Sanctuary

My day started when Jack slapped down a bottle of yellow pills in front of me. I stared at them, blindly. She gave only a word response, "Anti-Psychotics". I tore open the bottle, and started dry swallowing them like it was air. "How many until it stops being FUCKED UP?!" I garbled through the self-medication.


"About seven." She answered, benignly.

She talked for a while. I didn't like what I heard, nor did I want to hear any more after a while. It didn't make any sense, no matter how much Jack tried to explain it.

You can talk until you're blue in the face about aether or heuristic connections or whatever. All I understood was 'Bring three items together to get this shitkicker back on his feet.'

I do not understand it, and I don't think I ever will, but lo and behold she had three items of mine. A jade elephant, a jade dragon, and...well, guess.

A piece of shit katana, good as new.

Skeptically, I looked over at her. "Someone took the time to actually forge a new blade for my piece of shit sword." I held it in my hand. It felt weird, like it was a different weight, or just...different. You ever pick something up and just get a sensation that something had changed? Back in the day, I could tell when someone had handled my dice in my absence. You could go on about how there's nothing to it, that its all just part of a misconception to assume such things as auras or willpower are real, and years ago I'd believe you. Today, given the fact that I am very much NOT a rotting husk, I might be inclined to disagree with you.

Jack sat straddling a chair, she was getting annoyed with me, or belabored. I didn't really care, either way. In an exhausted tone, she answered, "Fixed actually, by Amalgamation Sage." I looked back to her, then aside before I responded, "Oh I remember that name. Strange guy, did some shit with Redlight, said a lot of things I never understood."  And then my words took heat, "Third of the Three Sages." Why'd anyone ever listen to the idea of titles and roles? Why would they keep that up after what happened to me? It was all horse shit, the idea that anyone was destined for anything. Damn it, I had invested so much in the stupid idea that my life was something special, that I was bound for some great thing. Enough that I listened to a lot of people who I shouldn't have, things that took advantage of me.

I realized about now that she was still talking, and I wasn't paying attention. "What?" I said simply. She knew I trailed off, and she gave me a put-upon look. "He fixed it, magicked it up. Then it was handed off to Konaa, Konaa gave it up eventually..."  I waved my hand, interrupting, "Wait, so my sword's been passed around like a trophy? Why would you all do that?"

Jack sat up straighter, and there was a harder edge to her tone. "Yeah, yeah we did. Because once upon a time, there was a bit of hope out there, alright? We all knew what happened. And yeah I fucking get it, you did some shit. Well, we ALL did some shit, alright? Hell, I still do it. We used that sword as a reminder that we can believe in something." She stood up, and gestured at me, "You spend ten thousand years wallowing in your own guilt over what? Thirteen people? Ten Thousand years...and you're still pissed about being tricked?  Maybe you should just get the fuck over yourself already."

With that, she left me alone.

Was I really out of the loop for that long? Ten thousand years?  It felt like an eternity, several eternities to be sure.I walked, and I walked, and I walked. I know that time works different there. Here it was only eight years, but...ten thousand?  There's no way that's right, but this is all without context regardless. What does it matter if I was dead for a year or fifty thousand years? I knew that I had to put my past behind me finally, that I had another chance, and maybe this time I'd do some good.

I can't just say, 'I'm over it.', but maybe I can try to look forward a bit more, instead of looking behind. I needed to put myself back together, a task that you can't just will yourself into doing. So instead, I took a few steps in the right direction. I cleaned myself up. I took off my hoodie and managed a long look into the mirror.

I had lost weight. A lot of weight. I had always been a bit portly before all this, and I lost most of it during 'the incident'. Eight years after all that, and an infinity of miles under my feet...well, that did its part too.

Gingerly, I unslung my left arm, and braced myself to see what I had wrought. Entirely numb, I fumbled to get disrobed enough to see it. A long bloody scar on the outside of my arm was present. It wobbled a bit too much for my taste, making me nauseous.  I wrapped it up with some bandages for some support, more for my comfort than anything.

I cleaned up, and decided to step outside.

Before I did so, I looked out at Alabama. We were in some rural area, and I was comfortable with that. I grew up in rural Indiana myself, so there was bound to be some similarities. There were at least a dozen people within eyesight, a veritable, active community out there, sitting, chatting, working on laundry.

And I was sitting here with a black hoodie with neon 'Hollow Man' signs all over it, and a monster mask.

And yet it was so hard to take those things off. This was whom I was.

I slowly swapped my clothing with some cargo shorts and a simple blue tee that were left, and took to the street. The sword was strapped to my shorts, and probably made me look real stupid, but I wasn't about to give up everything just yet. It was weird not wearing the mask again. I felt like my identity was lost. Maduin always talked about that, said that masks were a layer of protection against the unnatural. I get the concept. If I wore the mask, then there was a second personality layer I had. Whatever decided it had to creep inside my skull would first have to go through that before it got to me. Honestly, I'm surprised I ever had to be told that.

