3 A cruel fate (2)

My mind was in shambles. Drowsy and delirious, I was believing all of this to merely be a nightmare my brain had come up with. A lucid dream, that was what I placed my hopes in.

Yet, I never experienced such a thing before. Whenever I went to sleep, I closed my eyes and not once did I feel something so realistic. Until my slumber had ended, there had never been an experience like this.

I was not in control here, this was not something my brain would concoct.

A fever dream or the frivolous consumption of alcoholic beverages might also have been the cause of this kind of delusion. Sensory enhancers, or better known as drugs, could also be responsible for this plight of mine.

All of this just did not make any sense to me. There had to be a logical explanation, something to make me understand what had happened to me.

Every new piece of information I did get, inadvertently caused another wave of confusion to overcome me. More and more potential answers clouded my mind and I had no idea what I was doing wrong.

Forcing my heavy eyelids open, I was met with a scene beyond compare. From high above in the sky I saw a scene of bloodshed with corpses strewn all around.

Their bodies were covered in blood that had seeped out of countless wounds. Separated body parts littered the ground; they belonged to men and women alike. Neither young nor old were spared.

The expression on all of their faces was one of absolute terror that accompanied them even in death. Some held hands in an attempt to bear this horrendous fate, but the sweet embrace of death knew no mercy.

It was a depiction of unfiltered cruelty.

Traces of a fierce battle told the story of when there was still life in the bodies that soon would turn cold. The absence of any vegetation, and the almost pitch-black soil, fitted seamlessly into the tragedy that had unfolded here.

Their fragmented primitive weapons lay broken at their side in a pool of blood that still seemed so vividly red.

Amidst the carnage stood two beings on the brink of death. Their gazes clashed, oozing out deep hatred for the other with every breath that left their mouth.

It was the confrontation of the one responsible with the one that still stood.

An egregious sabertooth tiger was opposed by one measly man.

The duel could not be more unfair.

I had never seen a tiger of such size. Its abnormally large fangs shimmered in a scarlet hue. The blood, fresh and vigorous, was dripping down, causing the formation of a crimson puddle beneath its massive body.

Multiple weapons protruded from its wounded body, pointing towards the sky. This battle of pure despair had left its bloody imprint behind, proudly presenting itself to the world. A horrible facade that could not be forgotten.

Those who had given their lives could only place their dreams on the shoulders of a man who was barely standing. It was a heavy burden to bear for a body on the verge of breaking.

An unreasonable demand was weighing heavily on trembling legs, which could hardly support themselves. Even less so, after treading a path of no return.

Yet, there was a face, free of fear and worry, which accepted this obligation without a second thought. A grim grimace, that still smiled despite the prospect of death.

It was the face of a man close to dying and one step closer to his fallen brethren.

Given the sorry state of his upper body, it was only a matter of when and how. The injuries inflicted upon him gave a clear view of his insides.

With multiple bones and organs exposed it was hard to fathom just how he still could stand.

Was it the merciless slaughter of the people he held dear? Did the blind rage enable him to endure all of this pain? I wanted to know the thoughts that ran through his head. I wanted to learn his true motivation. I wanted to understand this obsessed mad man.

It was weirdly fascinating to me, how incredible feats became possible. Fueled by the adrenaline flooding through his veins and the heart pumping blood without rest, he was able to persist.

The tiger was of great interest to me for another reason altogether. Its head was still raised high and it faced the human in front of it with the utmost contempt. With pride incorporated in every single pore of its being, this level of arrogance was the only logical consequence.

Suffering at the hands of pesky humans must have been a humiliation like no other to it. Even at this great distance, I could feel the horrible resentment radiating. Reduced to this degrading state, it wholeheartedly wished to tear the man to shreds.

The expression on its face, at that very moment, was eerily similar to its counterpart. It looked very much human.

My evaluation of it had thoroughly changed. it was not a mere beast, but a lifeform which stood on equal terms to humans. I was looking forward to see, who would prevail in this last bout.

