowed wall near the steps, was a poorly drawn face that looked like mine.
Next to it was a long silver haired, one winged angel. The angel was holding a mirror, and smiling and looking at me. Behind it was a huge black hallway, or a corridor, or something.
On the drawing beside that was an elaborate image that looked like the angel and the figure that looked like me, becoming one being.
The mirror was dropped and shattered, and the sketch of the black hallway was gone.
Then, on the last picture, was just the angel as a human being. And I was gone.
I need to get the hell out of here.