There's so many times in life that we put on masks, or otherwise obscure our faces in order to tap into something else. There's always that primate brain just beneath the conscious surface, perhaps wearing masks help invoke that. Think about it. Halloween is just one example of drawing into that darker, primal nature that masks bring out in you. There's a reason Devil's Night is so dangerous, after all. It could just be that sense of anonymity that is in play, and with it, the liberation to do what you really want to do. The lack of repercussion, of punishment, of justice. Maybe thats what it is all about. I couldn't tell you, I'm no psychologist, I'm just a psycho with a list a mile long.

I stepped out into the sunshine, and onto a dirt road. Kids were running around, doing kid things. Which meant to say that they were looking at phones and trying not to hit anything as they seemed to migrate. Someone was playing The Who, and it was filling the air with "Eminence Front". That tune I remembered, I used to play Rock Band to it, back in the day.

I guess my career as a virtual rock star has ended. Ah well, never could stand those V-Groupies anyway.

My cluelessness must've been apparent, when an older man wearing suspenders came up to me, holding onto a big tub of laundry.  "You there." he huffed, "Help me with this." I wordlessly followed him. We did laundry. Old school laundry.  'Hang clothes up to dry' laundry. He talked and talked, telling stories about his life, telling jokes, and going on about places and people I've never heard of. I barely listened, I simply was losing myself in some work, most of which was a bit tricky with my bad wing, but I managed.

Occasionally he'd take a break and sit with some sun-brew tea. I didn't stop. I could zone out, I could do the objective. Do Laundry. It was so mundane, that I couldn't stop myself even if I wanted to. The music swapped out to some stuff I've never heard before, and it was a complementary backdrop to myself throwing sheets up on a new line.

The day had set as I did the entire community's wash, letting it dry in the wind. I suppose having it near a dirt road might not've been the best choice of location, but we managed.

It was foreign to think of a 'we' that wasn't just the bloggers and I. A community. I'm not saying that I suddenly decided to throw in my lot with them, or that they changed my life (though perhaps the meds did), but it was nice.

At about this time, there was a big meal planned. Canned meats, and breads, some basic stew cooked in large quantities, as everyone sat on the stoops and let the night slowly take over the little commune.

That night, people turned in, and I stayed up with a little propane lantern. I didn't feel much like sleeping.

There was so much to do.

A History of Cryptic Answers

I just slept for what had to be twenty hours. I barely remember being awake before this. I can't even believe I remembered my passwords to two old blogs I wrote back in the day, but when the drive hits you to write, things find a way to focus.

I'm sitting on a bed in a room I've never been in. My legs are *sore*, I ache from stem to stern, and the world is too bright, too loud, and too saturated. I don't even know where I am. Google says Alabama. I've never been here.

How the hell did I get here?  I spend half an hour throwing up what is most definitely not food into a bucket, and after some time, I experimented with this thing called 'walking'. A few shaky steps were managed before I sat back down.

There was a nervousness to me as I sat there. My left arm wasn't working, and part of me really didn't want to look beneath my hoodie to see what had happened.  Which reminds me, I guess some of you don't know how all that turned out, so I suppose I should give some sort of brief explanation.

I cut my arm open with a piece of shit broken sword, and either entirely or partially amputated the outer arm bone from my left forearm before I bled out in front of a massive supernatural tree that I was desperately trying to kill.  Not sure if 'amputated' is the right word, perhaps mutilation.

Good times.

I look back to that blog, that post that I so eloquently named "gguhhjk" as I one handed thumbed on a stolen cell phone during my triumph over evil. My fucking manufactured legacy that I had wanted so badly, that all it took was a little nudge for me to get pushed over the edge.

Damn it. I was such a fool, and I had multiple forevers to think about it and myself...You see, when I was...well, I suppose I was dead, wasn't I? I was dead. God that is such a messed up sentence to write.  I was dead, without respite in my very own hell. It was there on that Path of Black Leaves that I had traveled back in the day.  I had learned the art, or perhaps I was shown it on that night of the Winter Solstice so many years ago when I laid a trap for a monster, and attempted to beat him using metafiction.

Jesus Christ, this is my life. I am looking back at my life, and I simply cannot fathom what the hell happened to me. I can't even believe myself.

I walked that damn Path for forever. I brooded, I remembered, and one thought was omnipresent with me, that I failed, that I fell. I thought about how I had killed...murdered other bloggers because I could TELL they were guilty of something. That they were the RIGHT ONES to kill to kill the Bleeding Tree. I can't even remember all of their names anymore. I had to go back to my last blog to read them. Even then there were people I never knew the names of. And I killed them, in a fit of desperation, a fit of mad aspirations. And it did no good.