Yet, regardless of what was to occur in the fated clash, both would see their life end sooner or later either way. Their conviction could not stop the inevitable end, which awaited them. There was no escape from the consequences of one's actions.

Blood loss, trauma, infections, fevers, damage to vital organs… the list of potential issues was long. While the access to modern medicine was far, far away.

Any form of civilisation seemed far away looking at their primitive clothing and weapons. Finding culture in the stone age or its equivalent was not that likely. Most of them were seemingly content with smashing each other's skulls in.

Keeping my focus on the event had become an arduous task, because the highly anticipated clash, even after waiting for a considerable amount of time, had yet to occur.

The stalemate had lasted for far too long and I already lost every last bit of interest. I was advised to pay attention and so I did. But there was nothing to gain from a staring contest.

How could any of this be relevant to me?

My mind had already drifted to the pressing questions that still terrorised my mind. The voice I heard had lost any last bit of credibility and I started to question its motif for giving me such advice.

While I was pondering on this grave issue, I continued to stare blankly at the showdown that took place down below. I would not have done so, if it were not for the lack of better alternatives.

All of a sudden, both sides began to move and pushed their worn-out bodies forward. Calling it a sprint was an exaggeration. It was still fast given the horrible state of their bodies, but still, utterly boring.

What was supposed to be the climax of epic proportions felt like watching scripted reality TV without its drama.

By the time these two finally clashed, after what felt like an eternity, I had already lamented my fate countless times. The human rammed the tooth forcefully into the eye socket of the sabretooth tiger, which it, of course, did not take well.

A deep pained growl escaped its mouth and in retaliation, it sank its fangs into the right shoulder of the man. This development was certainly not favourable for the man in question, evident by his screams of distress.

Some loud groans and moans later, the fight finally started to have some surprising elements in it. By jumping on the bone, the human managed to get onto the tigers back. He had paid with his right arm in return.

The piece of meat flew to the ground and subsequently, it was promptly forgotten.

After recreating a famous idiom related to this situation, he was thrown off due to the vehement resistance by the involuntary participant.

The bone, tightly grabbed in the man's hand, came with him and his body landed heavily on the ground. Tumbling several times he left a bloody trace on the soil but contrary to my expectations he did not even stand up after his fall.

There was no indication that the man was still alive. There was no movement, not even a faint trace of breathing was visible on the men at death's door. As still and devoid of life as the rest who had lain here with him.

His end was imminent.

What a letdown. This kind of ending was anticlimactic and predictable. At the very least, it was very realistic. Real-life does not have good triumph over evil. It was not a fairytale; there was no happy end.

The victor of this fight was not very content with the results either and still looked at the human warily. I would do the same, all of this seemed too favourable for it.

It might merely be a hunch, but nothing ever truly was as it may seem. Especially, once shrewd humans were involved, they have many different faces. I should have known that, after all, I was one of them.

The corpse continued to show little to no movement and the tiger observed this situation with greater patience than I had. It took so long and the outcome had finally been determined. Yet, I was still here and still watching it.

To my utter dismay, nothing was happening. I might as well have stared at paint and waited for it to dry. There were many different things that could have been done, but instead, the waiting game continued.

God was not giving you any sign, you had to go there and do it yourself. Whoever called patience a virtue, screw you. It was not good for me to become this invested when I was unable to influence any of this. This was so vexing.

Unable to help myself I yelled at them internally.

"Just do something. I do not care what. Any other thing than just waiting."

For me, there was nothing worse than being in this passive state. Being forced to bear such a lack of action was driving me insane.

It truly was frustrating to be in this situation without knowing a single thing. Staying level-headed and keeping a fresh and clear mind should have been my first priority, but that was not something all too easy for me.

This might have been nothing more than a minor symptom of a much bigger cause.

