《Goodbye, General》 1. I want to die. I want to die. No really, I know what all you little fuckers are thinking. "Oh don''t be so edgy, you teenage edgelord". Well fuck you. In this cold, frozen wasteland, when all you can do is count the number of fingers you might still have left by the morning and the dream the day that you come back, while you fuckers live like kings in your fucking warm-ass rooms; you don''t know the fucking meaning of hardship until you''ve made fun of it, and it comes to bite you in your ass. Good god, I''ve gone mad. Why the fuck am I speaking to an unknown audience, I''ve got no fucking clue. I''m a perfectly sane, normal guy. Well, I guess I was. 2 months in this hellhole can do a number to a man, I''ve gotta admit. Ever pissed onto the snow, just to discover you gotta break the piss of your manhood? It''s not a pleasant experience. No good food, either. Only cold biscuits and lukewarm water so that it won''t freeze while we pour it down our gullets. No ale, no songs, no entertainment. No hope.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Sigh. If I''m to be honest, if a man had hope, he could probably survive in this shithole. He could face the day with a smile, striving for that bright dream of his, whether it be family, friends, lover, or a goal. Too bad no one in this Northern fort has any of that sort. Annoying. I turn my body to the side, pulling my covers up further about my ears, and attempt to drift off into dreamland, where these thoughts of mine disappears into the abyss. *CRASH "AHAHAHA you still lazing about soldier? Come on to the mess, you gotta eat up so that you can have the energy to survive another day! Come on up, wake up your frozen limbs!" ... .. . "Ah, General, can''t you just leave me be?" "Nope, no can do. Come on up, we have a full day scheduled!" As he spoke, this muscle-headed general fucking lifts me up like a baby, then proceeds to run down to the mess hall, all the while laughing that annoying guffaw of his. "AHAHAHAHAHA" What''s more annoying than my thoughts is this stupidly honest and kind general, who goes out of his way to wake up and pick up every single soldier under his care. Seriously, I want to die. But he makes me want to live. Annoying. 2. Typhoon When the General first came to the fort, it was.... something. About 2 weeks into my residence at the fort, we received word that a new general was coming to oversee and reinforce the place. We all had a good laugh at that, we did. What kind of general comes to a place like this? A general who abuses his power and thought to take a bite out of the coffers with the other officials. A pansy general full of good intentions, a greenhorn, to be frozen away into oblivion by the harsh reality of life. Or a general who had been sent here to die. We all expected him to come a month later after the notice; after all, it would take around 1 week for travel, and another 2 weeks to prepare for the trip itself; settling accounts, establishing stewards for their households, settling bribes, and finishing off old feuds. Those sorts of things. Even at the earliest, he should''ve come in a week. What kind of fucking madman comes in 3 days? He was like a typhoon, rushing in with his entourage of men, bugling military horns to announce their arrival at the crack of dawn. No one cares enough to establish regular patrol in this place, so he''d been forced to wait at the gates for a good half hour before the rest of us hurriedly moved into formations and the officials half-assedly doctored records. We stood there in the morning chill, shivering under our metal arms and armors, as we wondered how long this next victim of the north would fare. He stood, tall upon his horse, fully outfitted with a menacing helmet glowering down at us. Then he took off his helmet, stared at us, then broke out into a wide grin. "So these are my new brothers, eh?" I snickered quitely at that. So a greenhorn hopeful, huh? I''ve seen those sorts, They always break down in a couple days, forced out sheer number of maggots and parasites that call themselves the officials here. Unable to do anything, unable to force them out of their well-established places without breaking the host of the parasites, they eventually leave in regret. They all do.