From the author of
An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine
Phoenix Down.
Part Lamda
Kabbalah
"LSD melts your mind, not in your hand." (Anonymous.)
I slept dreamlessly, inside of Jon's guest room, that I so quickly, so artfully, destroyed under one night's milky moon. I covered up and openings and all ventilations, and drew all over the walls.
Pictures of one winged angels.
Like the ones that were in my apartment complexes' basement.
That morning, Jon banged on the guest room door.
I shot awake.
"Hey, HEY, Jesus, smells like piss in here. Hey, you OK in there!?" He yelled.
"Door's locked! Hey!"
I yelled back, that, uh, yes, I was fine.
I unblocked the door, taking out the socks that I had stuffed under the crack.
"JESUS!" He screamed when he walked in.
I had pissed on the wall that night- I was too afraid to come out of my room. I blocked everything because I was paranoid, and thought Sephiroth was after me. There were pencil scratches, marks, and drawings all over the walls. The mattress was duct taped to the window- to block it and keep it in place.
The vents were also taped up. The closet, too.
"God, what the hell did you DO?!" Jon yelled, looking at my blood shot eyes.
"What the fuck is wrong with you- psycho?" Jon kicked my shit around the floor, and took the tape off the mattress, letting it fall to the floor.
I said, sorry, man, nightmares.
"Nightmares my ass! Clean this shit up! Jesus H. Christ. Freaky. These drawings."
I spent all afternoon, cleaning up the guest room, re-painting the walls, and untaping everything. I don't know why I did that. I don't know what happened to me at night. I was afraid that the hallway would come back- like that gaping hole in my life, and Sephiroth would come through and find me. I don't know, maybe I am crazy.
That night, Jon set up a bed for me. A proper one. I guess he felt sorry for me and was even a little afraid. I was just glad that he didn't kick me out.
He said if I had anymore nightmares that would cause me to piss and draw all over the walls, to wake him up, and not block the door or window. I said, ok.
And I said that I was sorry- and I was- really.
I went through some of my stuff before I went to bed, found my CD player, and a few CD's and old tapes. Eric Clapton. Muddy Waters. Matalica. Thelonias Monk. George Gershwin. What the fuck is Mozart doing in here? ...
Didn't think I brought that.
I felt like listening to the blues.
Eric Clapton, for now.
"From the Cradle." Best album from him yet.
"Got me accused of seeing, but I can't see a thing."
Sing it, brother.
I know how you feel.
"Bad luck is killing me..."
Yeah. I know how you feel, man.
"Well, I just can't stand, no more, of this third degree..."
I sighed, rolled over, closed my eyes, and tried imagining someone else's eyes, besides those gigantic green orbs- that is Sephiroth's.
I tried picturing my ex girlfriend's. She had brown eyes. Big brown eyes. Sort of like the way he described Katrina's. She was sexy, too. She had a little bit of meat on her ass.
Shouldn't talk about her like that, though. She was special to me.
I turned out the light, and thought about her under the crying sound of Eric Clapton's guitar, and sonorous, sad voice.
"Got me accused of taxes, but I ain't got a dime..." He sang. "Bad luck is killing me..."
I was starting to feel better, no longer paranoid that Sephiroth would find me hiding away in my friend's guest room.
This night was going to be the first night of being me again.
Shit, what the fuck was that?!
That- noise- that voice- coming from the closet.
Did Jon have a cat?
No, no, he didn't Jon lived alone. I knew that.
Shit.
Hear that?!
That voice, that noise, a low, low, mumble...
"Bad luck... is killing me."
"Bad luck is killing me....
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
I think the CD is skipping.
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
I rolled out of bed, I forgot about the CD.
It kept playing that line over and over again.
The noise was coming from the closed closet.
I was afraid, and I felt the coldness of sweat under my arm pit as the wind from the open window blew.
I flung open my closet.
The first thing that I noticed, was all my stuff was gone.
The second thing that I noticed, was the backing of the wall had disappeared.
The third thing that I noticed...
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
Was that the darkness that was there, was shifting.
It was the hallway.
The Sephiroth hallway had appeared.
Sephiroth was coming.
The hallway that he comes to me from.
The hallway that must lead to the land of the dead, where angels go to die, or to vanish, and to reappear.
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
Shit. Fuck. Mother. Son of a fucking...
