From the author of
"An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine"
Phoenix Down.
Phantom Wall Devils: A tale of Sephiroth
Part: Phi
Chet
"Only
There is shadow under this red rock
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust."
(I. The Burial of the Dead, The Waste Land, by T.S. Eliot)
It's funny how cold rain can be.
No, it's not funny, really.
Not funny at all, actually.
But.
Sad.
It's very sad.
Sigh.
Sad.
A guy can get mighty sad, looking at the cold, cold rain outside.
The last time that I've been to a funeral, it was for my sister. It was... well, I told you about it. It was many years ago. The house fire.
Actually, it wasn't THAT long ago, it just seems like it. I hate thinking about it.
Death is... a fucking hilarious thing. There is no other way you can deal with it unless you forget- or laugh. At least, that's the conclusion that I came to.
God. When Sephiroth told me about his girlfriend, and what happened to her, I wish that you could have seen his face.
Tape recorders can't show you how someone looks.
Maybe if you listen, you can hear it in his voice.
I don't think that words would do justice to the look in his eyes. His eyes were netted in something darker than despair. Something colder than hell. Something sadder than depression. Something more dead than a graveyard.
Maybe that was what did it for him. Maybe when his girlfriend died in his arms, it was the straw that broke the bail. I think that was the start of it, when he began to go off the deep end. I think he wanted to take it out on Hojo and the rest of Shin-Ra. Can't blame the guy, really. But, it's not an excuse, either. I wonder if there is an excuse for someone as pathetic as me.
In my life, I've done enough drugs to kill a small horse. All I ever came to be was a washed up journalist. (Enough with the pity party, I know. I'll shut up now.) But, he had something to live for- he was the famous Sephiroth. Strange story, isn't it? He was famous swordsman, a general, had a beautiful girlfriend, (I'm assuming she was beautiful- at least to him she was.) And then he went stark raving mad and killed hundreds of people by hand. He single handedly destroyed Shin-Ra.
Jesus, you know what's weirder? I think this was the first time I've heard about it- yesterday- but- his girlfriend was a Sephiroth clone. So was her dad. She died of mako poisoning... she had a black cloak and a tattoo? I wonder if he realized what she was when she died. That's fucked up. No wonder he's crazy.
I thought Jon's ready to kick me out of his house. I thought he was fed up with me not having a job.
So, I went for a walk, again.
Cold beads wet, sad rain glazed over the city of Kalm. It was mid afternoon, and the sun was in hiding behinds gray clouds in the center of the sky somewhere. I lost track of what day it was, again.
I wandered around the sunken, blue cobble stone streets- letting thoughts randomly roll around in my brain.
I was thinking about the article I read a few days ago- saying that Barret Wallace lived with his little girl somewhere here in Kalm.
Of course, the press wouldn't give out an exact address.
I was thinking of hunting him down to ask a few questions. But, I must have LOOKED like hell. I don't remember the last time I'd shaved.
I thought, briefly, about my cousin, Misty. I hadn't talked to her in over half a year now.
And Vincent. Vincent Valentine. What business was it of his to come stalking me to tell me to stop interviewing Sephiroth...?
So what if it was ruining my life? It was my choice to do so.
So what if I don't have a job or a place to live of my own anymore... I can get it all back, when it's over.
And it will be over soon, won't it?
All stories have endings.
It's always happily ever after.
That's how things end.
They die, or live happily ever after.
Katrina died. That didn't lead to Sephiroth's ending, did it...?
I sighed, kicked a stone, and watched it plop into a small puddle.
Funerals suck.
My sister had a pretty funeral. When she died, that was the start of my dad and me growing apart. We weren't close to begin with, but, that's when the fights started, and that's when I began to keep running away a lot.
It was an accident, you know, when I burned down the house. I was around twelve or thirteen at the time.
See, well, I have a lot of time on my hands right now. I'll tell you a little bit about myself, and what happened that night.
Ok, my dad never really cared about me. Like I said before, he was like Hojo. That's why I can really, really relate to Sephiroth and his experiences.
I grew up in Rocket Town. It's kind of quiet, if you have ever been there. My dad had quite an extensive gun collection. I love guns. It's like this power that courses down my blood every time I hold one- but- I never will again.
When I was younger, my dad taught me how to shoot.
I had a couple of friends.
Pete and Kevin.
It was always us three.
Pete was an artist. He was like, twelve, and could draw any comic book character perfectly, dynamically. But he was small, and kids picked on him a lot. So, I felt sorry for him. I have this mother hen thing. I wanted to take care of Pete.
Kevin, Kevin was kind of chunky, and he didn't have any friends either.
They thought my dad's gun collection was cool. We hung out every day after school, and I taught them how to shoot in my backyard. I guess- you know how guy's are- and all guys can vouch for this- but all guys have a pecking order. It's always about who-can-one-up-who. I was like, the alpha male of the group. Those guys would've jumped off a bridge of I told them to. I'm a lot different than what I used to be.
But, anyway, I was a bad kid, basically. I could've killed someone then, and I would have liked it. Back to the story.