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Here you go, good man. The documents you requested, documenting the finances as well as the stocks of the fort." Right on cue. Lord Balthwin, the leader of the officials, here with his entourage of cronies, with that sickeningly pretentious smile of his, as if he knows and is above everything. The general accepted the documents, and glanced them over. Slowly, a frown arose, as he proceeded down the pages, until he finally spoke, "What is this." "What, unsatisfied with the price? It is always negotiable. Besides, with my brother and my backing, you don''t have to spend so long in this place. As long as you keep mum about our activities, we will ensure you return to the capital within 5 years." Lord Balthwin smiled, the unspoken threat of what could happen if he refused hanging over the general''s head with the mention of his connections. With his status as the brother of a Marquis, he attaches his filthy fingers to the things he wants, and takes them with force, deception, and guile. As for those who prove obstacles, he slowly maneuvers them into dead ends, to torment at his leisure. Typical. It''s the way the world works, after all. Those who have, steal. Those who do not have, are stolen from. Those who have good intentions, are hounded to their deaths, utilizing their own sect of morality as a trap, whilst the unscrupulouse are free as birds. Seriously, what a shit world. I wonder what the general''s thin- -Swish- "AAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!" ....................... What the fuck. I watched as an object flew through the air to come to rest at my feet, forcing me to come face to face with the head of Lord Balthwin, a look of curiosity and disbelief still upon his countenance, stupefied at the audacity of the new general. I looked at my fellow sufferers beside me, to see the same disbelief on their faces as well. Hell, I probably look the same. "You.... you.... you .... you.... what do you think you''re doing? Men! Seize this bastard!" the officials raged and blustered, shaken at the loss of their head. A few stared with ambition, spotting a chance to rise the ranks, and they all called for the death of the general. The person in question instead stared back, then rose his arm. "My brothers, who am I?" "YOU ARE THE GENERAL!" "How did he address me?" "WITH CONTEMPT!" "What are the military codes for embezzlement, disrespect for the direct superior, as well as attempted bribery?" "DEATH!" "SEIZE THEM ALL!" As he roared, he lowered his raised arm in a flash, akin to an executioner''s blade. At this signal, the 30-odd men who rode with him rushed out, a torrential flood rushing across the field, capturing all the officials present as well as those not present, riding into the compounds to seize all those who attempted escape. Like a typhoon, the General came. Like a typhoon rushing through the alleyways of the slums, forcing the rats out of hiding into the light, he came to clean up this shithole. And then, after it was all over, in front of us shivering, confused, mortal soldier, he spoke. "Well, I''m hungry now. What say we all get breakfast? WAHAHAHAHAHA!" 3. Regarding Phileo "Hey man, what do you want?" ".... We only have one type of food, idiot." "Alright! One gruel it is, my man. Here you go~" A week into the general''s stay and his men are sickening me. Attempting to be cheerful in this place, trying to be friendly, but clearly distinguished from others by their face. Their clear faces, devoid of any despair. It seems that they all try to follow their leader''s example in their boisterousness, idiocy, and useless energy. They all wake us up at the crack of dawn, for a routine morning run, exercise, then sparring. At least when the leeches were here they didn''t care what the fuck we soldiers, peons, did in our spare time. Which is better, annoyance or indifference? ... What sickens me the most is that deep down, I seem to like this change. I mean, I can''t deny my body feeling alot better than when I was just lazing about, sleeping for the most part, or just staring off into the ceiling. I can''t deny that it feels nice when people ask how my day is going, and seems genuinely interested in my activities. It makes me seem more than a cog in a machine, almost human. But that''s where I draw my line. Others have seemed to embrace this change, and have become friends to the newcomers, laughing about every night, taking night watches and patrols together or whatnot. Not me. Friends. I had friends. When I was happy, in hope, and life. I wouldn''t say I was the most popular person in the world, but I had a decent amount of friends. Bill, Tom, Harry, Abigail, Clarice. .... How is it that when a so-called "friend" is in help, they can so easily abandon them? I don''t believe in friends. When I was forced to transfer here, my glory and achievements stripped from me, when I was turned from a lieutenant into a lowly soldier, when I was humiliated amongst my peers. No one. Not one. Stood up for me, cried out against injustice, remembered our friendship, our brotherhood, our bond. No. Instead, they played lots to decide who gets my men; they competed over my position; they spat upon my past goodwill, unwilling to stick out their necks for the one who stuck his literal neck out for them several times upon the field. Why? They answered, "Haven''t you always looked down on us? Haven''t you always surrounded yourself with us, to show off how happy, how content