By: Cleaners From Venus
From: Under Wartime Conditions (1984)
If my nightmares ever took shape...
Sometimes, I dream with nothing. If I did, then I forget when I wake up. I can't forget the darkness of each blink, or let my shadow get out of my feet. Only at dreams, when these things don't matter. Reality builds dreams, but doesn't exist in here. Go and seek your dreams, before they seek the best of you. The worst, as well. Maybe that's why I'm here. The reason why I am walking on the streets instead of the skies of Lindblum. Both are polluted by junk, anyway. Now, when did I began to hate this place? Before, Lindlbum and its Festival of Hunt, where millions reunited to see a beast wounded by many blades on its back while cheering for the last cries coming out of its throath, while the factories emanate of it everyday on a distance. A distance that seems to shorten with time, closing to myself, unlike the lenghts between people.
Fratley... I once loved him. I can do it again, so a side of me says, while the another half says its useless. Give up. You're weak. Go, stand on the edge of the tallest building, feel the last breeze, and you know what happens next. What I have done... I did nothing but dream. Still I dream, usually followed of nightmares who felt the scent of fear emanating out, growing like grass. The tallest grass, where I could hide myself. But I do not wear green like a child since I got cut and bleeded. I was born with cuts, made them on another, the marks I left drying up, sand covering the footsteps of a beach with tides rising. Nothing seems to matter at these moments, but killing isn't an option. You won't be forgotten, as long as you have done something, if not as small as a tiny piece of sand within a hourglass.
That's one of the reasons why I became a Dragoon, besides my father. Dancing upon rooftops as if something in me wanted to be noticed, admired by more than sights or a work well done. I'm in a good shape for my age, then I notice that I'm not even thirty. How long had it been since I took the title of Dragoon Knight? For how long had I been out of home? Anywhere on Gaia is my home, as long as I keep living on it. Yet, I feel like there's nothing new to learn, only to remember that there are two sides of my life, and these aren't even mine. Anyone can become a Dragoon with enough strain, and anyone can be me with a world who offers reason enough to make you feel sad and search for happiness as a man hiding himself into a cave, warm and dark as his mother was once to him. I wear red, just like when I was withim mom's.
Knock Knock... I wish I could see her again, outside thoughts. She was a common housewife, who took care of the garden, of its children, cleaned or fixed father's javelin, and so she took care of father as well. It may not sound like a big deal, but sometimes less is more. I also wish I could live a normal life for once in a while.
— Hi Freya!
— Hi Jack – and so at the front door of Learie's home, I'm grated by her son whose five candles are still burning. He stood on a chair, same which he pulled near the door's handle, or so I heard the noise of wood drifting against the floor. It took quite a while for him to open the door, given that there is a handle taller than his, and Jack only has an arm left – how are you doing?
— I'm fine.
— Right – Jack doesn't seem to bother about it, but somehow I do. I keep saying to myself that it ain't my fault, that what's worth is that this kid is alive. And living at these conditions, too... – is your mother at home?
— No. She's working. Did you came here to see her? – then Jack looked at me, and I dared to look back at those childish eyes. Yet, something in his voice
— Well... – I don't even know why I am here. I should have left to the Blue Narcissus, travel the world, but here I am, living at Jack's world, his secluded reality. Dust fills in the air, as small particles fall out of a window whose sun is bathing the clothes hanging on a wire, or so I say it from the front door.
— Hello? Hey, Freya... – and so I felt the poking of that single, little arm, and a slight pull of my coat which brought me back to reality.
— What's up?
— You were quiet like a scarecrow. Was scaring me – when Jack said that, guess I remembered why I came here.
— Don't say that, Jack. Not even joking – I looked to him, with an expression of worry in my face. It's hard to say how my face looked alike, given the helmet and strands of a white hair upon the eyes. I woke up like this, but I haven't born with this face. I was like Jack than I say his face, and instead of fear, he seemed fine. Healthy, joyful, breathing with a pair of lungs, tired of silence...
— Okay. Wanna come in? – he asked, pulling that chair out the way, for so I could be in.
— I don't know. You are the only one at home, and I might be a stranger
.