I knew neither my purpose nor how I even came here in the first place. I had no information on the voice that spoke to me and close to no knowledge about this entire world. And the list just went on and on...

Quite a dilemma I found myself in.

Putting my personal feelings aside for a moment, I should have stopped thinking wildly into every possible scenario much sooner. Finding a definitive answer like that was an impossible matter.

The voice that spoke to me definitely had an ulterior motive in doing so, but for the time being, I would just have to follow its advice.

" To them they are rules, but to you, they are your life"

This simple statement hid many implications. Regardless whom it referred to by them, there was a significant imbalance regarding their power and mine.

Furthermore, it also implicated a potential threat to my life itself. "They are your life" sounded rather ominous and foreboding.

The term 'rules' was awfully vague and it was not specified what exactly those entailed. Was their form unspoken or written down? Were they a guideline or something to abide by?

Much could change depending on the possible interpretations of the rules.

The scene right in front of me could have hidden many different outcomes and lessons. Finding purpose in them could be done with ease, simply by evaluating it according to one's morals and set of beliefs.

I highly doubted that there was anything of value here.

Life was fleeting. Monsters, should they exist, were dangerous. Depraved was the human, who played dead until the time was right. And amidst all of this chaos was me, none the wiser.

The 'sudden' development of the weapon being plunged into the tiger's throat, was not so sudden, and not very surprising either. Only the creature, itself, had not seen it coming.

A blood-curdling scream filled the vicinity. It all came to an abrupt end. That had been all to this situation.

A foregone conclusion, the logical consequence of everything that had been done.

The result of a desperate battle which saw no victor.

An end to beast and men alike.

That had been all there was to this situation.

It was the final chapter to a story that no one cared about. There was nothing more than pain and suffering. All that remained was the slightly bemused spectator, which seemed a bit too elated about the ending of this rather unique experience.

The world below my feet seemed so still and inactive. The man who lay dying became one with the environment devoid of life. It was a very slow progress, befitting the general situation. As I lamented the consistency in regards to the atmospheric build-up, I found myself still unable to perceive the merit of this show.

One might have, rightfully, assumed that it was a tale of vigilance and the cruelty of the world. But why would that matter to me? This concept was not exactly new and original. Wherever there was life, there was also an unforgiving nature.

It carried neither justice nor injustice. At its core, the world truly did not care. All could be reduced to the temporary and insignificant state of all things living. Mother nature did not mourn the death of her people. Everyone was doomed to mortality from birth.

No eulogies, no funerals and no grave to those who came before. Deploration, denial and demise to the ones that lived in the moment. Uncertainty and unease to anyone, who might follow. That was the path of life.

It was then that the scene of carnage began to slowly disintegrate. Everything was forcibly turned into tiny fragments of light and vanished into thin air. The sole survivor screamed out the pain of his soul witnessing this development.

But regardless of how much he yelled and begged nothing changed. His useless struggle was for nought. They had lost their lives and now even their corpses were taken from him. It all crumbled right in front of his eyes.

He could only watch in sheer horror and curse his own ineptitude, as they slowly faded away. Nothing remained of what once was and soon the same fate would befall him. The final victor had turned into the ultimate loser.

With his victory, he had gained the privilege to witness this spectacle. Time was passing ever so slow and the torment continued to rob the man of everything he once held dear.

His pained cries reverberated through the air but he would never be able to reach anyone.

Despite his persistent struggle, in the end, only he was left. The lustre in his eyes had been lost in the process. When it finally was his turn, he barely showed a reaction. Accepting your demise was awfully easy when all you knew were hardships.

A hollow chuckle escaped his lips as he looked into the sky, waiting for his end to come. The expression on his face suddenly warped and he twisted his head to stare directly at me. It was as if he had lost all reason and was another person entirely.

This version seemed utterly deranged and full of hatred. It was the mere shell of a broken man, an empty husk, a vessel without purpose. He had lost everything and with every single breath, he was losing more. Inflicting horrible pain onto others was his only desire.