Well, it was dark out, and Me, Kevin, and Pete were in my basement. My little sister was upstairs watching TV. Pete was supposed to be home at ten. But, for some reason, he didn't go home. Kevin was talking about fires. I remember that. He said that if he could have the chance, he would burn down the school. I said something about shooting. Pete said that wasn't cool. I told him to fuck himself. Kevin then found a box of matches.
You know? This is the reason why I hate myself. This is the reason why I swear to god I'm just like Sephiroth. I wish I could give my sister back her life. But, at the same time, it was not my fault, really. My dad was a prick, that's why I think that I was a bad kid.
Well, Kevin was lighting shit on fire- paper, and stuff, and waving it around the air. Pete thought it was funny. I didn't care.
Some of the paper that he caught on fire fell down to the floor, and lit the carpet.
I told them to put it out- but- Kevin seemed transfixed. I didn't know that he was like- a pyromaniac. He said something about the fire being beautiful. Pete was laughing a little. The fire kept growing. I started getting pissed, and was looking for something to put it out with- water- a shoe.
But there was nothing. The fire kept growing.
It blew up and grew faster than I thought it would. It grew out of control. The whole basement was flooded with flames.
We ran out of there.
Above the basement is the living room. That's where my sister was, exactly above.
By the time me, Pete, and Kevin got upstairs, half the living room was engulfed.
There was so much smoke, that I couldn't see. I thought about my sister, but the living room was so bad, that there was no way I could have saved both her and me.
Before the fire, I wouldn't have gone to college. After it, I was determined to make it. For both her and me, you know? I haven't touched a gun since then. I don't know what happened to Pete and Kevin.
I didn't amount to much, though. I loved writing, and I am not as successful as I hoped to be. That's life, though.
That's the story, too.
Funerals. My sister had a really, really, beautiful funeral. From the sounds of it, Katrina did, too. Makes me sad.
I was wrong, you know, death isn't funny.
It's just a part of life.
Rain... is so cold.
*Note from the author, Phoenix Down.
None of the characters in this story are based off of me, or any of my close friends and loved ones. All of them are based off of fragments of me, and fragments of people I know- and don't know.
The journalist is very important- not only as an element to the story- but because the story that he just told- is not only relevant to the whole Sephiroth tale- but because it is very real.
There are a ton of kids out there- especially adolescent boys- who can relate to him. Boys that feels so alone- that the only means of flexing their manhood and masculinity is through means of violence. He- the journalist- only grew partially out of it. It's sad, but true, and realistic.
But the only lesson to be learned about the issue of outcasts in society is that they are there, not forgotten, and often have a tragic ending if they are persistently ignored.
Funerals suck.
"An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine"
Phoenix Down.
Phantom Wall Devils: A tale of Sephiroth
Part: Phi
Chet
"Only
There is shadow under this red rock
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust."
(I. The Burial of the Dead, The Waste Land, by T.S. Eliot)
It's funny how cold rain can be.
No, it's not funny, really.
Not funny at all, actually.
But.
Sad.
It's very sad.
Sigh.
Sad.
A guy can get mighty sad, looking at the cold, cold rain outside.
The last time that I've been to a funeral, it was for my sister. It was... well, I told you about it. It was many years ago. The house fire.
Actually, it wasn't THAT long ago, it just seems like it. I hate thinking about it.
Death is... a fucking hilarious thing. There is no other way you can deal with it unless you forget- or laugh. At least, that's the conclusion that I came to.
God. When Sephiroth told me about his girlfriend, and what happened to her, I wish that you could have seen his face.
Tape recorders can't show you how someone looks.
Maybe if you listen, you can hear it in his voice.
I don't think that words would do justice to the look in his eyes. His eyes were netted in something darker than despair. Something colder than hell. Something sadder than depression. Something more dead than a graveyard.
Maybe that was what did it for him. Maybe when his girlfriend died in his arms, it was the straw that broke the bail. I think that was the start of it, when he began to go off the deep end. I think he wanted to take it out on Hojo and the rest of Shin-Ra. Can't blame the guy, really. But, it's not an excuse, either. I wonder if there is an excuse for someone as pathetic as me.
In my life, I've done enough drugs to kill a small horse. All I ever came to be was a washed up journalist. (Enough with the pity party, I know. I'll shut up now.) But, he had something to live for- he was the famous Sephiroth. Strange story, isn't it? He was famous swordsman, a general, had a beautiful girlfriend, (I'm assuming she was beautiful- at least to him she was.) And then he went stark raving mad and killed hundreds of people by hand. He single handedly destroyed Shin-Ra.
Jesus, you know what's weirder? I think this was the first time I've heard about it- yesterday- but- his girlfriend was a Sephiroth clone. So was her dad. She died of mako poisoning... she had a black cloak and a tattoo? I wonder if he realized what she was when she died. That's fucked up. No wonder he's crazy.
I thought Jon's ready to kick me out of his house. I thought he was fed up with me not having a job.
So, I went for a walk, again.
Cold beads wet, sad rain glazed over the city of Kalm. It was mid afternoon, and the sun was in hiding behinds gray clouds in the center of the sky somewhere. I lost track of what day it was, again.