you are compared to us? Since when are you better than us, when you''re the same trash as us? Tch. Serves you right, idiot." No, no, no. Maybe it was me who changed, or maybe it was them who changed. It doesn''t change anything now. All this encounter proved is that everyone changes and friends only prove to bare you heart, your soul to such ever-changing, capricious, fickle creatures. "Uh hey, man, you good?" "Sure, sure, just tired." I stick out a well-practiced smile at the annoyance. He smiles, relieved, and then proceeds to continue the unwanted conversation. "I bet. I mean, you got the dark watch last night, I bet you''re begging to be back in your bed and snooze off, huh~ " I grunted in reply, a vague answer, one that usually indicates the disinterest in the conversation. He continues. Tch. "I mean, whew. Dark watch, the last four hours of the night patrols. Even I would be grumpy as you in the morning with that sort of night," he jabs, a smile and wink sent towards me to take out any sting in his words. But I was a bit preoccupied with his words to take offense.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. "Wait, what do you mean? Isn''t dark watch only 2 hours, and then passes off to the daybreak watch for the last two?" "Ah about that, the general made an announcement yesterday at the mess hall regarding the changes in patrols. Even if you weren''t there, didn''t anyone tell you?" I visibly pale. Obviously, no one did. I had no friends in this place, and made no effort to make one. After a moment''s panic, I sigh, and then resign myself to my fate. It was my fault, after all. Maybe if I confess first, instead of having it found out, the sentence would be ligh- "GOOD MORNING! WAHAHAHAHA!" .... Welp, time to fess up now. "Uh general, I have a mistake to report." "Ah! Last night''s dark watch absentee." His face slightly darkens, then in a stern tone he asks, "Were you ill? Or did you have some unavoidable matter? The usual protocol is to report a few days ahead of time, but I suppose I could make an exception." ..... This.... stupidly kind man. He''s devoid of all suspicion of foul play, or a simple dereliction of duties or laziness. He sincerely believes that there''s an underlying reason to my absence, and wants to give me a way out. Well, illness is a legitimate reason for absence from patrol, but unfortunately, ignorance is not. "Uh no, sir. It''s just, I have not been informed of the changes last night, so...." "I see... You do realize what the standard punishment is?" "Yes." 7 lashes. A bit severe, but standard military code promotes such severity to dissuade lax behavior in times of conflict. I grit my teeth. It''s gonna be painful, but I could handle it. "... Well, taking into account that you were not aware of your mistake, we will reduce that to 3 lashes." With a sigh, he stares at me.
Cold. It''s always cold here in the north, but with bared chest, it seems as if the cold is magnified. I walk up to the lashing post at the grounds, where the soldier with whom I had the brief discussion with this morning stands with the whip upon his hands. He looks concerned, and a bit out of sorts. I chuckle slightly at his discomfort, then before the onlooking eyes of the army I tie my hands around the post, and ready myself. Being given a piece of leather, I bite down, tasting the salty, dusty leather tense against my teeth. "For skipping the last two hours of his alloted patrol, 7 lashes to be handed out. Commence." What the fu- AHHHHHHH "1" This fucking bast- "2" I''m gonna kill this son of a bi- "3" I grit my teeth even harder, steeling my nerves and heart for the next blow. But the blow never comes. Instead, a hand reaches out, and removes me from the post. I look up, to see the bare-chested general himself. He winks at me, then places his finger against his lips. Going up to the post, he ties his hand, and taking upon a new leather bit bites down. "Recommence!" "4" "5" "6" "7" "Remove him from the post, and banadge and apply ointment to his wounds. Let this be a lesson!" The irony in his words couldn''t be louder. As the older soldier mill about in confusion, the newcomers that came with the general each go to them and speak into their ears. A light of understanding alights in their eyes, as they look on with respect. I can''t understand.