I could not help myself and reply in a similar fashion. He had earned that much after giving me that kind of entertainment. A genuine smile was the least I could have done to honour that man, who had lost himself.

For a few seconds, our gazes collided and his hollow eyes tried to pierce my very soul. At that fleeting moment, I truly felt at home

Before his destiny arrived he opened his mouth and spoke in a voice that carried bitter hatred. It did not fit the image of the man, who had given up.

" You carry the same kind of disgusting eyes as they do. I can not escape them."

Those eyes, they could not be outrun. Their gazes, they never went away. They would always follow you, and nothing could be done about that. The only thing that changed was how they look at you.

At the end of the road, you would come to realize that others truly did not matter, when you had lost sight of yourself.

The dying man seemed unperturbed by my missing answer and he simply laughed and cackled entirely free of worry. Facing oblivion did not seem to scare him. Instead, he awaited it with his arms wide open.

Its embrace had become his innermost desire.

This yearning had thoroughly replaced the previous emotions and transformed him into yet another person. A progression of such a nature was too sudden and did not fit into the development of the entire situation.

The script had been turned upside down and I had to determine what factor was at play as soon as possible.

There was not much time left until all of this would be over and every potential lesson was lost. The different stages the man had been going through resembled the process of grieving.

1. Denial; 2. Anger; 3. Bargaining; 4. Depression; 5. Acceptance.

First, he fought blinded by his rage with the wolf and did not even spare a glance to his fallen comrades - Denial

Secondly, the contorted expression on his face full of unbridled hatred, when he looked into my direction -Anger

His carefree attitude when faced with his untimely demise and the realisation that everything was lost were a textbook example for a major depression. That was the fourth step.

What followed was a look of absolute relief on the man, who was just about to disappear forever. I could not tell whether it was total resignation or acceptance.

But why was there no trace of bargaining happening, why was that scene missing? What relevant information was kept a secret from?

No, this train of thought was wrong. It did not matter what I should not have known or why that knowledge was kept away from me. There had to be a purpose in hiding that from me. What 'rules' was I expected to interpret from this encounter?

That was the question I should be asking.

If I had a dollar for every question without an answer I could pay someone handsomely to do the thinking for me.

For now, it was just awfully vague and could not be explained without becoming a conspiracy theorist myself. Which was why I did not feel very happy to say the least. Was I taken as nothing more than a fool; had it really come that far?

I truly wanted to meet the one who could make such an interesting judgement about me while knowing so very little about me. It had been far too long since I have heard such an assumption about me.

What more would I be able to learn about myself? I could hardly wait to find out who I really was. Maybe they did know the real me.

Giving such an acute assessment of my personality, they must have seen me for who I really was. How lucky, to have someone in my life who understood me this much.

I was intrigued to get to know them on a more personal basis.

At the very least, it should have been more fun than dealing with all of those gazes. Unlike that dying man, I would have never even considered bargaining.

For the likes of them, it had never been necessary.

As for those rules and what exactly those pertained was not much of a concern to me. Because I solely abided by my own. That was to say, I would follow the path which seemed the most comfortable to me.

The way of the least resistance was the best approach for a carefree life. You might have to lower your head a few times and listen to the opinion of simple-minded buffoons, but it truly was a life worth living.

I was not the type of person to lay down my life in a battle to the death and die utterly in vain. The last impending breaths of a man should not be spent in sheer solitude. Wallowing in endless regret and cursing everything was a fate I would like to avoid.

A life should never come to an end under such arbitrary terms. Decisions of this nature were absolute and could not be reverted. One had to bear the consequences of their actions.

This pitiful man seemed so content with himself now that he had won this battle.

As if that would be enough. It would never suffice, why did he not understand? Simply averting his eyes would not bring his fallen comrades back to life.

Well, I could not fault the poor bastard for his lacking thinking process. His current situation was not the most suitable for coherent thoughts. The trauma alone was enough for therapy to last for several decades.