— You are no stranger, Freya.
With that said, and since I had no reasons to leave yet, I followed Jack into its house. His family had one at Burmecia, but like many, it fell down, or was invaded by alexandrian troops or opportunists creatures such as vices. I only saw three cockroaches walking in here, and there, and one which I just stepped over, kneeled to see its crushed armor, and threw it out at the street. They all come out the streets. So I closed the door, and walked back to a straight corridor with sandy walls that grated my view. Walls, and an empty space, had not been for portraits of fruits and other colors to bring in to a home of gray people. The ceiling isn't the best, but its better than standing at the open skies of rainy streets. A cloth line hangs at the middle of the kitchen, near a window where sun bathes green clothes. At the kitchen, filled in of furniture which may have belonged to the old owners, living somewhere else, lies a wooden table with empty chairs.
— You miss them, don't you? – I asked to Jack, sitting on a chair alike him. More chairs than people to fill in this room, out of a father and a brother for this kid.
— Do you mean pops? Yeah, I miss him – Dan was a good soldier. Took the right decisions, made a family on its own, was my friend... and yet, little I knew about him – as for Adam... he was an idiot, but still my brother. To think we fought each other, then he lost for a disease. He was asking to die.
— Only cowards ask to die. Your brother was no coward – I said it anyway, even if I didn't knew who was Adam other than a child, and a victim like the rest. Had a plenty of life to live, and a whole world to see. As for Jack, he can barely see, but each day he sees better.
— You are right, Freya. Though, I don't like this mood very much.
— Neither I – you'll get used to it when grown up – why don't we talk about something else?
— Sure. What do you have in mind? – Jack asked, to which I would reply that my mind isn't a good place to be into. Now, didn't he wore glasses? So what happened before must had been a nightmare. I hope – Freya?
— Well, do you have anything to say, Jack?
— I thought you had.
— I would like to hear you – as much as I feel better each time I hear a survivor, no matter how insignificant are the words left to say. They can say it at anytime. As for a child who's learning to say things, and pointing out stuff that only a few seem to care about.
— Hey, Freya... did you noticed the carpet here? – said Jack, pointing to the kitchen's entrance, where I felt something fluffy beneath my feet, and didn't cared that much. I looked there again, and I could see a carpet, with something written on it.
— That carpet...
— Uh huh. Mom did it. Know what it says?
— It says... I heart you?
— No. It is 'I love you'.
— Oh.
— Mom thought it would be a great idea to show enough love to this world, so she began to write things in the carpet. Well, she don't have a reason to complain that people step over her work, but feel glad for it. Kinda ingenius, don't you think?
— Interesting...
— Wanna hear a joke?
— I want.
— Uh... do you know why the rooster crossed the street?
— To reach the other side? – that was the oldest one in the book. As for Jack, though...
— Yeah, right. But the answer is that he crossed the street to eat the chicken – is it a joke to be told by children to another? Or is it just me, who grew with this kind of sense for adult humour in between? – what do you think?
— Well – and together with a smile upon the face, I had an answer – guess it's funnier than the original.
— I know jokes that can make you laugh for real, but then mom will pinch my ear for real too.
— I don't mind.
— Really? You won't tell her?
— Only between us, Jack.
— If you say. Ya know, it ain't funny when I begin to laugh before I tell the joke, Freya. It spoils everything out.
— You didn't laughed this time.
— Well, could it be because the joke I told you wasn't funny enough?
— Sure it was.
— Okay. Want a tea?
— Yes.
— Cold or warm?
— I don't know.
— Mom said that I can't play with fire, so I'll bring a cold tea.
— That's fine.
— I can't play with fire without an adult nearby, or without bladder...
— Uh? What do you mean?
— Shucks! Oh my... Freya, please don't tell mom that I drink lots of water only to play firefighter.
— I won't.
— Also, don't tell her that I said a curse word, 'kay?
— This is between us, remember? – while Jack was pulling the chair near the table and preparing my tea, and by preparing I mean taking a cup and pouring cold water inside, I noticed that he isn't wearing any glasses, so it must had been a thing which happened only in my head. Though, he seems to be seeing the world better than before. It ain't that better for me, but he's just a child, a sponge absorbing its surroundings, including dirt.
