By: Tortoise
From: TNT (1998)
I've pulled and pushed his away from the toilet. Faggot...
Fuck. Just fuck it. I can't even let it flow out of me... so big, what the hell was he talking about, staring at me like that? He is lucky to still share of both sights before my fist had gotten over his face instead of that fat stomach. Goddmanit, I can't, I just can't, can't I just piss already? I could do it anytime, back when I was a brat, without any worries, yet people kept staring at me, not only because of my turkey, but me as a whole who shares of a blue skin. Hair red like amarant, a fancy hair that looks like a wig, nobody dares to call it by wig. Try to touch it, pull it and just see what happens. Oh no, you won't see anything, just the black. Drowning in any puddle, no matter the color of the water, they won't be able to see anything. Some avoid to look at me as well, in order to avoid my fist as well. Not only my fist, but a sharp claw that I used to bring anywhere I had been gone, or I am about to go. There are certain places that not even the alloy of gold and silver is enough to be paid for the debt collector; it's easy to make enemies when you are owing someone, as much as it easy for they to trace you.
Love and lust... these words both share of four letters, but they are completely different in meanings. I don't feel none of them, or even know what they mean. So do these people, sitting inside this wooden chamber, a party in the middle of a graveyard reserved like many of these chairs. Uneven, shaken like the legs of a child. They also appear there, but the owner of this shit knows how to make this place freed of any kind of purity. He scares them all, because he is ugly, but we are already inside the downward spiral, so we don't care. It's forbidden to enter drunk within this place, but anyone is allowed to get out of messed up as this place. It ain't a problem belonging to this pub, but the people who visit same place. They all come here to drink, for many reasons. Mainly because each beer, any kind of drink with a weird name makes us forget. Our heads spin, and the world around as well. It's a moving world, that makes less sense when it begins to melt.
The guys sitting on that table near the wall, they are all young, yet they cough like those moribunds about to die. I heard that these writers believe women and their love only exists within dreams. So do I, but I don't believe in any dream whatsoever. I can only remember the dark void, and suddenly when I woke up, I just forget. Sometimes, I pretend this is a kind of dream, but in the end, I end up getting hurt, scorched, and disappointing people. Even in sobriety, if there is such a thing. This entire world is a vice; on the same way a mushroom is followed of stomach aching, comes a healthy weed to be poured on our wounds. Gimme a mug of beer, I said with a finger. The barman doesn't care if I caused him trouble, because he sells the same, and nobody blames him for making us sick. He works, live for that. Just a citzen who is making a way to live a quiet life. With so many swearings coming from his back. I prefer to be insulted, instead of a knife to be thrown at me, but whatever, they get stuck with me anyway.
And beer doesn't make men grown any muscles. We had been born with these arms. But when the muscle begins to act like a brain, then it's time to amputate. Public castration is not my kind, but I believe that someday, I can see it, they will make us believe that beer is good for our health, I know someone will do this. Then, everyone will begin to drink alcohol, even the babies. For two years, I drank the milk mother gave to me, but I didn't drank any beer yet. Then, I remember I didn't had any mother, or a father to inspire me. He died of shame, a kid said to me once. Who was that brat to know how pops was? Who am I to share of a family? I was born, for sure, but even dogs are born, and they don't even have the need to know, wonder why they exist. All they do is to eat, and so they became our best friends.
— Listen, Amarant. I don't want people to call me by that name. Jack is gone, and I have changed – no, you didn't. But I pretend to agree, because any kind of talk progresses with someone agreeing to the parts. Well, Jack... How do I shall call you by then? I have a plenty of words I call people by. But unlike names, none of them remain attached forever to them. A filthy, subber cheat... I've heard that people need teeth to talk clearly. The tongue touches the back of the front teeth. How many teeths we have sold to the dentists, Jack? Some were even yours. White, and yellows as well. But they didn't lasted for too long inside your mouth, and how much they will endure within an old man? Do they still use children teeth, anyway? There are people who use them in a sort of ways. Children use each other since young. I have learned to play tug of war in both directions, because I had to.