After the lashing, I ask the general for a bit of his time. Finding him at his room, I marvel a bit in shock. I expected him to take over Balthwin''s room; instead, he took a room in the barracks like us. "Do you need something, soldier? WAHAHA-urgh" He attempts to laugh, then winces in pain as it aggravates his injury on the back. "Why did you do it sir?" For a nobody like me? "Standard protocol does not forgive ignorance, but that''s bullshit. You don''t know what you don''t know. How do they expect soldier to follow orders if they don''t know the orders? Do they think they''re telepaths?" He snorted. "And don''t give me any of that ''Oh they should''ve asked around''. Tell me, honestly, do you think any of the soldiers here in this fort that''s not part of my entourage are mentally, or psychologically sound?" Probably not. I mean, we do get sent here for a reason. We''re the dregs of the army, of the country, of society. But that makes what he did have even less sense. "But sir, why would you take the lashes yourself? Couldn''t you have just said 3 lashes and gotten it over with?" He sighs. "Military codes are military codes. Everyone sees the lashing, and everyone can count. If an inspector by chance comes and asks if everything happened as it should be, then every soldier can say with confidence that the full 7 lashes had been served." He smiled. I gulp, then ask the most pressing question on my mind. "Why you?" He pauses, a distant look in his eyes, then refocuses and looks at me. "What did I call you guys when I first arrived at the fort?" ".... new brothers sir." "How can I call myself a brother in arm if I can''t even share the pains and burdens of my fellow brethren?" ... "Thank you for your answers, sir." "No problem lad. And you''re exempted from night patrols until your back heals fully. Hey, that''s one thing that ended up helping you out, eh? WAHAHAHA!" At the sound of his laughter, I bow, and back out of the room. ........... "Oh, sorry." When going back to my barracks, lost in thought, I bump into someone, and spout off an apology reflexively. Looking up, I see the concerned face of the annoyance at breakfast. He had a concerned look on his face, and a bottle of ointment. "What do you need?" "Well, I, uh, thought you might need this." He answers awkwardly. I bet being the bearer of bad news as well as the executioner made it a bit awkward, but I''m over it after the talk with the general. Feeling a bit lighter in my heart, I ask, "Hey, by the way, I''ve never gotten your name." He smiles, then holds out his hand for a shake. "Never thought you''d ask man. It''s John." I shake the offered hand. 4. Regarding Eros Oh God, please end my misery. I thought that I''d seen hell on earth when I set foot in this northern fort but I was wrong. This time, tonight, I have come to face with true hell, true horror. "aND BAbY dON''ttt LET gooooooOOOOOoOOoOO~~~~~~~" "AARGHH SHUT THE FUCK UP JOHN!!!!!" As my luck would have it, I''d been paired up with John for the next month on the dark watch patrol. Patrolling is a very dull business. Incredibly important, yes, but very dull, duller than a sword that underwent 40 years of service without maintenenance under the hands of an unskilled rookie. Most times nothing happens, but when something does happen, it is usually disastrous. Because this northern fort is the frontline of defense against the demonic beasts from the Northern wastelands, we soldiers must ensure that a demonic beast flood doesn''t spill over unto the rest of the kingdom. Of course, the chance of that happening is slim to none. Which makes the night very dull, and painful experience, full of drooping eyes and half-hearted attempts at staying up. But this idiot. This insufferable idiot. This insufferable, twice-blasted, TONE-FUCKING-DEAF BUFFOON thinks it''s a GOOD IDEA TO FUCKING SING TO KEEP AWAKE---- ARGHHH!!!! "LIKE BABY BABY BABY OH~~~~~" I grit my teeth harder. I swear, even if the beasts decide to come hunting tonight, they''d think some god-forsaken slaughter''s occuring in this fucking fort and run away in fear. "Hahaha, anyways, enough of that. Wasn''t that fun?" John asks, winking with a cheeky grin upon his face. "... shut the fuck up John." "Ah come on, you softy. I bet you want to try out singing after hearing m- woah woah woah, I''m just joking, joking." I sheathe my sword back into its place, and then stare out unto the ever-encompassing darkness once more. "Alright man, if singing''s not your thing, then what do you propose?" "I don''t know." "Well, fine. We could talk about girls I suppose." I pause, then decidedly speak. "No." "Ah, come one, I''ll start. Once there was this girl I met in a tavern, oh man. She was...." As John prattled on, I sighed inwardly, and gazed out once more, half-listening to my friend prattle on about his (undoubtedly fake) escapades with a variety of beauties he''d met before being stationed. I don''t really want to talk about the fairer sex at the moment, as I''d received another letter from her from this month''s distribution. It was a cream-colored parchment, with dark splotches, as if someone had spilled some liquid upon it. Yes, just like the letter John pulled out of his vest. Wait what? "JOHN WHAT THE FUCK." "Oh come on dude, I was curious, I didn''t look inside, honest. Here, I''ll give it back, if you talk about the person who sent you this letter." He smiled, dangling the parchement in front of my nose. I glared, then