Songs to listen to: Before I Forget
The layout of the city is easy enough, but the library is far from where I live. It takes a few hours to reach, hours to contemplate how I can try to be someone's friend. Telling her the truth is out of the question, but if she were to figure it out..? I don't know what I'd do. She very sharp, alarmingly so, it's inevitable that one day she'll be able to put all the pieces together. There's a good chance that she has no idea what kind of puzzle I am, and I find comfort with that thought. Irregardless, I don't have the guts to tell her. I'll need to keep dancing around the topic and hope she doesn't believe in the supernatural.
Another worry she had brought up,, food. She's going to try to feed me. Will I be able to eat it? I know I like ice cream, but the foods we discussed, there are a couple dead animals involved. Hopefully I won't have the same reaction that I'd had only a few weeks ago, a complete disinterest in the food. On the other hand, if I can eat, and enjoy eating human food... It could mean that I will eventually become hungry to kill something again. Where would I find something to kill? Will I need to go to a pound as the female scientist had made her employees do? It makes me immensely sad to imagine adopting an animal, only to kill it to satiate my bloodlust for souls.
A chill settles in my stumach, and I shiver. Whether it's from the fear of my own desires, or in anticipation of the next possible kill, I don't know. I do know that I want to kill something. But do I want to kill something for the pleasure of it? Or because I'm hungry? With how it felt to consume the souls of those I'd killed, I don't think it's necessary for me to continue to do it to live. I do need to eat though, my stomach is in so much pain, hyperfocussing on the tasks I've put before myself is the only reason I'm able to remain sane.
As hungry as I am, the smell and thought of eating a human repulsed me still. Killing them is another matter, my mouth floods with saliva at the thought of consuming another one of their souls. Aside from the pleasure of the soul, my stumach is unaffected by the fantasy of murdering another human. Would consuming another human soul make me more human? If I did, would I still be deserving of a human friend? I'd had little choice with Tom, I don't think it would be right to hunt down a human just to be more human. It might backfire as well, from hunting a human I might change to become even more predatory.
I wouldn't be able to even try to be truthful to Fai if I started hunting humans, and telling her that I was would not help endear me to her. Killing people also makes me the monster I don't want to be. How am I supposed to feed myself then? I can't hunt animals, people would notice their missing pets. My stumach squeezes and twists, but if I had to choose, eating a beloved family pet is better than killing another human. With how much Tom is a part of me, I know I can't go after vile humans, ones that are barely part of humanity. To hold someone inside me that desire to harm the rest of humanity, it can compromise my own beliefs. As an extension to that, I'm afraid making them a part of me would make it more difficult to make the right decisions.
A chuckle slips through my lips, I cover my mouth, humans pass by me on either side, swapping. The mirth passes, I feel my mouth upturned into a smile. How was that so natural? I didn't need to try, holding the smile is beginning to feel awkward, I let it go. There's a sneaking suspicion building from the pit in my stumach. This is not the first time my body has behaved this way. Like remnants of someone else bubbling to the surface. I push these thoughts down, I don't want to face that reality, yet. Would Fai benefit from a friendship with a sociopath? I need to better control these base urges, this humor I have towards wanting to be better needs to be rooted out. Either I really do feel being better is pointless, or it's a lingering piece of who I was before.
The building looms in front of me, a couple of young humans pass by me, with bandages on their thumbs and pointer fingers. Passing by each person in the library, they all faintly smell like blood. But not glaringly so, more like each one had had a shallow slice.
The lobby is just as large as the others I've seen, but there's a hint of vanilla, tobacco, and leather. The walls are covered in massive detailed works of art, the Goddesses in their respective areas of work on one wall, Nepharia in her terrible beauty, and Ella* painted softer, caressing a lilly. Only April's* hands are visible framing the picture, her fingers fading the further they stretch into the portraits of her sister's. The paintings are so beautiful, it's obvious the painter had a deep love for the Goddesses. How can a race so intelligent fall for the ravings of madmen? As beautiful as the Goddesses look in the painting, it doesn't make them anymore real. How can they exist when there are creatures like me roaming among the humans? Impossible, no loving deities would ever allow me to live.
I shake the grim thoughts from my mind, and focus. Now, where in this massive building would books of creatures be? I am I in the history or myth section? Am I fictional to humans? The sketch I'd seen in the older scientist ladie's brain... it had been in a children's book. Going to the children's floor to learn more about myself... I don't like it. Since no one I've come accross frequently thinks about creatures, I believe information on who I was will be in the myth/fictional floor of the building.