He was left all alone with his thoughts.

Those final moments were truly magical. Every man, be he evil or good, would face the same predicament when coming into touch with their own fate. Regrets started to flicker in their mind and they had to stand trial before their very self.

Whether they could forgive or continued to hate themselves was something only such a beautiful occasion could tell. That final verdict would be encapsulated in their mind, to never be released.

Some yearned for salvation while others feared damnation. The reaper did not differentiate, he just took. Our morals, our beliefs, even our lives themselves had absolutely no meaning to him.

It mattered little when the eyes turned heavenward, the vision clouded and frailty poured all over the body. As the heart's fire slowly extinguished, all warmth dissipated and every colour began to fade, it all turned futile.

Death brought equality to all.

"Equal fate, equally cold and alone"

It truly was a demoralising realisation. Today I was watching, but someday others might look down onto me. I neither found solace nor any comfort in knowing that someone might be watching my final moments.

Although it was not the due time to consider such things. Thoughts like these could wait till I was old and short of breath. Existential dread was not something I wanted to add to my resume all too soon.

Once it was my turn to become nourishment for the maggots, would I close my eyes surrounded by my family? When I was destined to be forgotten, would I be able to smile? If I met my maker, would there be relief? Bottomless despair or being at peace... What would it be?

Regardless, the answer and the inevitable end were still a lifetime away. Our brain shielded us from this train of thought for a very good reason.

Many people would, undoubtedly, be obsessed about their inescapable fate. Haunted by an illusionary enemy looming over their heads, their life would know nothing else. Death would become their life. Their life came to an end, before it had even begun.

Was it any wonder that people prefer to pretend that it happened to everyone, but them? In order to venture through their lives, they feigned ignorance and held on tightly to the feeble illusion of innocence. Undying and Immortal, till the day we were not.

Nothing was certain aside from death, and maybe taxes. Yet, in this wonderful world of ours, there were exceptions to this rule. Some people were really favoured by the heavens.

While we all might be equal in death, it did have its favourites. After all, the reaper did get to choose when the time was due.

Those people were destined for greatness and the entire world revolved around them. They were the protagonist of a story and luck was always on their side. This fucker in front of me was that exact person.

I'd be lying if the following development came as a surprise to me. But the bullshit always keeps on occurring once that type of person was involved. Yes, it was always the same shitty routine.

The beam of light, that descended from the sky and swallowed the man whole, was only the prelude to the farce reeking of hypocrisy. All his injuries miraculously healed in an instant and the man looked as good as new.

He was reborn, but on the inside, he was just as rotten as he used to be. A steaming pile of shit in a tuxedo was still a pile of shit.

Should I deem it as an honour of the highest degree that I, a trivial side character, was allowed to take part in this? I was truly filled with awe, for such a precious opportunity being presented to me.

My heart ached, but I was not worthy enough to receive that sort of privilege. I could never live up to such a grand occasion. This stage had been set for the hero of this story.

Then there was me, a mere passerby, nothing more than an anecdote or a footnote. I was not even fit to be the hero of my own story. How would I dare?.

Still, there was something about all of this, that made it hard to avert my eyes.

This performance had captivated me. I did not dare to even blink, afraid of missing out on a single detail. He gave it all, from every ounce of his being, directly from his core. The man who came back to life just poured it all out.

I wish it was just an idiom, a symbol of his struggles, a metaphor for his metamorphosis. But this was not the case, it was not a joke. His act was done in a literal manner. He held his own heart.

The red fleshy matter was happily pulsating and seemingly unaffected by its new surroundings. It was proudly displayed to the world, just like a hunting trophy.

Seeing an organ in such close proximity was certainly not an everyday occurrence and who, in the right mind, would consider this to be an expected outcome?

The fact that a black substance just happened to ooze out of it, did not make much sense either. Ominously glimmering in the bright light, it was an obvious mismatch to the serene aura he was surrounded by.

