A/N: Wow it's been like a year since I last updated this fic! Glad to be back on writing, so here it is, chapter seven of Wake Up, the saddest story ever, though it's not just dark for the sake of dark, there's also some bit of hope in it too, I guess. I appreciate your stay and I'm very fond of comments too, feel free to talk about anything and have a nice day!
Cabaret Voltaire - Double Vision
Lindblum, 9 a.m.
…
My nose hurts.
Oh yeah, I got in a fight. Yesterday, maybe, I don't remember. Was it with a man, with a dog, with a beast, I can't really remember.
The streets are very cold by the morning. It is morning. Did I sleep in this filth alley? I've been in worse places. At least I got some easy money. I check my pockets to find a bag of gil in it, I don't know how I earn it. Oh, the fight, yes. That means I won the fight, even though I can't remember very well. I was paid to do something and I won, that must be it. Damn, my head is like a walnut about to be cracked open, holy damn... It must have been quite a fight. Well, if it was, then why can't I remember?
A single victory in life, it's all I'm asking for. I got some gil, so why am I complaining? I've been through worse. I'm truly a winner, yet no money can take me out of this filthy mess. No money, and no lectures coming from a random person...
— ...I'm tellin' you, pal. These streets can get very cold around this time of year. You'd better find a shelter. – A guard is talking to me. Blocking my way, telling me things. As if I cared. Nothing else to care about, other... Other than...
— Hick! – I think I'm drunk. I must have spent some of the gil on booze last night. Now I wonder how much gil I had because, damn... I-I can't even stand on my own, fuck damnit.
— Look at your state. Pally like that. Know how many beggars get frozen to death these days? Their skins get blue like yours, just sayin'.
— There's nothing wrong with my skin, you poop head. – I said. Poop head, really? You think you're five? Are there any kids around to hear that crap you've just said? The hell is wrong with you!?
— I don't want to see people like you turning into popsicles by the next morning. – He said. The guard looked down on me, showing some concern. Like he cares, right?
— I-I-I... I'm not... I'm not a damn popsicle, y'know. – I talk but it feels like my voice is someone else's. – No worries, uh... Have no worries. I can stand right. I can! I can... Go there and find some, some, uh... Some shelter, like you said. You said shelter, right?
— Well, I can't believe it. If that's not the Flaming Amarant. – That wasn't the guard speaking, but a third person just arrived. He seems familiar, like we've met before. – I wouldn't know it was you covered in rags if not for that red hair of yours. What a shame, those dreadlocks are in better shape than you.
— Fuck off, Gilgamesh. – I said, ignoring that four-arm bastard. – I don't need your help. None of you! You... You can just go away, I don't need people like you to bother me because I am... I am, eugh... I am! Oh, gee... I am...
— A hero? Pfft! Don't make me cry. Please.
— As if... As if you ever, ever, ever... Cried. You never cried, bastard.
— I'm not the one who's made an ass of myself, though. – Said Gilgamesh, dismissive as always, though he seems to be trying to help me. I don't know what sort of help is that. He wants to hold me with two arms, and stab me with knives held by the other two.
— Do you know him? – The guard asked. Not to me, but to Gilgamesh.
— I sure don't. I've seen Amarant before, and he looked far better than this. Heck, you own him the world being safe because he was there with Zidane and the rest. Right? He helped us all at the cost of nothing, which isn't quite like the Amarant I knew.
— You're never right, but this time you are. – I said. – And I've changed. A lot.
— You've changed for the worse, man. – He said, now facing the guard rather than me. – Like, he was doing fine and then someone he cared about died, it was pretty horrifying and kind of unexpected. I mean, death is always unexpected if you think about it, but Freya did not deserve that. At all. Since then, he's been in grief. I had respect for him, but now he looks like shit. Oh, wait, I mean you ARE shit!
— And you are not much of a help, either. You, this guard, everyone... Screw it. I... I need to drink. Drink for warmth.
— Where do you think you are going? – I hear the guard on my back as I leave the alley. What an insistent guy.