After arriving at the elevator, I look at the list of floors this place has, and press the button to go up. It opens to the stench of blood, a young woman sucking on her index finger. She smiles at me politely before rushing past me to exit the building. The elevator still reaks of human blood, although the younge human girl's blood smell is the freshest. It turns my stumach and I lose my appetite in direct correlation with the smell of human blood. I press the necessary floor and ascend. I do my best not to notice the smell, utterly repulsive. Why is that? Other animals had smelled so delicious, even their blood was as well. Are humans even animals? I chuckle, they are to animals the same way I am to them, but they do not have the same derision towards animal blood that I do for theirs. What a world to live in, ignorance is bliss in this case.
The doors open to the children's fiction floor, well, one of the two. I hope whatever info they have on me is here, I can almost feel myself blush from the embarrassment of needing to come to this floor in the first place. In a rush to find something to do, I head over to the myth corner, grazing the necessary minds to find it, and walk down row after row to find the one I need. It's almost to easy to find what I need, I speed walk down the D aisle. I rush over the spines, settling on one that looked promising, "Dragons: Lore/Myth/Legend" I glance at the year it was written, and my heart sinks a little. What does someone not 50 years ago know of my species? But, this book is better than nothing.
I lean against the shelf and flip through the pages, the book was marked for pre-teens, so the pictures were better drawn than if this had been simplified to avoid scaring a younger generation. My finger grazes uncomfortable against a page's edge. If my skin was thinner, the alchemical stone make up of the page would have sliced through my finger. At least know I know where all the smells of blood originated from. There's a theme that I can't put my finger on with the book. All light colors, some with wings, others without. I'm drawn to the picture of fantastical beautiful feathered ones, my fingers trace along the lines. A feeling rises within me, and I change the chapter I'm on to another, remembering the bunnies mingled with the old man and his partner. I don't know what that means, and I don't think dwelling on those feelings will get me anywhere.
Every dragon in this book... is good. Everyone of them is written as being wise or benevolent. They made deals with heroes, healed sicknesses, the worst thing I could find is a fight between two bird winged dragons, the cause for the fight is unknown to the author. My eyes sting from tears that I'm unable to shed, I lift my eyes from the book in dismay. I'm not in it, I flipped through it twice, no mention of me. A close relation would be this fictional iron dragon, I chuckle without humor, an iron dragon? Impossible.
My eyes scan the shelves once more and root themselves on a single word, Demon. Surely I can't be in this? I slide the dragon book back in place, and raising on my toes I reach for the second to top shelf to retrieve the book. It's another collection of short stories, these more dark and gruesome than the first. I'm reluctant to open it after reading the synopsis on the back, I retreat to a row of tables with seats.
After sitting down, I stare at the tomb, daring it to reveal it's aweful contents. Unfortunately, a book is just a book, and it lays unthreateningly on the table. I lift the front cover open hesitantly, unsure if I do want to know what answers it might have.
"What are you reading?"
I jump, too tense from my fixation with the book. A familiar man with tinted sunglasses lays luxuriously on top of the table, supporting himself on one of his hands.
"Goddess, what are you doing here?" I hiss.
He mocks indignation,
"This is a public space, am I not allowed to be here?" His lips curl into a snarky smile.
My jaw drops, what is this guys deal?
He shrugs,
"You might be." His tone serious, his face roams the room.
Right, he can read my mind. I rub at my eyes and lean back in my chair.
"No, why are you in a library? You don't have eyes."
His face becomes the picture of shock, he raises his sunglasses,
"Hold on," he feels inside of his ocular holes, "You might be on to something!"
"Don't be a smart alek, you know what I mean." I grumble, folding my arms.
Wait, something he had said, had sounded important, did my mind automatically edit it out?
"I'll admit, these books don't do it for me." He grins at me before lowering his shades. "What are you reading?"
Does he think he's funny? Why does seeing him both put me at ease and irate?
"Why should you care?" I pull the book from his reach when he slides his hand over to bring it closer to himself.
He frowns,
"There are some things you shouldn't be reading." In his voice is a desperate sincerity.
I give in with a gentle sigh,
"It's a collection of short stories," my voice lowers to a whisper, uncomfortable with the subject matter. "About demons."
I'm not looking at him, not looking at anything really. I expect for him to laugh and make light of it, this mystery creature likes to poke fun at my expense. Instead he's silent, and remains so long enough that I build up the courage to look at him. His face is... worried?
