The Last Case

Part 1 : The Overcoming/ The Jomking

In the finality of the beginning, was he introduced to the concept of memories, and the nature of time. He, now, no longer believed in beginning and endings. For it was, since the beginning the flow of this circle.

It's funny how,... after my endless internal conflicts, I-George Watson-see myself again starting to write this. I honestly had no intention of writing beyond where-it-ended. I sure once decided to write the entirety of events like some records of history, but as someone who once witnessed these events, the emotions attached to those events are too much for me to balance on this now-weak see-saw of my mind.

In the end, seeing others simply stating it as fiction (as they won't remember any of it) just adds to the imbalance of this see-saw.

On the other hand, even knowing the context of these events, I was unaware of the other side and the details from; his side. Me writing would've been a one-sided thing. An incomplete story, with an incomplete viewpoint of these events making incomplete sense. Like some sentence kept incomplete. Like the building, visible from my window while I'm pressing these keys, kept incomplete due to insufficient funds.

Looking outside the window, I also see the world outside and it never fails to remind me how humongously everything change-physically, and socially. From buildings with much broader, solid external walls on shallow bricks and often used lime-based mortar, polished wood for roof pieces and exterior, and the people with the thoughts about how the next spring will bring better yield on farms, and what the duke will do about the unaccepted laws, and what new inventions will the time bring,

To the social anxieties, the constant thought of how big the bundle is of notes in their pocket, how people see and think about them (thus making them wear that mask of smiles) and the over-consumerism which shows no signs of reducing. And a generation (I define, lost from reality, drowned in the illusion of material and lust, like wild pathetic animals) living enclosed in glass houses.

One thing I realise is, no matter the time, one thing was constant-the lack of clear vision, and the patheticness (which they won't realise) as the borders between reality and illusion continue to deplete, fading away.

"What is the story about, Papa?" she asked me.

I smiled and took her beside me, "Being honest, I'm afraid I do not know, dear. If I have to go with your mother's words, it is a tale, an adventure saga with a mixture of truth and fiction, once-real events I saw before everything changed. And It's definitely not for you . . . not yet. You read when you are big enough. Or you will see only the events unfold, people living lives and the main character walking on a journey, and will not see the story. . . real story, and why that fascinated me."

"And your friend, William, you speak of. He must be the hero?"

I was silent for a moment, "Again, I don't know. When you write about the events you once experienced, I believe you don't have heroes. Or rather, everyone is a hero, living their lives, their own stories that happened to get intertwined with your own at some point and get separated when it is time. That is how the stories are made into a saga, as I once thought of subtitling this one; the Genesis saga. We simultaneously play a role in each other's life while living our own until it is time to part away. Though, I might call him one of the main character."

And then I laughed, looking at her confused face, trying to pretend she understood what I meant to say. So, I had no intention to continue as I was not aware of the other side of events after the letters stopped coming back then addressed to Mr Yamato. But then, some days ago, a box was delivered to my address.

"Papa," she called. "There's a box with your name on it."

I walked down the stairs to see a fairly big box, resting outside the door. I took it in, carried it upstairs and kept it on the bed. She jumped around me, trying to see what was inside the big box. Opening the box, inside I found some 12 notebooks and some audio cassettes marked with serial numbers.

I, not really being a big reader, first went for the cassettes. Obviously. I asked her to bring her my cassette player-these players have got a lot better these days. They are much more compact, easy to carry around, sound more natural and have options between cassettes and CDs (CDs have also got smaller than they once were)

'"Oh, we are recording this?" were the first words from the cassette and my face went blank for a moment, having a feeling of recognising the voice. I paused the player, grabbed the cassette player and walked into the study room.

I kept the player on my table and rested on the chair in the most comfortable position I could be. I prepared myself and resumed the cassette.

"Where did you get the recorder?" he asked. "The house owner was kind enough to lend me one, with some empty recording cassettes," replied her voice.

"But you said you just want to hear things."

"Your memories," she said. "Your memories work... differently. It is like a complex chain of ropes with complex nods. And it is also easy to temper, if it was not for him, and that shining tree, you would have not gained those memories back. Who's to say that won't happen again. This should be recorded, just in case something happens and you happen to lose them again."

I imagined he nodded to her words, said, "where should I start?"

"From the very beginning."

And so, and my body stood back-seated on my chair, the recorder went on. In about 12 days and long 6 sessions, all the cassettes were completed and I had no words to say what I felt at that time and I guessed what must be written in those notebooks in the box. I realised I might have acquired the other side of events. At least some of them.

I tried to be the most honest to what I have known from the cassettes. For I had no doubt it was his voice who said those things in the recording. I might still have failed to include every single thing as it was too much to cover and maybe even too complex for most to understand. I always had different thoughts on whether I should write these. These events were important and I wish no one should take it lightly. But now, I say take these records as a work of fiction. For I do not wish anyone should remind me of those days.

After that, after stopping the player, I no longer believe in the beginnings and endings and how the flow of time works, memories work. But for the flow of work, I'm tempted to start with that one most unexpected sentence for me. I'm tempted to start with, 'once upon a time'."

* * *

There was a time, the best of times, when one wise duke of the nation on the far east fell in love with the silver-white haired angel. An angel he described who ascended from the ancient lake of mysteries and wonders, the lake of shining galaxies. He confessed, and she accepted him and the two soon got married, and possessed a girl child who took on father's characteristics. The kingdom was happy as the girl child brought happiness and prosperity to the nation and its people.

Three years later, they had another child, a son who took the characteristics of the mother. That year, the duke ascended to the throne of the king, but the other duke in the nation burned in anger for his father who didn't choose him. He shared drinks with the outlanders, and when got the chance to rebel against the decision, he striked . . . families broke apart and the nation fell on its own weight. For, the weight of power without a wise mind falls on itself.

The mother escaped with her two children while seeing her love's nation fall and her love, getting killed by betrayal and mischief. But she was aware, the wheel of time can not be turned back. Away from the ruins and debris of her past, she began a new life on the outskirts of the neighboring nation. That time, she adopted two orphans and was happy with them until the flames of her fate engulfed the small settlement, when those entities arrived and her life, her family was destroyed again.

The mother managed to escape with her two childrens, and was forced to carry the weight of her thoughts about how two orphans didn't escape the fire. But she refused to give up, and travelled across the nations, finally arriving in the third nation on the south of the Himis. She settled herself in a big deserted mansion, which the natives referred to as mysterious, possessed. But she was beyond those concepts.

She noticed the pattern of events and what she was facing. As the child grew old enough . . . she had to leave . . . to protect him. For the problems followed where the mother was. She still kept an eyes on her child, and had her reasons to not go back in his life, until the time came. For her consciousness, her existence was soon bound to the place, waiting until it was time.