— Don't waste sweat on him. He knows what he is doing. – Gilgamesh doesn't even try. He stays where he is. – And I sure don't care if he dies, because he did eight years ago and what you're seeing is a shadow of his former self.
I've saved so many people. I'm a hero, goddamnit, and the people don't know. They don't know, they don't care and none of them... NONE OF THEM! They never invited me for dinner. Life is so unfair, don't you agree?
An outraged, wrathful man who'd never get the chance of being surrounded by family or friends or people in general... That's what I am.
Still, heroes like me are alone. I was alone before I came to be one. Like, I wasn't born in streets made of gold. I saw crime on the streets and fought against it and committed some of it too. I helped save this planet, didn't I? Yeah, don't I deserve anything?
Common heroes like me don't get to be remembered, do they? I don't have any ideals to hold, only a bottle of the finest booze money can buy.
...
Burmecia, 9:15 a.m.
…
Why do I find myself feeling so powerless within these walls?
The graveyard, a place universally disliked by many. Anyone who visits here without experiencing a sense of discomfort cannot be considered truly human, at least not in my eyes.
Rats do not feel sad when they lose someone. Not in the same way as we do. They do not create spaces to grieve for their loved ones. They do not live with the knowledge that one of their offspring is gone too soon, too late. However, I'm more than a rat. I'm a man, a family man, a proud citizen of Burmecia. I embody all these roles and more, thanks to a remarkable woman. A woman who foolishly believed that I could bounce back from losing everything.
It does not take too long to find her. I'm already familiar with the location.
...
FREYA CRESCENT
1778-1802
OUR BELOVED FRIEND, DRAGOON, WIFE, MOTHER
SAVIOR OF GAIA
MAY SHE AT LAST BE GRANTED THE PEACE
AND JOY TOO OFTEN DENIED HER IN LIFE
...
Elsewhere...
— CAAAAAW! CAAAAAAW!
— AAH! That damned crow's cawing right at me! – "Throw a stone at him from between your legs"; and so I did. That's how you break the crow's curse. To be fair, my life is already a misfortune with or without a creepy crow. And then a butterfly landed upon my nose, great.
— Hehe... Maybe she thinks you are a plant. – Elly said before cackling like a maniac while she stared at the pretty butterfly and my dumb face.
Butterflies are scary when you face one of them and she faces you back. What's with insects and faces? They fly right in your face like they want to come inside your brain and drain you from all body fluids, they are a hella lotta scarier than crows with those huge eyes staring right into your soul. Also, butterflies in the rain... They are as rare as four-leaf clovers and-
— ACHOOO! – With my loud sneeze, the butterfly is gone. No need to hurl stones to let it go.
— Poor butterfly! – Elly stared at the winged devil taking its flight with awe and concern. – I hope the rain does not break her wings.
— Don't worry, there are fates worse than death for butterflies. Like being part of a morbid collection hanging on the wall. – I said, to which Elly frowned at me in horror.
— Heather! How awful.
— Coming out of me, not much. – I said, aware that the things I say do not get well received by the folks around me. – Why are you mad at me? I should be mad right now. It was not me who came up with this idea of collecting corpses and putting then under glass on a wall and calling it art, in the same way I did not ask for any fine piece of silk clothing to be made out of boiled babies.
— Butterflies don't deserve to die. They mean everything good. They fly, they are beautiful, they are colorful even.
— All of the things we wish we were, right? – I asked, but I heard no reply. I swear, Elly is so braindead at times that if she saw a baby dragon running in her direction with their jaws wide open, she would talk about how cute his roaring sounds are.
— Sometimes I dream I'm flying out of my bed, but I want to be who I am.
— Easy for you to talk. I wish I was a dinosaur.
— Why? Because they're big and scary? – Elly is wearing golden earrings. Why did I notice that? I don't know, I wish I had earrings too.
— Because they're dead. – Earrings, not bad... To put them on my ears would be less painful than carrying the burden of existence.
— Mood. – She said. – You're talking like you've seen a hummingbird's corpse.
— And haven't I? It's always sad when I have to bury a bird. No matter where you are, over oceans, seas and rivers, even the skies above... One must return to earth. I can only wait until then, we all do.