— How does it taste? – so Jack gave me a cup of tea, and kept staring at me with wide eyes. I closed my eyes, felt the taste of water together with dry leaves, and came with a conclusion
— Not that bad.
— You thought it would taste bad? – I looked back to Jack. He looked dissapointed. That's not what I meant to say.
— No. It tastes good, so it isn't bad.
— Never undererstimate a kid! Well, I only have this arm, so...
— I see you are taking care of it.
— Same for my teeth. The milky ones are gone, but the ones that are growing will be here for a long time, so mom says. This if I do not get in trouble.
— Please don't. Fighting isn't a solution for everything.
— You say. Also, I don't want to go to the dentist, Freya. He creeps me out. Knew that he uses dead people's teeth for molds?
— I didn't.
— Had you been at dentist once?
— Well – I could have said that I had been in the worst, but I don't want mold to grow faster on Jack – I don't. It's because I take care of my teeth.
— Then so do I! I was never found of bath, since I lived where it always rained. Now that the sun dries me up, raises sweat out my skin alike dust laying on streets, I take baths everyday. Mom just fills in a bucket with cool water, and I'm done. Then she wears me with my clothes again, dry as ever. I never felt myself like a leaf before, Freya.
— Sometimes, I also feel like a leaf, Jack. With the wind taking me to wherever I please... – a moment of silence stood, before it was broken by an empty stomach.
— I'm hungry. I wish the milkman would deliver my milk right away.
— Have you eat any bread?
— No. I do not want to lose my teeth, old and new.
— Okay – so I finished my tea, and looked to Jack. It could happen to be the last time I would see him – I don't know if I'll stay for too long, Jack, so...
— Don't worry. I can live on my own for a while. Also, why are you leaving?
— I have things to do. It's a long story.
— I like long stories. You tell me.
Now, where I begin? So I told to Jack the reason why I left Burmecia, why I came back, the fall of kingdoms, about a man or something like called Kuja and how he lied on the shadows even now. Could the blame be on his alone? I'm not tasked to answer it. As for Jack, though, he didn't yawned for a single moment, despite how tiresome and how it took an hour for I to tell him everything in a way he could understand. It was like telling a long lullaby, singing about a bridge falling down by each brick. He surely likes long stories, since this one is still happening, despite I being put aside most the time, but still I am useful. That's what I tell to myself everyday, but not only I am a screwdriver fixing loosen bolts, or someone who only leads a life of adventures. If there's a life I can't afford, it's Jack's. He's truly a hero, and nobody seems to give him praise. But that he survived to tell the story, for sure.
— Is this Kuja a boy or a girl? I'm confused.
— You don't need to bother
— Okay. How can I be useful for you, Freya? You seem to be doing a lot.
— You are alive. That will be enough for me to do what I do, Jack.
— Really?
— For real. If something ever happened to you...
— But it didn't? – right, the arm. I looked back and I saw a loose sleeve, an empty space filled in of air, and Jack's face covered with a smile. For how long will it last? I wonder, because what I'm about to say...
— Jack – I said, then I kneeled before that kid. For this world to have brought harm to someone that small – the reason why I came here... one of the reasons... is that I... I...
— You what? Missed me?
— A bit, to be fair – now I noticed that gravity didn't seemed to act on Jack's hair whom I touched. Each of its strands are tall and spiky like grass. Should I say what I had to say? Anyway – Jack... Remember when I took you for a ride?
— Uh? Did you?
— Yes. You were on my back, and so we went from a building to another. Remember?
— Oh... It would be cool, but kinda risky, don't you think?
— And inconsiderate of my part as well – slowly, the image of Jack in my dreams disintegrate to nothing but dreams. But still, I'm not done yet – but you holded me tightly.
— Well, guess I wouldn't. You see, I don't like heights, Freya. It frightens me. Also, why are you saying these things? – Jack doesn't remember. He just doesn't seem to remember. Maybe that thing never happened.
— Dreams happen because something happened when you were woke up.
— What do you mean?