I wandered around the sunken, blue cobble stone streets- letting thoughts randomly roll around in my brain.
I was thinking about the article I read a few days ago- saying that Barret Wallace lived with his little girl somewhere here in Kalm.
Of course, the press wouldn't give out an exact address.
I was thinking of hunting him down to ask a few questions. But, I must have LOOKED like hell. I don't remember the last time I'd shaved.
I thought, briefly, about my cousin, Misty. I hadn't talked to her in over half a year now.
And Vincent. Vincent Valentine. What business was it of his to come stalking me to tell me to stop interviewing Sephiroth...?
So what if it was ruining my life? It was my choice to do so.
So what if I don't have a job or a place to live of my own anymore... I can get it all back, when it's over.
And it will be over soon, won't it?
All stories have endings.
It's always happily ever after.
That's how things end.
They die, or live happily ever after.
Katrina died. That didn't lead to Sephiroth's ending, did it...?
I sighed, kicked a stone, and watched it plop into a small puddle.
Funerals suck.
My sister had a pretty funeral. When she died, that was the start of my dad and me growing apart. We weren't close to begin with, but, that's when the fights started, and that's when I began to keep running away a lot.
It was an accident, you know, when I burned down the house. I was around twelve or thirteen at the time.
See, well, I have a lot of time on my hands right now. I'll tell you a little bit about myself, and what happened that night.
Ok, my dad never really cared about me. Like I said before, he was like Hojo. That's why I can really, really relate to Sephiroth and his experiences.
I grew up in Rocket Town. It's kind of quiet, if you have ever been there. My dad had quite an extensive gun collection. I love guns. It's like this power that courses down my blood every time I hold one- but- I never will again.
When I was younger, my dad taught me how to shoot.
I had a couple of friends.
Pete and Kevin.
It was always us three.
Pete was an artist. He was like, twelve, and could draw any comic book character perfectly, dynamically. But he was small, and kids picked on him a lot. So, I felt sorry for him. I have this mother hen thing. I wanted to take care of Pete.
Kevin, Kevin was kind of chunky, and he didn't have any friends either.
They thought my dad's gun collection was cool. We hung out every day after school, and I taught them how to shoot in my backyard. I guess- you know how guy's are- and all guys can vouch for this- but all guys have a pecking order. It's always about who-can-one-up-who. I was like, the alpha male of the group. Those guys would've jumped off a bridge of I told them to. I'm a lot different than what I used to be.
But, anyway, I was a bad kid, basically. I could've killed someone then, and I would have liked it. Back to the story.
Well, it was dark out, and Me, Kevin, and Pete were in my basement. My little sister was upstairs watching TV. Pete was supposed to be home at ten. But, for some reason, he didn't go home. Kevin was talking about fires. I remember that. He said that if he could have the chance, he would burn down the school. I said something about shooting. Pete said that wasn't cool. I told him to fuck himself. Kevin then found a box of matches.
You know? This is the reason why I hate myself. This is the reason why I swear to god I'm just like Sephiroth. I wish I could give my sister back her life. But, at the same time, it was not my fault, really. My dad was a prick, that's why I think that I was a bad kid.
Well, Kevin was lighting shit on fire- paper, and stuff, and waving it around the air. Pete thought it was funny. I didn't care.
Some of the paper that he caught on fire fell down to the floor, and lit the carpet.
I told them to put it out- but- Kevin seemed transfixed. I didn't know that he was like- a pyromaniac. He said something about the fire being beautiful. Pete was laughing a little. The fire kept growing. I started getting pissed, and was looking for something to put it out with- water- a shoe.
But there was nothing. The fire kept growing.
It blew up and grew faster than I thought it would. It grew out of control. The whole basement was flooded with flames.
We ran out of there.
Above the basement is the living room. That's where my sister was, exactly above.
By the time me, Pete, and Kevin got upstairs, half the living room was engulfed.
There was so much smoke, that I couldn't see. I thought about my sister, but the living room was so bad, that there was no way I could have saved both her and me.
Before the fire, I wouldn't have gone to college. After it, I was determined to make it. For both her and me, you know? I haven't touched a gun since then. I don't know what happened to Pete and Kevin.
I didn't amount to much, though. I loved writing, and I am not as successful as I hoped to be. That's life, though.
That's the story, too.
Funerals. My sister had a really, really, beautiful funeral. From the sounds of it, Katrina did, too. Makes me sad.
I was wrong, you know, death isn't funny.
It's just a part of life.
Rain... is so cold.
*Note from the author, Phoenix Down.
None of the characters in this story are based off of me, or any of my close friends and loved ones. All of them are based off of fragments of me, and fragments of people I know- and don't know.
The journalist is very important- not only as an element to the story- but because the story that he just told- is not only relevant to the whole Sephiroth tale- but because it is very real.
There are a ton of kids out there- especially adolescent boys- who can relate to him. Boys that feels so alone- that the only means of flexing their manhood and masculinity is through means of violence. He- the journalist- only grew partially out of it. It's sad, but true, and realistic.
But the only lesson to be learned about the issue of outcasts in society is that they are there, not forgotten, and often have a tragic ending if they are persistently ignored.
Funerals suck.