Look! What a colorful nest of leeches you have there, Amarant... Well, since that's your name, I bet you as a whole is a nest for all kind of parasites... No, he is a parasite... He seems more alike a monster to me... Yo, Indigo! Have your bollocks fell inside a paint bucket too? You sure are small like them... You guys speak a lot about Amarant... He only has two arms... You are right, but at least Jack's extra arms are useful... Nobody has a chance against his... Hey, Amarant! This sandwich shares of more muscle than yours... The meat is red, all of them... Amarant... I didn't knew you bleeded with the same color as your hair?... Of course he wouldn't shed any blue stain over these clothes. Maybe a purple, like when they cut the heads of those Zaghnols... Hey, Queen Brahne is blue too... Is that your mom by chance, Amarant? Nah... A thing like you do not deserve to be part of royalty... Why are we still calling Amarant by 'he' anyway? Ain't it a thing?... Self-pity is unfortunately part of our nature, folks... I didn't felt any bad when my doggy died...
As the rain washed my clothes, and the snow took the dirt of mine to be its own, instead of reacting with a fist to be delivered on any of their chests, I planned. I couldn't bare a half anymore. Half of the side of the street, half of the life I never had, half of the dignity I didn't even had. Another sign of distress, and that would be over. Me and his, but I knew he wasn't the only boy there. I had to take out their leader, someone whose name I can't remember, maybe I pretend he did have a name. Franco, that was it... My plan was to humiliate Franco, and yet I ended up feeling guilty for his fall. I broke his nose, the teeth as well. I didn't even punched his, I just pushed him with my hands. Several times. For my own sake, I thought he was dead. And then, I learned that I was half human, far more than many of them were.
— If you aren't Jack, then what is your name? – I asked, after we took a few drinks. That's the meaning of a pub, the only place these lads are allowed to behave like animals. Fortunately, my head ain't shaking already, as much as Jack wants to. He looked straight into me. Can't look to his eyes hidden underneath that helmet. Since I've knocked out his brother, he began to wear that same helmet. His head looks tiny as usual, but not empty, I hope.
— My name is Gilgamesh.
— Pfft – goddamnit, he made me spit a nice pint. Gilgamesh... – Gilgamesh? A-Are you kidding me, Jack, right? – your name is Jack. Jack from the alley, Alleyway Jack... – you know, Jack was one of the first words I ever spoke. Do you know why? You can find a Jack everywhere on this town, this country, the first name it comes when a scumbag pretends to call his son by something other than a number is Jack – yeah, right Jack. That's your name, and no matter how you change it, you can't change yourself, no you can't. Enkido ain't here to cover your back. Oh, I see... his name sure was something rather unique, compared to yours. You felt happy every time someone called you by forearm, don't you? It was me who began this all. You didn't asked for it, neither I did. Even your bro called you that way a few times, right kiddo?
— This ain't getting nowhere, Amarant – look who's saying such a thing – just call me by Gilgamesh, and let it be.
— Okay, Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh... I mean, which different does it make to call you by another name? You are a jerk. Yes, I admit you are a jerk, that's right... No, no, I'm sorry, see? So sorry, Gig. Now you feel good, Gig? Alright... Gig. Now, pay attention. Pay attention, Gig... Is it fine to call you by Gig? Do I have to put a 'Mesh' in your name to make you smile? – I'll be calling you by Gig anyway. Three letters instead of four, how does it feel? It could had been one of your arms that would had been taken out, if you weren't so resistent – just nod if you agree, show a smirk, do something that means a thing for both of us. Hey, what you did? Is that what? Show me again – Gig did a sign to me. He nodded... that's fine. Now we are truly getting somewhere – okay, good... good, Gig. Alright, enough of that. Why discuss, if we already know the deal?