He fucking FOUND me!
I wonder what was in that hallway if I just up and went...
"Hey."
I turned around, and he was sitting on my bed.
"It takes me to you, that hallway." Sephiroth said. He seemed so large, sitting there. The proportion of his self, and my bed, just don't fit. It seemed that my bed was much too small for him. Everything about him is huge. He is much taller than I, and I am near six foot. His shoulders are bulbous, and round, his eyes are wide and like the valleys, his angelic hair is long, and gray like waifs of mist.
I said, oh.
"Wherever you are. Are you trying to run from me?"
I told him flat out that he was ruining my life. That, I didn't deserve this- going mad, because he couldn't be real.
That when I went for a walk, a pair of red eyes in the forest told me not to talk to him anymore. That you were trying to come back again-
Sephiroth stopped me from babbling when he laughed.
"Let me tell you something, boy. I am merely doing nothing to you but telling you my life story. Isn't that what you want? To give you the story of a century!? I'm making your career!" He stood, and raised his head and hands dramatically- theatrically. I said nothing.
"I'll give you a choice- a choice! Go down that hallway. Or don't. If you do, I'll tell you the truth about me- about everything- EVERYTHING. You would know what it is like to be an angel, and how I became one... A one winged angel. Like you see me now. Would that be... NICE? Never grow old, never die... If you don't I swear that I'll never come back."
I told him that he did die. That Cloud killed him. He laughed, and flickered a smile.
"Did I? How do you really know if someone is dead? Sure, they grow cold, their body- the vassal, dies, but how do you know if there is a Lifestream, a spirit, wouldn't I have one as well?"
I didn't know what to say.
I looked down the hallway.
I don't know.
The room seemed to be red, then.
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Now. Make a choice. Go. Or stay. But I promise you everything if you go down... there. I promise."
I asked, wait, wait, what happened- to him- and Katrina...? The story, the tapes? I thought that we were interviewing...?
He smiled again.
"You just want to do your job, then? And not become one with the story that you are covering?"
No, I said. No. That's not my job. My job is to observe. Truly. I understood, then, you see... I couldn't become one with the story, not yet.
I glanced down the hallway again.
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine
Phoenix Down.
Part Lamda
Kabbalah
"LSD melts your mind, not in your hand." (Anonymous.)
I slept dreamlessly, inside of Jon's guest room, that I so quickly, so artfully, destroyed under one night's milky moon. I covered up and openings and all ventilations, and drew all over the walls.
Pictures of one winged angels.
Like the ones that were in my apartment complexes' basement.
That morning, Jon banged on the guest room door.
I shot awake.
"Hey, HEY, Jesus, smells like piss in here. Hey, you OK in there!?" He yelled.
"Door's locked! Hey!"
I yelled back, that, uh, yes, I was fine.
I unblocked the door, taking out the socks that I had stuffed under the crack.
"JESUS!" He screamed when he walked in.
I had pissed on the wall that night- I was too afraid to come out of my room. I blocked everything because I was paranoid, and thought Sephiroth was after me. There were pencil scratches, marks, and drawings all over the walls. The mattress was duct taped to the window- to block it and keep it in place.
The vents were also taped up. The closet, too.
"God, what the hell did you DO?!" Jon yelled, looking at my blood shot eyes.
"What the fuck is wrong with you- psycho?" Jon kicked my shit around the floor, and took the tape off the mattress, letting it fall to the floor.
I said, sorry, man, nightmares.
"Nightmares my ass! Clean this shit up! Jesus H. Christ. Freaky. These drawings."
I spent all afternoon, cleaning up the guest room, re-painting the walls, and untaping everything. I don't know why I did that. I don't know what happened to me at night. I was afraid that the hallway would come back- like that gaping hole in my life, and Sephiroth would come through and find me. I don't know, maybe I am crazy.
That night, Jon set up a bed for me. A proper one. I guess he felt sorry for me and was even a little afraid. I was just glad that he didn't kick me out.
He said if I had anymore nightmares that would cause me to piss and draw all over the walls, to wake him up, and not block the door or window. I said, ok.
And I said that I was sorry- and I was- really.
I went through some of my stuff before I went to bed, found my CD player, and a few CD's and old tapes. Eric Clapton. Muddy Waters. Matalica. Thelonias Monk. George Gershwin. What the fuck is Mozart doing in here? ...