— Jack... If I ever hurted you, could you forgive me? – he stood quiet. Even his breaths diminished. We stood still, while time advanced. A second seemed like a minute, as hours vanished from our thoughts. That thought I had of Jack... could it be out of my head, or would it stay lying deep in the shadows?
— Freya – I had no reason to wonder for myself, since I had someone near. Someone with a voice other than mine – why do you say those things? Of course you would never hurt me.
— But I did.
— Don't blame yourself. Well, mom says I am the one who puts the blame on others, so... should I blame myself? Is it my fault?
— No, it ain't. It became hard for me to distinguish reality from fantasy. I dreamt with you, Jack. Nothing is strange for dreams, only for those who wake up. I remember that I saw you, the Jack from dreams, and you punched another boy because he took something from you. You hurted him badly, so did I with you. None of this ever happened, but... I had to say. I couldn't keep it as a secret, or just let it lie on a box. Soon it would be open, anyway. Do you understand now?
— Uh... Freya... you are scaring me.
— I am a bit scary. I wear myself as a Dragoon to scare people.
— You are scaring yourself.
— Guess I am. Really I am. I slapped your face, but even now, I feel that it wasn't just a dream.
— I don't believe in premonitions.
— Neither I. But when I saw Cleyra disappear, I couldn't believe it happened. I could had been there.
— And done what? You are only a Dragoon, Freya. Sure, you are strong, but on your own...
— That's why I have you with me, Jack. There is always a child within us. But my child, who yells and wants each of its desires to be fullfilled, follows me to this day, takes my place, makes me behave bad. As much as I see bad things happen, I make them happen too.
— I see bad stuff everyday, but commit them... I don't even know what's wrong, or what's right to do.
— It depends. But some things are wrong even when they are justified.
— I pissed in a wall once. Is it wrong?
— The least of the wrong things, Jack. But still something wrong.
— So it's like saying a white lie over lies, feeling envy instead of jealousy?
— It ain't easy, but we try – I kept staring to Jack all time. I saw his face change frame by frame. He felt more than fear, less than pain. He understood me because I talked to him. Now it was his turn, besides a hug.
— Don't worry, Freya. If you can do bad things, so you can do the good too. Not only to compensate, but because it's right. 'Evil prevails when there is no good men to fight it'; so my father said once. It was one of the last things he said to me, instead of a goodbye – I never heard any of Dan's words, but still they reverberate even without its voice – you may not be that good, but surely you aren't that mean, Freya.
— Well, know what my father used to say? You can't buy the trust of another – but to lose it...
— Funny how we bring our daddies back with thoughts. But, do you have someone else in mind?
— Besides you, and between millions... I have a friend who once loved me.
— He must be alive, right?
— Yes. Just like you, he also got injured.
— All wounds heal sometime – with only an arm to hold me, I do not feel that cold. It ain't winter, as the sun shines from the window, and the shadows who once stood on my face disappear when I look to it.
— Thanks, Jack.
— It's nothing. Hey, I remembered something! – so Jack took his embrace out of me, stood on a chair and pulled a fine piece of cloth made out of cashmere thread laying on the cloth line. Not that fine, since it was dragged on by a floor filled with the filth afterwards – mom made a dress for you. It wasn't easy, but she tried. It's gotten a bit of dirt, but you don't bother to clean it, right?
— It's all right. Could you send thanks to Learie for me?
— Sure. For how long will you be out, Freya?
— It won't take that long.
— Okay. Did I told you that mom and I are moving in?
— To where?
— We are going back to Burmecia soon. As long as I still have a hand, I can help rebuild it.
— That's nice, but don't strain yourself so much – now, when Jack said it, I remembered that there isn't only rats living together with humans, but the burmecians were the first one to build a kingdom for their own. That's the reason of many wars, one of them. Will there be conflicts after this ends? There are no endings, just loose ties that we try our best to tie into each other.
— Uh huh. Will you wear the dress?
— If there's an opportunity, maybe I will.
— So, this is a goodbye?
— Perhaps. But know I'll be back in your thoughts, Jack.
— Not only mine, but millions.
— Right. Take care, Jack.
— Of my hand?
— Yes. And the one who holds it too.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