sighed. John had stuck around with me for some time, enough time for me to understand he really wouldn''t look at other''s personal items without permission. He would steal it for a time in order to get people to play along with his antics, and woe be unto those that do not play along, for he shall never see that item.... for several days. Then he''d be bored, and return the item. Unfortuately for me, I don''t intend for others to see the contents of that letter, not even by accident. And if he were to leave it at his barracks for any curious eyes to detect.... "Alright, I''ll play along with your games. The person who sent this letter huh?" John grins widely, returns the letter, and settles down to listen. Smirking slightly at his antics, I recall my memories of her. The scent of her hair, the peal of laughters, the tears glistening under the moonlight; the figure of my friend, my lover, and the cause of my demotion here.
During my stay at the Royal Academy, I met a girl. Vibrant and vivacious, charming and childishly capricious. Yet underneath her sunny exterior, a ponderous, deep mindset, matured beyond her years, as if looking into a deep spring pool at midnight, gazing upon the moon encompassed in its reflections. Brilliant in mind, average in strength, the pinnacle of ability when it comes to making friends, but hopelessly lost when it comes to romance; she was my sun, her red hair flashing bright crimson under the sunlight, dancing like flames; she was my moon, the reflections of my thoughts, the philospher''s and thinker''s audience; my muse, my love, my hope; me the Pierrot, her the Columbine.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Yet she had left me for Harlequin. I wooed her during my years together with her in the Academy. Usually, I don''t have much sense for romance; as my mother had put when I was childe, I was like a "wooden block". But when I saw her, her sparkling laughter drifting throughout the air, in that instance, I was captured. I introduced myself, became friends with her, understood her, loved her. In my final year at the Academy, I asked her to a date, and surprisingly enough, she acceded with a blush. Later on, I would learn with amusement that she had never been asked out before; others had took her to be a flower upon the mountaintop, unattainable, unapproachable, only to be admired, never to touch. Yet I, a nameless nobody, had managed to secure her. After graduating, and securing a post at the Royal Capital Guards, I approached her family, and managed to obtain their blessings. We spent our time free days together, and eventually, after my promotion to being a lieutenant, I proposed to her, the wedding date to be set in a month''s time. We were in bliss. But as they say, the good times never last. The higher one goes, the harder it hurts when one falls. ....... One night, my... no, what I thought to be my friends. These fuckers, these "friends" of mine, told me they had a show to show me. They led me to a young noble''s residence, where through a keyhole I saw her. She was being violated by that young noble, with no resistance whatsoever. When I came to, I held my blade within my hands, the bastard''s dick chopped off, his eyes gouged out, and a gaping wound through his gut. I raised my blade high, fully intending to kill off my unfaithful fiance. But. I saw it. The moonlight glistening, like silver droplets. Glistening, upon her teardrops. I dropped my sword, turned around to see the members of the guard rushing in, my "friends" insufferable smirk, the men roaring at me to turn myself in for the murder of a noble. I gazed at them, and then turned my glance towards my love, my weakness, evidence of her defilement still upon her, as she quietly wept. I draped my cloak over her, despite my anger and hatred, and ensured her safety by sending her away to her family through my own personal men. I faced my crimes in prison, aware now that my friends were but vipers, plotting my demise. Luckily, I killed the noble instead of losing my mind, defeating their purpose of obtaining a puppet through manipulation of the things I held dear. As the proof of the noble''s unsavory dealings were in plain sight, without enough time to squirrel them away into the darkness, my sentence was reduced from execution to demotion, and sending me to this northern fort. ....... I have to confess there is a mistake here in this story. Although I called myself Pierrot, and her the Columbine that left me for Harlequin. Her body may have left, but her heart remained. Those splotches on the letter? Those are my and her teardrops. Because I learned the full truth. She sold her body, because her family was in debt to the noble in question. She was ordered to not speak about it to me, else I would be dragged in to her situation. Desperate, yet unwilling to burden me, she resigned herself to misery.