That's why I hate you, Gig. Yet, you had been so helpful to me that I own you something, far more than a straight fist on your face. I know slapping won't make the kid learn a thing. It'll do make him learn something, a thing I have already learnt within time... control yourself. Why he became a friend of yours, if you almost sent his brother to the bottom of a grave? No, he went to a dentist to treat his caries. I know it, because I was the surgeon that numbed his. It was painful, I heard from the others. It was the first, and last time I ever fought against someone who mocked me. Next time, and a murder would be commited. It already had been, because I died and then I had been living on this hell. The only thing I despise being hot is the mug in one of my hands, which fortunately it isn't.
— These books are pretty heavy – with his brother beaten, this Jack here began to follow me, as if his arms weren't enough of a protection. I wasn't that strong, but I was a reckless child, which was enough to endure living for a while. Now all of what was once a life is draining out of me... from a time to another, I just have nothing else to do other than put an end to this leakage. A knife gets stuck, and it ain't easy to take it out. To clean the tip of my metallic claw as well, though I don't use it too often, since I only fight against people, whom no matter how these lads look alike, they aren't monsters. Their minds are somewhere else, but still they are people. And somehow, I am human, doing the possible to get a daily bread, before it gets stiff – I don't think that they all can be put inside this badge, much less to be carried around.
— They can be sold anywhere, Gig – we never had the time to read them, had we? Only the images – look, Gig, I don't care if your spine bends – sitting your ass on this table is comfy, admit – there are people who are tasked to sell and deliver information. They are paid for this, you heard me? These card games are getting silly, people only win that game because of lucky. And you Gig, who call yourself by Hunter, but you are nothing but a novice, my apprentice. Not only my own, you are a man of favours, a Tetra master player, and there you are, selling stolen books, the first thing we ever did together – no, I did this with Jack, not with Gilgamesh, though he only calls himself by that name because of those arms.
— To be fair, I could have done this myself – yes, you could have handled it for yourself – but, it's nice to remember the past, isn't it?
— Yeah... sure it is – wonder why people decide to live within kingdoms, cities, walls? It's a thing that happened in the past, so do the wars. But they happened even before human beings existed. We may be able to think, but we still behave like animals. People like to live of the past and its attributes, to sum it up. The beer also happened to be brought in same past, and I wonder if it was awful like this mug. But anyway, I taste it, because I want the world to be spinning, and I be on the center. Everyone is a moon, who shares of many holes, and some people are let in, as a sort of home.
— These people do not even look at me with the same eyes they share with a criminal nearby...
— Is it a crime for a person to deliver books that aren't meant to be read? Why so many crops of corn coming from the farms fall and aren't collected in the middle of the way? Why does making a statue with leaves covering their phallic figures is allowed, but to change the meaning of what is a book is wrong? Before books, documents and messages were written on parchments, but then people began to get bored. Do people really have the time to read any of these books? Why not burn them, and feel the warmth of a fireplace? Why not eat them, like the worms do? Why not use these books as weapons instead of swords? – so many questions, and I had no answers. You just turned them obvious enough to not be uttered right at your face.
— Can you really kill someone with a book? – instead of answering, Gig just made another question. Why is he surprised? Well, he didn't heard you already. Why don't you tell him, and let it be? I'll give him an answer, to make it clear.
— Of course, Gig. Don't you see? The only way you can kill a person with a book is with the knowledge that lies inside these pages. Ignorant ones are condemned to suffer, because they are happy enough to bare any kind of suffering.
— From where do you take out these silly ideas, Amarant?
— Nothing is that silly – only the line between genius and insanity that is often blurred, Gig – because everything in this world has a limit, except imagination.
— Had you been reading one of these books lately?
— If I am able to... now shut up and do something else to these books. I don't want to see them again – you already know what I want to see, Gig. You don't want it, but I do. Everyone wants some money, but there are the means between. Words are not bad or good. Humans decide and make them bad or good. Do they had something to be written inside those pages about headaches? Whatever, I'll just have to stop drinking. But the pain only comes at the next morning, when I will be awake inside that same tenement, At least, you have a shelter, without any holes in the ceiling. They moved to the walls, where rats live and learn to crawl with the feet and the hands. It has been a long time since I made a visit to that babysitter, by the way.