I thought about how I was sexualizing Rika, and her scarily competent replacement. I sexualized them because that gave me power over them. If I could control the fiction of the conflict with her, then I could lionize myself, and make her seem like some stalker with a crush.

But that's not what I really am.

At the risk of sharing too much, if anything, I'm Ace. All that talk about anything else is just noise in the wind, that casual bravado that men are expected to throw out there, to establish their alpha male posturing nonsense.

However, times have changed, and so have I. And with that change brings grief. I checked old accounts, old blogs about people I knew. They're gone, save a scant few. These people that I struggled with, that I confessed to, that I *hunted*, they fell to the darkness, to those creatures in the night.

I took my mask off and stared at the end table. Fizzbomb, Thage, Chester and Vieve, Maduin, poor Nessa, the Delmonts (Glad to see Redlight finally got killed, that fucker can rot next to me), but god so many names, Battery Resistance, Shaun (of the first Sages), even Robert fucking Sagel and his own load of horseshit, Ava, Jeff, Jean, Celie, Basroil Squad and Nightcrawler, B, Liam, Amalgamation Sage, Haukrei.....Kay.

Kay, whom I did such wrong to.

Even Zeke Strahm was taken, and some son of a bitch had the AUDACITY to put it on film.

I'm alone.

I just stare. There are no tears left in me. I do some more searches, looking for new people afflicted. I don't see anything outright. Just some comments. Maybe its over.

Maybe its *over*.

Maybe when we died, the stories stopped spreading, and people never understood who it was that followed us, or maybe things became such a nonsensical meme that nobody took it seriously anymore. Maybe being *trivialized* killed the monster.

That was when there was a light knock at the door.

I tensed up. I hadn't any weapons, but the instinct was there. I remember fighting....things, made of shadow and leaves. Thoughts flood my head, as I relive those stressful times, and logic has to be forced in through all of the panic. If someone knows I am here, they wanted me alive at least.

I didn't respond, the door opened regardless.

My mask was back on before she entered. It was a safety net to me to wear that shitty monster mask, and I craved every bit of familiarity and comfort I could get. I must've looked ridiculous.

She was a pale one. Part of me wanted to describe her as you might see in a film noir introduction, you know the type, talking about 'midnight black hair that shimmered like nightfall in the rain', or 'a sleek willowy frame that had just enough curve to make a man interested'. But I'm not wearing a fedora and a rain slicker.

And I'm not that sort of asshole anymore. She DID have long black hair, and matching lipstick, her clothes were decidedly goth. I suppose that's the right term. A black blouse and cut off jacket with a bit of silver, and some sort of silver skull wrapped about her left leg on her leggings.

I met her gaze as she cautiously entered, her tone was a little husky or ragged, like she was sick. "Hey." Awkwardly, I just sat there on the bed while she entered. No weapons were visible on her, and the door shut behind her, so she wasn't bringing in a dozen cultists in robes to fuck shit up (yet). As a master thespian, I fell back on my role-playing background to put forth the presence I needed to portray, that I was not someone to mess with.

By that, I mean I started to say "Hey" back to her, then immediately threw up black stuff again. With whatever that was dripping down my chin, I said in apology, "I missed the bucket." and slumped against the wall.

She seemed okay with my problems and sat at the other end of the room. "I'm Jack." She said simply, favoring one arm over the other as she leaned. That drew my attention, "You're hurt."...Ever the knight in black shit armor, I betrayed concern, like a pretentious white knight piece of shit that I am.

But I'm not that guy anymore, remember?

Jack looked away, waving her hand absently, "Yeah." She let the silence fill the room, and waited for me to ask. That was what I needed, time to process things.

"Why?" I croaked out. I wanted to ask everything, I wanted to scream, to cry, to just get myself killed right then and there, I just...I wanted *peace*.  Why? was all I could say.

She didn't meet my gaze, as she leaned forward a little, her hands together.  "Because of the fears. We're all being manipulated by them. This is where its lead us."

I didn't understand and the look I gave her must've said so. "Fear brought me here? That doesn't make any sense."  "Fears." She corrected, putting more emphasis on it. "You know what I'm talking about, those things from beyond that stalk...from the shadows."  I understood, and started to speak its name, "The Sl.."  She interrupted, "We don't call it that anymore. Please don't.do it either. If you have to refer to that one, Hollow Man works as well as anything."

Later, I would understand why the name changed, and I'll say nothing more on that subject.