"So John, tell me, what should I do?" I turn to him, tears streaking down my face, turning to ice through the winter chill. ".... What do you mean what should you do? Go write to her to get her back!" "I can''t. Even though she was going through difficulties, why couldn''t she have told me? I''m willing to share her burdens. Why did she have to sell her chasitity? Do I mean that little to her?" I set my gaze towards the pavement. "No, that''s not it. I''m merely justifying myself. The truth is, I don''t know if I can love her anymore. Whenever I see her, it''s accompanied by the image of that bastard. And whenever she sees me, I''m afraid of seeing pain in her eyes; I''m afraid of not loving her anymore, and her not loving me anymore." "...." John stands silent. "... You should go to her, of course." John and I both whirl around at the familiar voice behind us. "General!" "Evening. I was going for a jog, when I couldn''t help but overhear your story, soldier." A jog? Who the fuck goes for a jog at the middle of darkwatch? I look, and see a jug with steam floating off on the side of the corridor, with various cups on a platter. Noticing my gaze, the General coughs slightly, then resumes. "You claim you don''t love her anymore? That being basically raped by a noblemen makes her unworthy?" "No! Not unworthy, just...." I protest, but he cuts me off. "Just what? Tell me, why did you propose to her? For her looks? For her charm? Her body? Her chastity? No." He continued, "You married her, because you care for her. Because you wish her happiness, in whatever she does. She is neither lesser through this experience nor is she less loved by you. The truth is, you are far less of afraid of not loving her, than her not loving you." "... but how can she love me? I couldn''t be there for her, and I would be but a reminder of her pain." "Tell me again, why did you not strike her down?" "... her tears." "Yes. Deep down, you know yourself." He pauses. "She cried for you. She didn''t want you to be hurt by her. How can she no longer love you? Idiot." He laughs at my stunned face, then continues. "When spring comes, go take a break; I''ll allow it. Go see her, soldier." He then winks, and, as if to crush his cool image, continues, "After all, you have yet to consummate your marriage, yes? WAHAHAHAHA" "... Thank you General." I actually knew she loved me still. I just couldn''t bear to believe it; that she''d still love a useless husband like me. But I won''t let her be hurt because of me or my absence anymore. If I''m useless, I just have to change to be the greatest husband in the world. "... Hey General, this is all good and all, but how do you know so much about women?" John asks, curious. I look onwards as well, curious to the General''s past. Surprisingly, the General stutters, "Uh, about that hrm, achm." John smirks, "Hey General, this is just a rumor I heard, but you still don''t have a wife at your advanced age, yes?" The expression upon his face was all the confirmation we needed. I snickered, and then stopped as the chill in the air intensified. The General was smiling, but it didn''t reach his eyes. John and I both turn our heads to look at each other, reading the others intent in the eyes, and then nod. "HEY GET BACK HERE TWO! I''LL SHOW YOU A LONELY MAN''S ANGER AGAINST THE FULFILLED!!!" During that darkwatch, the cries of two unfortunate soldier filled the air, dettering the demonic beasts through its sheer imagined violence. 5. The Strophe - Disregarding Storge "...... why." The General''s voice calls out, darker than the midnight skies, colder than the midwinter chill. Colder than I''ve ever heard him before, he asks, whilst clutching his neck, a stern face set upon his face, as blood flow down between his fingers. ".... no reason." "I see." He turns. "Lock him up." As my fellow soldier force me to my feet, I sway, my hands bound together. As I turn.... it may have been my imagination. The General doesn''t cry, ever. Neither do I, it just gets blurry sometimes.
To my imaginary audience, the representative of my madness, my illness, I greet once more. Hello, denizens of another world. Does it satisfy your heart? Does it warm the cockles of your wizened, shriveled soul? To see my sufferings, to see my trauma resolved, to see my mentality become better? No. The outside may have been healed, but the inner rots deep. As long as one tells no one about their hurts, their pains, their struggles; as long as it stays trivial, casual, lighthearted, the warmth of another person will never reach. Tell me. Do you have a person who is there for you? Who knows you as intimately as you know yourself? Doesn''t have to be family, or a lover. Do you have someone who knows the mold you are made from, as to be able to pick up your pieces and put it back, in accordance to your blueprint? We have so many stories, each of us, but the stories are never told, to be locked up, hidden away. Maybe it''s for the best. But as an internal wound casually bound over rots into pus and ooze, so too my soul cries out. And thus, to this imaginary audience, I shall speak my case, my secrets, before I pass into the abyss, to my rightful place.