— Let's talk about something else. – And by "something else", Elly meant anything but self-deprecation. That didn't mean we could speak ill of others, and how she loves to do it! She also vents, like a lot. Nothing related to death, she seems to avoid talking about it, though the same can't be said about other tragedies.
And she says I'm negative when an entire neighborhood got flooded and people lost their homes. My dad was there to help said people, so that's good. You know what is not?
— Sir Fratley is a jerk! – I guess it's my turn to vent. – He wants to put me in one of those Dragon Knight classes filled with a bunch of babies.
— Gifted class!? You gotta be kidding me.
— I'm not, and I wish I was. He talks about education and how I should be proud of being a smart young miss. "It's not a gifted class, darling", he said. Uh huh. Tell that to the bug eating boy we saw yesterday... It was disgusting, and I don't want to be surrounded by people like that. Well, that boy sure knows what it's like to have butterflies in his stomach.
— How crude. – Elly stares at me like I'm the worst company ever, yet she's willing to stay. I wonder why.
— I'm not attending this gifted class soon.
— I hope not. You deserve better!
— Thanks. For nothing. – As much as I appreciate her words, there is nothing Elly can do about it.
— I like moths. They are fuzzy and cute. – And then, out of nowhere, she goes sentimental while talking about animals. Eugh, I feel like I'm growing caries in my mouth.
— Cute, huh?
— Like you.
— I am not cute. – I said. In fact, I'm hideous today. Me and my rotten feet.
— But you are fuzzy. – I won't deny it. It's not very often that I get praised. Children are cruel, but they can also be nice if you want.
— How come an ugly fat larva with a skin covered in poison gets to be a creature mocking us in its beauty and flight? – I said, but as usual, Elly isn't fond of my sincerity.
I wonder if she's only my friend because of the way she looks at me. And my fuzzy fur. Which I do not find fuzzy at all. Even on my bad hair days, Elly looks at me like she's a cat and I'm like some fresh tuna before her eyes. Kind of ominous, but I am glad to know someone is looking at me and not saying bad stuff on my back, but knowing Elly, that double-edge snake...
— What have you done to wake up this bitter today?
— I was born. And I wet my bed. And I'm choking with a fish bone in my throat.
— Fish bone, really?
— Just a way of saying that I'm in a bad situation.
— How much bad?
— Nothing that you need to worry about. I'm fine. I did not visit mom today, but I'm doing fine. I can do that every time, I know where she's at. Always.
— I see. – Elly is worried, but I don't think she deserves to be.
Like I said, children are cruel. Betrayal is cruel. Breaking someone's heart is cruel. To bring to life a child whose legs can break through the Palace's walls is undeniably cruel. One of these days, the hole I made in King Puck's dinner room will be all that's left of "ye old and dusty" Burmecia.
As if we did not already live in Gaia's butthole. I've heard tales about the war, ma and pa, and how they did their best despite failing most of the time. I may be a result of their failure, too. The one final nail in Lady Crescent's coffin. Maybe this is all bullshit and God, how I wish the feelings I have had a face and I could punch it away, make it bleed, knock it out for good. Life is funny, but not "ha-ha, that's funny", it's more like craving for disaster on such a dull and boring day to feel entertained. I should not spend the rest of my day crying to myself when I could be, like, writing a book and sharing my pain, but life is more than misery or the feeling that, no matter how high you are, something or someone will drag you down here.
Oh, you know what I mean. Yes, you do.
— Do we really need to come here? Let's move on to somewhere else. – Elly said as we walked near a huge statue in the middle of where there used to be a bakery store, now it's all but a homage to the survivors of war. – I don't like to stare at them.
— Don't worry. They don't like to stare at you either. – I said, laughing when I shouldn't.
— Heather, please! Have some respect.
— Respect, huh? Think the Alexandrian army had any respect for us, losers? Think they thought twice about dismembering the children in front of their parents? Or how about ruining centuries of architecture and history that no one seems to care about unless someone comes in and wrecks havoc on our streets?
Elly stood quiet. I think she's afraid, and she should be.