"You don't have to read it." His voice is gentle. "You can put it back where you found it."
My eyebrows lower over my eyes,
"Why do you care?" Confusion is thick in my tone, why should he care?
"The more I say, the worse it will be for you." His voice trails off. "I want you to have all the possible opportunities."
My head feels funny, did he just say something? His quirky smile is back, but his tone is morose,
"Do you still plan on reading it?"
My brain might feel like water color painted spaghetti, but nothing he's said has made me change my mind.
"I need to know who I was." I answer honestly.
"I wish that wasn't the case." There's pain in his voice, "I'll let you go then," before jumping off the table he pauses and turns back to me.
"You can stop at any time, and enjoy yourself." There's more to what he's saying that he's not saying.
"Not in this life." I reply with a smug smile.
He hisses,
"No, because of this life." His face is sad again, he moves forward and disappears.
I'm looking at an empty space like someone should be there, my mouth twisted in a smirk, my eyebrows pulled together, worried. Where did this weird expression come from? I fix my face and turn my attention to the book. I feel more apprehension now than I had moments before. It's better to get this over with, I think. After lifting the cover open, again? I sift through the contents quickly, hoping that my quick search might spare me finding myself. My hand halts on a page, my eyes locked with myself.
Here I am, staring at the reader, challenging, a half eaten corpse drooling from my cavernous mouth. Only, I'm thin, sickly looking, covered in spikes and adorning giant leathery wings. But it is me, I look at the middle top of the page to see the chapter's name. Demon sword? I double check to make sure that the creature staring back at me is indeed me, what do I have to do with a demon sword? I flip back to the beginning of the chapter. It's an account by someone who had heard the story from an adventurer. This creature had slaughtered his party, burned towns to the ground. The adventurer had sworn vengeance on it and knew he was unable to stop it's rampage. So he trapped it's soul in a sword, this way the only way it could kill is if someone were to weird it. Now the creature could be used to do good deeds. There's an illustration of the sword, it doesn't look familiar, nor does it look impressive. At the bottom of the page, it denotes that the picture is the authors rendering on what it must have looked like.
So, did I originally die from a sword? The air around me grows this, my heart rate picks up and my automatically boils with it. I can't breath! I can feel cold iron piercing into my heart, a phantom pain. It burns and chills, my hands feel icy. Yes, this is how I died. I clutch at my chest, and hold onto the table, gasping. My body returns to normal just as fast as it had reacted to my unspoken question. Is this me? Am I communicating with myself? Needling chills price down my spine at the thought that there are spaces of my mind that I didn't have full control over. Those bursts of mirth, this intense anxiety around my death, it has to be the old me. Somewhere under the surface of who I am. If I somehow figure out who the old me was, will I lose myself to it? Do I have a choice?
Yes, I do. I can choose to stop this, and return to my peaceful life, I don't need to return to my old self. I would no longer be me if I were to become him again. I start differentiating between who I am, and who I once was. If I keep thinking of him as being me, I could potentially start fooling myself into thinking that I am still him. I go back to the page that has him glaring out and stare down his photo. We are not the same! I slam the book closed, a loud shush rings out from somewhere in the library. I remember where I am and hastily return the book to it's proper place, now that I've gotten the answers to my more important questions... Being in a children's library has become wholly unnecessary. I rush out of the room and back to the elevator doors and click the down button in rapid succession. The doors open to the mystery man, grinning from ear to ear, leaning against the back wall.
Memories of our conversation at the table rush back, I debate getting on the lift.
"I'll only reappear behind you." He smirks, but his tone is serious.
I give in with a hiss and step on. He pushes the appropriate floor, I stand as far away from him as I can.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Is he really teasing me about this?.
"Yes." He chirps.
"Why are you so, so annoying?" I glare at him.
His face pouts,
"Aw, you think I'm annoying?" And lifts a hand at my incredulous expression that is fast approaching rage. "I am because I can be, it won't change anything."
The guy grows contemplative,
"At least, to a point."
"Why can't you leave me alone?" I hiss.
"I could," he replies, "But where is the fun in that?"
If looks could kill...
"That's a lie, I can't stay away." He rolls his eyes, "Not since you called me."
"I called you?" I scoff, when and where?
"A couple weeks ago, when you were in that underground lab." He chuckles, "Imagine my surprise, finding out that you were here."