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381Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEsviU82I1g
Once a Knight, twice shy... It's far more easier to deduce when and how this world will end than imagine the ending of economics, market and trade. If these had a beginning, then sure an end is meant to happen, but not before we are able to witness it. No, we won't be. Some won't even notice, while others will fall out of their windows. I also live due to same system, and I would feel sorry as well if money had lost its meaning and the colours it brought. Money may lose its meaning someday, and so will do the people. They had been losing far more than each of their past memories... This world almost ended up being swallowed alike a prey found within the jaws of a predator, yet people just pretend it didn't happened. And nothing changed after all, not even me. Maybe I did, but some old habits seems to reappear from a time to another. I kicked a bottle of milk lying outside a house, but I could have drank of same milk within the glass instead, but now the guarantee of one vice less is gone.
At the same time a snake is given a poison, she is condemned to crawl with her stomach, so do many of these people. There are the one kind who pretends to be alike a snake, even showing of their colors, same patterns, smudged like any tatoo. I don't have none that resembles a snake, just a Salamander. I used to be called by this other name as well, althought I don't share of any scales across my skin, but my hair is red as the fire breath by one; the Flaming Amarant, or so I used to be called by as well. Whatever it was the name of their choice, many saw me as a thief, but even thieves are humans, and supposed to stand erect as well. I didn't cared if they called me by monkey, or hunchback due to my posture, given within the years I grew up carrying potato crates, maybe I was born like this, maybe I wanted to be like this. After many wars, and all these hats say is 'well, back to normal, I presume. It happened once, twice, how many times did it happened, as life begins anew?'
My grandpa always told me that bullies are actually cowards... said a kid. Yes, they actually are. The one who first delivered the fist, and the one who received it, and the others who witnessed of same. Nobody has as much fun as a cop. I had been born in the poorest of the districts within districts found inside Lindblum. Like a disease, people try to avoid it at any cost, but they can't avoid the smoke coming from these chimneys, black as someone burnt like coal. I don't consider myself an alexandrian either. I do not belong to this place, I was just threw there, and each corner belonging to each of these kingdoms remind me of home, but I fled from them. These houses stand still, unlike the way I spent this sort of life, if I can call it by such thing. A need, a desire... nothing but stealing from the other. I only became a Hunter so I could be able to borrow some money, not only from the boss's hands. Each pocket carries on some gold, but some build houses to host of same money. It's like selling the pig's fat instead of its meat.
And they say I am a thief... I became one, as soon as I had been foiled by a kid. I look at each of these manors, and the castle in the middle of this entire kingdom, and all I can say is that they remind me of that day, back when I began to work at the dark city of Treno as a bodyguard. Not that I'm proud of it, never that I felt such a thing since people still saw me with the same eyes before that monkey came in. That Zidane, still the same, even when part of the royalty. I was staring at him 'cause I thought he might be a burglar... these weren't Zidane's words, since they didn't belonged only to his. He was the one who stole the King's wealth, yet what could had prevented someone alike me for doing the same? They payment was worthy, but fights could be found anywhere. A bounty had been put on my head since them, besides the edge of the many knives who almost stabbed me. Same can't be said for those who attempted it so...
How long it took for the morning of before to became this afternoon? I do not care, so do these bystanders. They claim share of their own life, so do I. Zidane. He didn't ruined my life, because never that I had one worthy of being spent by someone else. I still don't know if I should be glad for being taken away from that painfully dull job, but a crown of thorns is wore by me instead. Not only me. Of all their trench coats, a red spot detachs from the crowd. We aren't humans in shape like them. With my reputation gone within Treno and the other kingdoms, I became a hunter, whom they once tasked me to hunt and kidnap a little girl with a horn shoved on her forehead. I have saw a plenty of absurds within this world, but none of them to be compared with Freya. She became nothing but a fool pursuing some ridiculous fantasy, trying to recreate a past that's already over. At least, it is for me. But that past isn't mine either. Go to hell, she said once; we already had been living here, Crescent.