Didn't think I brought that.
I felt like listening to the blues.
Eric Clapton, for now.
"From the Cradle." Best album from him yet.
"Got me accused of seeing, but I can't see a thing."
Sing it, brother.
I know how you feel.
"Bad luck is killing me..."
Yeah. I know how you feel, man.
"Well, I just can't stand, no more, of this third degree..."
I sighed, rolled over, closed my eyes, and tried imagining someone else's eyes, besides those gigantic green orbs- that is Sephiroth's.
I tried picturing my ex girlfriend's. She had brown eyes. Big brown eyes. Sort of like the way he described Katrina's. She was sexy, too. She had a little bit of meat on her ass.
Shouldn't talk about her like that, though. She was special to me.
I turned out the light, and thought about her under the crying sound of Eric Clapton's guitar, and sonorous, sad voice.
"Got me accused of taxes, but I ain't got a dime..." He sang. "Bad luck is killing me..."
I was starting to feel better, no longer paranoid that Sephiroth would find me hiding away in my friend's guest room.
This night was going to be the first night of being me again.
Shit, what the fuck was that?!
That- noise- that voice- coming from the closet.
Did Jon have a cat?
No, no, he didn't Jon lived alone. I knew that.
Shit.
Hear that?!
That voice, that noise, a low, low, mumble...
"Bad luck... is killing me."
"Bad luck is killing me....
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
I think the CD is skipping.
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
I rolled out of bed, I forgot about the CD.
It kept playing that line over and over again.
The noise was coming from the closed closet.
I was afraid, and I felt the coldness of sweat under my arm pit as the wind from the open window blew.
I flung open my closet.
The first thing that I noticed, was all my stuff was gone.
The second thing that I noticed, was the backing of the wall had disappeared.
The third thing that I noticed...
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
Was that the darkness that was there, was shifting.
It was the hallway.
The Sephiroth hallway had appeared.
Sephiroth was coming.
The hallway that he comes to me from.
The hallway that must lead to the land of the dead, where angels go to die, or to vanish, and to reappear.
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
Shit. Fuck. Mother. Son of a fucking...
He fucking FOUND me!
I wonder what was in that hallway if I just up and went...
"Hey."
I turned around, and he was sitting on my bed.
"It takes me to you, that hallway." Sephiroth said. He seemed so large, sitting there. The proportion of his self, and my bed, just don't fit. It seemed that my bed was much too small for him. Everything about him is huge. He is much taller than I, and I am near six foot. His shoulders are bulbous, and round, his eyes are wide and like the valleys, his angelic hair is long, and gray like waifs of mist.
I said, oh.
"Wherever you are. Are you trying to run from me?"
I told him flat out that he was ruining my life. That, I didn't deserve this- going mad, because he couldn't be real.
That when I went for a walk, a pair of red eyes in the forest told me not to talk to him anymore. That you were trying to come back again-
Sephiroth stopped me from babbling when he laughed.
"Let me tell you something, boy. I am merely doing nothing to you but telling you my life story. Isn't that what you want? To give you the story of a century!? I'm making your career!" He stood, and raised his head and hands dramatically- theatrically. I said nothing.
"I'll give you a choice- a choice! Go down that hallway. Or don't. If you do, I'll tell you the truth about me- about everything- EVERYTHING. You would know what it is like to be an angel, and how I became one... A one winged angel. Like you see me now. Would that be... NICE? Never grow old, never die... If you don't I swear that I'll never come back."
I told him that he did die. That Cloud killed him. He laughed, and flickered a smile.
"Did I? How do you really know if someone is dead? Sure, they grow cold, their body- the vassal, dies, but how do you know if there is a Lifestream, a spirit, wouldn't I have one as well?"
I didn't know what to say.
I looked down the hallway.
I don't know.
The room seemed to be red, then.
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Now. Make a choice. Go. Or stay. But I promise you everything if you go down... there. I promise."
I asked, wait, wait, what happened- to him- and Katrina...? The story, the tapes? I thought that we were interviewing...?
He smiled again.
"You just want to do your job, then? And not become one with the story that you are covering?"
No, I said. No. That's not my job. My job is to observe. Truly. I understood, then, you see... I couldn't become one with the story, not yet.
I glanced down the hallway again.
"Killing me."
"Killing me."
"Killing me."