I wait for the confusion that comes from when he's being to honest, at least that must be it right? I remember his expressions, but the words are garbled. But there they are, the memories of his words ringing clear in my mind.
I'm hesitant to ask, but,
"How was it a surprise?".
"You were dead." He states flatly.
My breath catches, I can feel the sword in my heart again. Please why did this have to happen in front of him. Worry plasters his face, one of his hands reaches to me limply, I jerk away automatically and hold up a finger.
"Give-" *gasp* "Me-' *wheeze* "A moment." I arch my back over my legs, grabbing my sweater into a fistful above my heart, and stabilizing myself on one of my knees with the other.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see, I didn't know." Regret fills his voice, anxiety tinging it's edges.
The feeling fades quickly, and I'm able to stand up straight, stiflely.
"You couldn't see? Maybe you should get better eyesight." I joke.
His jaw drops in genuine shock, and he automatically takes a step back from me.
"Are you alright?" I ask curiously, one of my eyebrows raising.
"That's not the first time you've said that to me." He whispers, releasing his fearful posture, and leaning back against the wall.
I don't remember saying it to him? But being around him messes with my memory, so it's possible. Relief flushes his features.
"Good, that's what I like to hear."
"Will you please stop answering my thoughts out loud?" I snap, "I'd like to imagine that I have some sort of privacy."
"Privacy? Your thoughts are so loud, I thought you were doing it on purpose." He teases.
I look at him blankly, and step out of the elevator doors without giving him a response, hitting the emergency shut button. The doors close on his chuckling, but the sound doesn't stop, it only changes direction.
"I told you, you can't escape me."
I storm past him, what a freakin' weirdo. Every stride I take isn't long enough to gain distance on him. Either he's just as fast as me, or his taller build is giving him an advantage. I'm betting that it's a combination of both.
"You might be right, but I'll still try." I grumble.
"Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" He snickers, "It's a shame I'm already dead inside."
I glance at him, there's something to what he said, dead inside. He'd known that I had died, and he'd only learned I was alive after I... did something while in the lab? I recall the eyes that weren't eyes. I stop dead in my tracks.
"Who are you?!" I round on him, glaring up.
He's able to stop a mere 2 feet from me, the proximity only bothers me.
"I'm glad that you don't know," relief flowing with his voice, "If you did, you wouldn't be you, would you?"
The glare is fixed on my face, I wait for the answer I want. The strange, whatever he is, grows in contemplation.
"What I am, is your servant." He pauses, "Except, saying that I am your slave is closer to the truth."
"My slave?" I guffaw.
"Yes," there's no hint at a joke in his demeanor, "You made me what I am, a very long time ago. You called, so I came."
Everything I learn about myself is depressing. I burned down towns/villiges, I'm not considered a dragon, instead I'm remembered as a demon, I was slain by a hero and somewhere along the way I had enslaved someone. Corruption is the only constant to my old self. To him, the me I was and no longer am.
"Will you tell me why I enslaved you?" I ask, scratching my chin.
"You originally wanted to kill me, or so I thought, I had something you wanted." His voice is distant, his covered eye sockets staring. "I had wronged you, I should have known that you would want vengeance."
So he did something to incur my wrath? That's very plausible, I doubt someone like who I was was very forgiving.
"But you're better now," He offers, "Changed for the better, I think."
"Not yet, but I am trying." I sigh.
He smiles,
"And that is what makes you different, you are trying. The old you was comfortable with who he was." *shrugs* "At least you are trying."
"Right, and that is why I deserve praise." I shove the library's front door open aggressively. "I don't want to only try, I want to be better. But I'm not so sure that's even plausible."
"All things are plausible if you give them a chance. They become impossible when you decide to stop progressing." He muses. "Growth is always plausible, but you will never grow unless you try."
His words are comforting, but I can't let them lull me into a sense of security.
"Thank you?" I'm unsure if he'd meant to flatter me.
"You are very welcome." He looks at me with... pride?
This creature is a weird, but that's not all together a bad thing... I think. And like all times before, as soon as he's gone, I won't remember him.
"How do you do that?" I think outloud.
I understand that he'll answer the question either way.
"Hmmm, magic." He waves a hand fantastically.
"Don't you need to use your cane?" I try to speak my thoughts faster than he can read them, less annoying for me.
He lifts a hand and in an unzipping motion, he pulls the can from thin air.
"More magic?" I try to hide how impressed I feel.
"Of course, magic is everything I have now." He taps the cane on the ground rhythmically.