You know, I never felt... love, I think. What is love? What does it mean? What kinds of love are there? Which is the best? Maybe it all started when I first came into this world, to my twisted family, with its twisted love, to twist my life. Heh.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. I was born into a lower-ranking noble family of this kingdom. We never really had any merits, no particularly exclusive skillset, no rewards, but no demerits. At least, in the surface. Born into a family that dabbles within the dark of the society, I was born, as the youngest of an empire, not an aboveground empire; an empire borne of secrets, betrayals, and assassinations.When I was born, I was immediately categorized as an inferior product; something about being unable to wield mana and nor having the aptitude for the darkness attribute. Thus, I was sidelined into the servant track: to support the future head of the family, I was molded into a tool. By age of 4, I killed my first human being. By age of 6, I learned my mother did not love me; calling me a dull, wooden block, only to be carved into the family''s desires. By age of 7, I had all the bones of my body, except for the crucial bits like the cranium, broken at least once. By age of 13, I was the perfect tool. By age of 15, the tool became defective. When I was discarded by the family, I was human, yes, but something less. It took me 5 years to relearn my emotions; how it felt to feel injustice, how it feels to be angry, to be sad, to be happy. But I don''t know what it means to love. You see, friends require a certain casual form of love, in my opinion. To love a women, one only needs to feel desire. .... No that''s wrong. I learned that friends have each other''s backs, annoy one another yet in the crucial moments will be there to hold them up. Lovers unite, not only in body, but also in soul; to become one being, to love them, to sacrifice oneself for the other. But. Family? The only family I know used me, demeaned my existence. The ways I know to love another is... awkward. Unrefined. Like a child that had never been taught how to walk, trying to hobble along. Yet they need me now. Maybe they''ve always needed me. There was a reason they enrolled me in the Academy, after all. To be frank, I was given a letter 3 days ago. Informing me that if I complete a certain mission, that I''ll be accepted back into the family with open arms. What was the mission? Come on, you guys are smart, aren''t you? It was to kill the General. Why, I have no idea. Maybe he was hindering their plans of some sort. Maybe it was a contract. Who knows. Of course, I could''ve chosen to refuse. I thought I could. I thought that I could break off my lingering desire for familial affection, like they''ve broken me off. But it didn''t end up being that way. Am I loved? I like to think so. Is love unconditional? I would love for that to be true. But single events can be written off as coincidences; a lifetime of experience is hard to be swayed with a couple moments. ...... I don''t know where to go anymore. I don''t know what to do. It feels as if I''m empty; by chosing to seek familial love that I''ve never tasted, I''ve sacrificed everything else. ...... You know, there exists a grayness. Many people are afraid of the darkness, yet they do not recognize that the grayness is equally as dangerous. Draining you of strength. Draining you of will. Draining you of passion. Until nothing exists. Just a shell. ....... .... .. . 6. The Antistrophe - Regarding Storge Warmth. Weird. I should be in a cold cell. And definitely cuffed to the walls, not placed on chair, with only one hand restrained. ..... As I slowly come to my senses, I raise my bowed head, opening my gummy, sticky eyes. And come face to face with the general. I look around, to see an entourage of guards. Most have hard set jaws, others misty eyes. Curious, I look around, and see a needle stuck to my right arm. Slowly, my eyes shift upwards, to see the tubing connected to a vial with a clear liquid. "Ehem. We found you fainted with a fever, so we decided to relocate you. And uh, in the process, we decided to figure out the truth." Of course. Veritasia. Heh. "So I assume you already know everything?" "Yes. Although it seemed as if you thought we were, "denizens of another world"?" the General inquires, obviously confused. Urgh. Another evidence of my weak mind. As if noticing my discomfort, he coughs once more, and then resumes speaking. "Tell me, what does family mean to you." ".... a sanctuary. A place for one to belong, to be loved, to love. A place of kin, of blood, of connections. An intimate bond created since the moment one is born." I reply. I grimace, since I didn''t intend to reply. Damned drug, still must be running through my systems. I glare at the General. "Do we really need to keep this fucking needle on my arm?" "Yes." He sighs, then continues. "You know, from my experience, people who''ve given up on life are very rarely honest to anyone but themselves. They like to put on a facade, a mask, a role, to play in everyday lives. And they attempt to turn that mask into reality. But sometimes the wound festers. It rots. And it tears the whole disguise apart. So that''s why we need this drug. To know you better."Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. "And why do we need to know me better, oh great General?" I smirk, snarl, laugh. "Do you think it''s funny, do you think you''re oh-so-great, that you''d reach out your hand to a weakling like me, and grant unto me kind words? Do I need your pity? Do you desire fame that much?.... No, I know you don''t. And I know that seeing others hurt also hurts you. So leave me alone, let me die under my actions, under the martial law." Dammit, I didn''t mean to say the second bit. But at least he knows to leave me alone. I lower my gaze, communicating my intention to no longer communicate. I stare at the stone flooring, strangely swept clean. I just hear the the sound of a sigh. I close my eyes. And open them to see the general, kneeling, looking up. "Tell me, does family really need to be of blood? I have stated this once before, yet I state it one again. You are one of my brothers. My kin. A bond forged through duty and blood. If you feel unneeded, you only need to look around and see, we need one another. "Do you know about the phalanx? It is a military maneuver by an army in the Eastern Continent. It requires multiple men, interlocking their shields with one another. Every shield is necessary. Every man is needed. "You think a single event can change a relationship? Maybe a successsion of events. Because relationships are built upon interactions. Because more of oneself is revealed through interactions. Rather than looking at the result itself, oftentimes it''s easier to measure a man through their heart, their reasoning, their intention behind the action. And I know you. "Look up, and see. I know you don''t hold malice. When you''ve cut here," he indicates to his neck, "you had enough time to make it a clean cut. But you hesitated. And turned yourself in without any struggel. "Tell me, do you think every single meeting, relationships, contacts, is meaningless? Do you think yourself an unfeeling machine? If you have any doubts, look no further than your own face." I don''t cry, it just gets blurry. "Don''t lie to yourself. Don''t kill off your own emotions to kill the pain. Because that only brings more suffering. Face your pain. And with it face the full and real possibility for joy. If it hurts, cry out loud. If it''s unbearable, ask for help. If it''s lonely, tell your friends. If you fell unneeded, unwanted, and empty, because you don''t have a family. I can adopt you." I look up. I can''t tell what expression must''ve been in my face, but he laughs. "Well, it''s not the first time I''ve adopted. Your brothers will be the men of this fort, their sisters your sisters. A bond forged by blood, in my opinion, is of the same value as a bond forged by familial blood, no?" He says, with a wink. I chuckle, feeling the snot and strange water down my face. Then, mischievously, I ask, "So if you''re the dad, who''s the mom?" His face turns downcast, and the men turn their heads, desperately trying to contain their laughter. He laughs, and unties my bonds. As I stand up, he stretches his arms out, and embraces me. "Hey, no matter what, we will be here. We''ll be your home." As he releases me, I''m fistbumped, jostled, patted, and welcomed. In the middle of this freezing, cold, northern fort. I''ve found warmth. My hearth. I''m home. Hiatus Hello, Sirete here. I don''t know if anyone reads this anymore (lol) or even looks forward to reading a new chapter. Nevertheless, in the miniscule chance that someone is looking forward to this story, I find it unwise not to keep the said reader(s) informed. In essence, I screwed up. I envisioned a story in my mind, but somewhere along the line it got out of hand, and fell off the tracks that my mind had previously set. Thus, the original ending I had conceived does not quite match what the story is now headed towards, and I have no clue whether to implement the original scene, make a totally new scene, or to say screw it and start all over.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. And seeing as I am going through another round of exams, I believe this would be a good time to go on a hiatus. Hopefully I will be able to come to a decision by winter break. Thank you for reading so far.