Was this sort of development not a bit too cliche?

The ray of light had descended from the sky and healed the sinner. For he had proven himself worthy and the heavens had chosen him for whatever noble purpose.

An overwhelming light that shone down, illuminating the previous stillness, highlighted an underwhelming main character.

Although the biggest, most unforgivable sin, was the scene itself. It clearly lacked several vital aspects. Condemned to absolute irrelevancy, only a feeling of bitter disappointment had remained.

Where were the special sound effects to support it? What about any CGI to enhance the experience? The current environment was just too plain and nothing special. Simply using mangled corpses was not enough to arouse any more interest, after all, it had been done to death before.

Aside from the fury of a thousand suns burning itself into my skull, there was no other impressive visual nor were there any other pleasing aesthetics. Only dead scenery and a rather questionable atmosphere remained.

It was all too common and not bad enough to be good again.

In today's world what was to be was absolutely irrelevant. Evaluations based on momentary appearances cared little about that which could have been. Each passing second further devalues the merit the "now" holds. Even for a mere instant, mediocrity could never be accepted...

There had been one simple rule, it always had been and always would be this one simple rule, so why did it ever come to this?

Everyone involved had committed a heinous crime and accordingly they deserved to suffer.

Seen by me who did not want to look.

Heard by me who did not want to listen

Tasted by me who did not want to savour.

Smelled by me who did not want to reek.

Touched by me who did want to close it.

.

With their empty eye sockets, will they be able to see the truth?

With their dysfunctional ears, will they be able to finally listen?

With their missing tongues, will they, at last, know good taste?

With their crippled nose, will they smell success?

With their closed mouths, will I finally feel touched?

The answer is surprisingly simple. I could never find true happiness, as long as their heads were still attached to their bodies.

Of course, I was just joking, this much did not warrant a death penalty. I could hardly blame them for wasting my time, because prior I had done nothing useful with it either.

Although, at the very least, it should have been way more entertaining and not such a colossal bore.

I was not mad, merely mourning the absence of what it should have been. I was just disappointed.

But there was one thing I could not forgive. This one thing should not have been forgotten. Not utilizing it was comparable to a cardinal sin. It was not a mere tool, but magic.

The magic that conveyed the deepest sorrow and the greatest happiness that our eyes could never see. It was an untold story, that brought the heroes and the mundane to life, something that our mouths could never speak.

It was a poem that did not require words, melodious and harmonious, a language that everybody understood, a sound spoke for a generation.

That was the power of music.

All my life it had accompanied me, even when everything seemed bleak. Without its omnipresent tune, it would have been a world without colour. Just black and white.

Looking at the man filled me with great pity. This was not the image of a hero, just a pathetic figure trying to fit in a frame that was much bigger than his.

Despite the sudden thunder cracking through the sky and the wind tearing through his hair, the sullen theme did not disappear. It was merely noise in the background which had lost all its lustre.

The man, oblivious to the burden he was carrying, just stood there rambling incoherently. As his voice drowned in the storm, the last residue aura of heroism began to fade.

His composition was yet another casualty in this absurd story without rhyme or reason.

Carrying the mantle of a hero was merely an inconvenience, something for those content with playing the second fiddle.

He orchestrated it all, note by note he had set the tone. The key to success was not on me, but on him.

All which had been was the prelude that led to this one moment. A waltz of death and misery culminating in a solo for all to see.

But I have come to realize that I had never been the intended audience. A performance like this was not meant for a single soul. It should have rung a bell earlier, but thinking was clearly not my forte.

This was music to my ears, but sadly nothing more.

" To them they are rules, but to you, they are your life" this quote shot directly into my mind and led me to a depressing realization.

It all made sense now. To the audience, this might be full of rules I would never be able to understand, but to me, or rather my life, these rules were irrelevant.

That had been the meaning of the statement all along. Yes, my life did not matter here.