Anyone watching him closely enough would notice that he's tapping a tune instead of tapping to feel for possible obstacles.
"How can you see?" I ask.
He smirks, as if the answer is obvious.
"Ah, magic?" Embarrassed, I pretend to not be interested in whatever answer he shares.
"You're catching on, and no, I don't need the cane." It sitters accross the sidewalk, adding a new layer to his rhythm. "Since we are connected, I've put safe guards in place with that connection. It's safer for you if you don't hold your memories of me."
"If I don't hold my memories of you, where do they go?" I scratch the back of my head. "Unless you keep them?"
"Of course," He chuffs.
"Of course." I agree.
I have very little idea what is going on with our conversation right now. Of course he carries my memories of him with him? He said we're connected, does that have something to do with him being enslaved. I think back on to when I must have "called" him. Yes, we are connected. My eyebrows raise in surprise. Our minds are connected subconsciously, are our memories subconscious? And is that how he's able to hold onto them? So many answers he's given me, but my questions are only multiplying. This is exacerbating, as nice as it is to be able to be myself around someone, can he leave?
"I could."
Answering my thoughts out loud again,
"Will you?"
"Not unless you ask." He shrugs.
"If I ask, you will leave?" I confirm.
His expression is sour,
"You are my slaver, afterall."
Interesting, but now that I know I can send him away, should I? Would it make me worse if I forced my will on others? Even people that make my brain hurt with how confusingly they choose to converse with me?
"I guess so, but why would you want to be here with me? Don't you have duties?"
He shrugs,
"I do, but I also have a duty to you." We stop at a crosswalk, "Don't tell anyone, but being around you is easier than my current chore."
"Chore? You made it sound like you have an important job?" The light changes and we continue our stroll.
"My "job" is to advise. You are the only person listening." He lifts the cane from the ground. "You're right, I do need to get back. He'll get suspicious."
He?
"Yes he," I can almost hear his eye roll, "And he is a diva. There's always something going on with him, even though none of them are ever important."
"Still, I prefer it. The alternative would be you in his place." He finishes.
Being vague again, my brain is rife with frustration,
"Then get back to it."
He immediately turns from me, as though his body automatically replied with my request.
"I'll see you later." He waves back at me, looking like he's trying to keep some sort of imaginary sense of free will.
Is that what it means? Do the enslaved have no control of their bodies? He was able to withstand my questions. Unlike him automatically leaving, he still has control over his own secrets. Well, good for him.
The sun had been set for over an hour before I made it back to the house. I'm tired from everything that had happened today. A couple are in the foyer, both well dressed and looking over some mail. The taller man has his arms wrapped around the smaller, his head resting on his shoulder.
A thought dawns, will I ever be able to have someone like that? Even without reading their minds, it's obvious they love each other. Will someone ever love me like that? I think about the humans, trying to find any sense of attraction for them. After finding none, I think about the beautiful dragons with feathered wings. If I hadn't already experienced seeing the passion humans have for each other, I'd never think a desire like that was possible. My body doesn't react quite the same as theirs, but this is definitely attraction.
I lay on the rug in my front room, weighing the pros and cons of fictitious relationships. There are plenty of humans to choose from, but I don't understand the appeal? I could make it work, if I tried. Again I think about what my partner would be able to get from a relationship were their lover isn't attracted to them. It would be cruel, I would want them to have a chance to be happy, happy with someone else. Am I good enough to drop my friendship with Fai? Even thinking about it stings. When had I grown fond of her? I'll keep trying to be a good friend, but there is no way I'd entertain an intimate relationship with her. Being friends is enough for me, and since I'm only a child in her eyes (she doesn't know how right she is) it won't cross her mind to change our current relationship.
With that thought through, I think the best and least I can live with would be befriending people. All dragons are sadly immortal, at least when it comes to age. The only ways I'd seen them die in the book, was always for someone or something else. Except for me, I was killed. I wait for the visceral reaction my body gets to this thought, but it remains calm. Finding out how I died, I think it helped, as long as I don't think of the method, I believe I'll be fine.
I'm awake all night again, thinking about possibilities that are impossible for me. I know I'll die alone once again. Love isn't something I can look forward to. It's more important that I get used to being alone in this world, having only mortal friendships.
YOU ARE READING
Inside the Fire
General FictionAn ancient evil reborn, the answers he seeks to faded memories may unknowingly awaken old (genocidal) habits.