"Hollow Man. So there *are* more of them. I had heard of other things, something about an Obelisk, some nameless creatures that were made of water..." I didn't want to say its name, but it had to be said.  "The Bleeding Tree."  A lump filled my throat as I said the words, my mouth was dry.

She barely nodded, sullen and solemn on her own. "We're not sure what the Tree is, but there's other creatures out there, seem to project or create specific types of fear. Not sure if they adopted those motifs..." Her tone dropped, "Or if they created them, but they're out there. We just call them Fears.  There's more than too many."

I repeated the name, "Fears....okay so what does this have to do with me? Why am I here?"  My voice rose too fast, I practically shouted, "TELL ME..." I sucked in a breath as my control started to return, "tell me that you're not expecting me to save everyone."

A wan smile crossed Jack's face, "You're here because we need Sages." My eyerolling must've been visible from beneath the mask, I started shouting, she started shouting, I denied everything, letting her understand how much of an idiot I was. Eventually, she just let me rant. "Did you see what I did to people LAST TIME?! I am not to be trusted. I'm not your stinking /Hero/."

She took in a breath, then said softly, "Do you remember Jeff?"  Yeah I did. "Jeff...Keeper guy, never really knew what he was a part of.  Talked too damn much about having a hot wife proxy. Kept wanting to find a proxy cure. Turned out to be someone else."

Jack nodded as I overindulged with what I remembered, "He sort of put me in his stead." I frowned, "The real Jeff or the fake Jeff?" She looked a bit put upon as she continued. "Whichever. The point is I sorta got you out of things. You might remember seeing me there a few weeks ago?"  I didn't. Not a few weeks ago, weeks ago I was just...walking?

I offered her a vague shrug, so she continued, "You've been gone eight years realtime, probably somewhere a lot longer on the Path." I knew time could be strange out there, how could it only be eight years? "I actually know you, well other 'you's." Jack sat up trying to beat me to the punch, "There's this whole different timeline thing I am a part of. I know 'other you's, about 20 of them."

"I think if I could reach the door, I'd leave." I replied with a edge to my voice. She added, "You knew about just as many fucked up things as I have put down here, give me a fucking break."

I couldn't argue with that, a finger raised as I commented, "Reserving right to go back to this later." She nodded and continued, "Other timeline yous have been rather helpful, and well...you're the one left, so..."  Her words trailed off. I gave her a look of skepticism and anguish, I'm sure. "And I've died 21 times then, great, my death counter can buy alcohol."

In response, she tossed something up onto the bed. I recognized it instantly, and picked it up. It was a tiny jade dragon. The rope had frayed off of it, but I remembered this token. I gave it to Nessa a lifetime ago as a way to measure her...well, for lack of a better term, 'corruption'. My test about jade being an absorber for sin or evil worked at least. It was a bitter pill the more I looked at it. There was even a time when I stopped seeing color, and carried that and a jade pig with me. I like to think that those items helped clue me in on what was happening to me.

That and that deer that broke its own neck near me.

Good times.

My voice went hoarse as I thought about that past of mine, all those events, me standing there with my piece of shit sword, ready to rally against the darkness. To die nobly, and to have a name treasured forever.  Even afterwards, when I was doing what was needed to save everyone...my legacy, my treasured legacy. All I ever wanted...a reason to be, and a reason to be remembered.




This is exactly what I would've given someone as a memento, a token of wanting them to do better than I. Perhaps it was mine, perhaps it was some other version of mine, but I felt it in my hand. It had come back to me. I didn't know what to say, just this little token of eight long years past
"okay....I'm starting to believe you."

I had no tears to cry. I was cried out forever.

So why were my cheeks wet?

I wasn't that person anymore, remember?

So many unanswered questions.

I can barely think, barely type, but I have to clear my thoughts.  None of this makes any sense.  I was dead.  *DEAD*.  This isn't something that just stops happening. What does this say about me? Does it make me less than a person now? 

The light's so bright, I can barely see.  But I remember things. I remember walking.  I walked for years.  Eternities. I couldn't stop walking. I had to keep going, in that bright and dark place.


And now I have just a few black leaves and constant nausea with me to remind me.  I was told
 
I was told that I was dead, and I felt I was dead. I know I was dead. And this was my punishment. To walk forever in a path of black leaves. I deserved it. I was a murderer.
 
I am a murderer.

But I read that my body was found.

My body.

How am I here? How do I breathe?  I...My left arm, it does nothing, I feel that.


I feel that its numb, that there was a bone ripped from me.

I remember that night.

That fucking night, when I died.

I need to process. I can't do it. I can't understand it. I'm so tired, I'm so hungry.  I have been walking for ten thousand years, and now this. There's always this one question that keeps coming to the forefront.

Why am I alive?  Why would anyone torture me so?

Damn you

Damn you for saving me.