Those pale, ghostly figures in dense robes and eyes popping out of marble and stone, forever in fright by what they saw back then... They look like idiots. Feeble, defeated souls, drained out of love and hatred or anything that makes one feel, they're just shells of their former selves and I feel sick by just staring at them because there is nothing, I see nothing that resembles a living being and those things are shaped like one, which makes it way more terrifying than I thought.
The terror they evoke by just standing there, could it be called a tribute, of all things? They lack the courage and bravery of the mighty Dragoons, the fiery spirit and strength of a King, but I guess that's the intention, to remind us of the stark contrast between these lifeless statues and the vibrant heroes they fail to emulate. Somehow, I feel better with myself, but it does not last. They should be glad their existence was wiped away from this stinking world, or maybe I should be glad that I haven't.
I wish I had a paper, a pen and the ability to write in perfect calligraphy to make everyone jealous of my words. Turn tragedy into a book and earn some money out of it.
...
A few hours later...
After paying a visit to my wife, Frigg came to me and told me that I had to go to court as soon as possible.
It must have been important, given the concern in her voice, and although I wish I'd spent more time with Freya alone, I've been grieving for years and that's more than enough time to get your life back on track. I left the graveyard in a rush and went to the court. There, I found out that one family sued me for moral damage, then I remember those drug addicts Frigg and I beat to a pulp days ago and everything made sense. Speaking of Frigg, she too wanted to take the blame but I said that I could take care of the situation on my own, and so I did.
With my knowledge of the law, its study being required in case one wants to be a Dragoon, I was my own lawyer at court. I did quite well, stating that the defendant was out of his mind, and therefore, impossible to communicate through any normal means. He was ready to attack me, and had it not been me, someone else could have been injured. The witnesses confirmed my testimony, though the defendant's family had a point. My methods were too violent and they ended up winning the case and so I was obliged to pay the compensation. Lord Gabranth, the commander-in-chief who attended the trial, suspended me for a week.
I accepted it with open arms. Not the first time I got suspended, neither sued. It's pretty common these days, with our country still recovering from the war and families whose homes are yet to be fully repaired. Easy money. Sue a Dragoon and earn some great reward! Great. Truly great. I'm not some pot full of gold at the end of the rainbow, I too live by limited resources, but they just don't seem to care.
— It's only a week, not the end of the world. – Said Frigg. Right now, I'm going home and she's my company, as much as I did not ask for her to be. – You should be glad you'll be back.
— Yeah. I was really lucky.
— Lucky? You were amazing with your words!
— I just talk like I always do. Nothing amazing about it.
— Do you know how many people can afford to be their own lawyers and succeed? I bet the judge lowered the compensation price due your speech.
— That's not how justice works, but I agree. – I said as Frigg and I crossed the bridge. Nothing special about it, either, it's just a bridge of stone upon a large river, though I like to imagine that Freya brought me here to fish every weekend. Or was I who brought her? It doesn't make any difference whatsoever, it may be a fake memory or a real thing that happened, pretending to be fake.
— Look on the bright side, that means you are going to spend some time with your daughter.
— I will. Probably.
— Probably? Of course you will! I can't be there all the time, neither does Shannon. We have our lives, too.
— Yes. My mistake.
— I know there's no easy solution to fix what went down, but things are going to be fine while you're out. – Frigg is right. She can't always take care of Heather, and I can't be only a Dragoon. – I trained with the best, after all.
— I believe you. Just don't repeat my mistakes. — That's all I had to say before I left. One thing I noticed about Frigg is how she fears losing control like everyone else, yet the overall darkness in our lives magnifies her most positive traits. What do you think?
She once told me about one of her brothers, the pianist. She said he wasn't a professional, but he had talent and aspired to be a musician one day. Then, the Alexandrians invaded our kingdom and he lost both hands. Frigg found them buried under the remains of what used to be their home, and despite that, her brother never gave up his dreams. Now he is known around the continent for playing the piano with both feet.
Sometimes I wish I had that kind of optimistic attitude. What shall I eat for lunch? Lizard tails, Heather likes them.