— I haven't seen you that alive, Crescent... – well, I can't remember the last time, for real. I had no idea of what to say to Freya. It wasn't as if I wanted to see, or even talk to her. It just so happens for us to be standing there, and eventually walking on the same path.
— Honesty is a virtue... that's if you can manage to stay alive.
— I am alive, and so do you, I presume – it already began like this?
— Unable to be understood even when in sobriety, that's Amarant – and you have allowed a second chance to be given to that one person who disappointed you the most. Shesh... why can't I look at Freya without ever thinking of Sir Forgetful? It just happens, but she is far more than part of his life, if there is one left for him.
— I own you a favour, Crescent. Don't you remember? – a time ago, Freya and I went to Treno. When we had been on our own, we played a game of cards. It was my idea, my game, but I didn't agreed for money being the reward afterwards. Freya put a favour as a bet. Something more fun than money could have brought to us. I hope she is able to remember this, or something else other than... well, he isn't there. He wasn't when she needed of his.
— Yes, I do. You are only willing to play any game unless you are sure of your victory – the Crescent knows me far any better than I do. There are a plenty of ways to achieve victory, by the way. Even when losing the game – so, what do you want, Amarant? Have you only came here to take advantage of my favour?
— I'm not an animal to be interested in your flesh – it's not that Crescent would win against me back then, but I am a bit honest, sometimes. That's why I let her win the game. I was bored. So does our legs, but as soon as we sat on a bank, this nuisance is over. One of them, at least.
— And who said that I would agree with that? – that smile keeps going in and out of Freya. If there's one to be dominated, then there needs to be the one who dominates. One who seeks domination, and who seeks the comfort brought by such domination, if there was supposed to be one, but there is not. None of us want to be reduced from where we stand, or where we pretend to keep standing.
— When someone trips and breaks a leg, some people find it fun – a rather morbid way to live, don't you think? I guess she doesn't. A knight always breaks some bones apart, not only Freya did with her own – to be fair, every second that you suffered was a loss that I gained.
— To hear this coming out of you... Why the honesty?
— You already said the why.
— You don't live, Amarant. All you do is to cheat death.
— It's alot better than whimper in fear of it.
— A bit of fear is essential.
— How much is a bit?
— Imagine an entire kingdom whose citizens do not feel any fear. No fear of snakes, no fear of spiders, of ladders... No fear of death.
— Death is death. Does it really matter the way people administer it? It doesn't. But to forget life as a result... Two men walking on the same path are destined to confront each other one day. Isn't that what Sir forget-me-not said to you once? – yes, I wanted to bring something else to this small talk. But never that I thought it would be in regards of Fratley. Maybe we had been talking about his all along, but who knows.
— Fratley knew many things, far more than anyone else did.
— Did he knew you loved his?
— Of course he did. I trusted Fratley, enough to let him get too close...
— So close that you do not pretend to adress him by 'Sir' anymore. Nobody else does, unless a few who are able to show any respect to even the tiniest of the fleas – she gave me that look of fury... yet all I see is desperation. Desperation to be able to do something. Something that matters.
— I do respect Fratley Irontail, enough to not speak of him behind his back – no one is able to read minds, as far as I know where to punch someone, until they faint out. Mainly I do hit their stomaches. It always works, althought it takes some time to travel throught the fat of each. They gasp each time I reach the diaphragm.
— But you can't disagree with me. What I said about Fratley had become the least of your concerns. You may have doubled your efforts, Crescent. But don't forget that you have lost your aim as well.
— And that's your opinion. Probably the last one you'll ever have – the last one for today, Freya – to where are you going?
— I'll be spotting some trains in the station.
— This ain't that much of a profiteable activity. You never learn, Amarant.
— Speak for yourself, Crescent. You do have a choice, after all.
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