I’m not a murderer…

…Right?


This dungeon of a room petrified the very last essence of my being, like the pressure deep in an oceans trench pushing upon my skin. Stone still with the thoughts God must have felt every second of his existence. I cannot go further before my mind decides the fate of a thousand souls. No inch towards or away from this switch of death- this press of history.

I have my own family; a wife and a single child. A young boy at the age of seven. My life is serene with little care. I love them to no end, and the thought of them being gone is enough to drown myself in death. I have nothing else. As do my subjects.
I rule over my kingdom now upon an overseeing tower. Though I see them not, their feelings waft to my eyes, ears, and nose. I taste their sadness, their memories, and their life. It is putrid. I weep.

My life has been normal. My pay is sufficient, and my activities are standard if not boorish. This job has presented little but long nights of coffee and music.
Or rather, it hadn’t done much to me. But now, the instant wave of sorrow has been cast, changing the feeling of my own age upwards fifty years. I am an old man now for this moment. Hollow and deprived of life. If this decision isn’t the right one, I shall forever remain decrepit. Forever disgraced. Forever dead.
My moment is crucial not to myself, but the ultimate decider of man. I am God right now, the owner of a thousand breathing toys of which my decision is law. I am the manifestation of the sun and the bringer of the maelstrom. But I cannot choose such a side or otherwise.

I am cold and barren. Sweat drips down my face as the evidence of the world’s tears. Mother Earth cries to me through my senses. She begs for mercy, for solace. A beautiful woman, praying to me, God, not to be so horrifically raped. I can only stare back, unsure of my own decision, for I hold both the sympathy of a man and the wrath of a nation. Which shall prevail?

I am also a letter, a reddened parcel of paper with the inscribed statements of doom. My reading foretells of a nature turning strong men to pitiful weeping. I can cripple a soldier with a stare and burn a tree with my voice.

I stand here without a movement beyond my hearts incessant pumping. My eyes are fixated on this button, and I cannot press it. I may not press it ever.
I consider the choices. What are the pros and cons? Even with such consideration, the mammoth con screams in my face; death of thousands. It floods my psyche; it drowns out all other thoughts. I am not a murderer, not yet, but I still feel its infection.

I want this moment to end. To reverse time and be in my bed again, sleeping sound without the weight of many souls upon me. I don’t want this anymore.

In my delirium, a simple fact of truth reached the molested expanse of my head.

“It’s either us or them.” It became clear for but a second. Either I lose my country, or they lose theirs. I have my family, and they have theirs. Surely I must take the side of my own interest!
Yet, it’s not as simple as that. Far from simplicity; it is a hindrance. It reminds me that they have their own loves in their life. They have their hopes, their dreams, and their reasons. Who am I to take that away? It seems so unbalanced, that such an unimportant man as me can deliver tempest through the mere press of a button. That I, an uneducated fool could take the aspirations of the fortunate and the intelligible.

This button is somniferous. It puts me to sleep, like an outside force working upon my immune system. It tells my body to shut down, to prevent this bomb of stress from exploding. The only thing keeping me awake is the drum of war inside my ears. This decision is not to be taken lightly. My life rests upon it.

The end of thousands or the end of millions?

My millions.

It is painfully obvious, but the will is still not there. I am without control, as I have separated from this temporal land. It is no longer a question pertaining to such worldly issues. I am in the spiritual realm for now. Dealing the cards and spinning the dice. I laugh in this turmoil, as I consider a game of “eenie-meenie” to be the decider.

As if a childish game could do so much harm.

A voice calls out in this fog; my partner. The second decider in the matter speaks to me with an impatient concern. He seems ready. He has decided to press.

“Well? Are you going to do this?”

Decisions

Inside the metallic gut of an APC, blue light was the only thing that illuminated the tiny compartment. Bent over a screen, both of his hands grasping either side of it, the Colonel stared intently at it.

On the far bottom there was a dark blue circle. At the top red squares. In the middle, traversing the lines forming a grid, were green triangles. His soldiers moving towards the objective that laid before them.

It had been a tough battle so far. The Colonel had suffered major casualties, but he knew that the enemy had as well. Those red squares, moving like ants across the screen, had decreased in numbers the last few hours. But so had his green triangles. He knew he was in for a last push, a last show of power.

“Colonel, the jets are inbound,” the Corporal who was standing next to him said. His skin was glistened with sweat, much like the Colonel. “Do you want me to designate their strike area?”

The Colonel didn’t answer immediately. He thought over his reply, making sure it was the correct one. “Yes, but make sure they know where our guys are pinned down. I don’t want any casualties on our side.”

“Understood,” the Corporal said and turned back to his console to relay the order.

The Colonel returned his attention back to the screen. The situation was becoming dire. His soldiers were now pinned down in several locations and his tanks were stuck further back than he liked. If he couldn’t break the stalemate with the incoming airstrike, he wouldn’t be able to claim the objective. His forces would be annihilated and the battle would be lost.

His knuckles were white from grasping the edges of the screen. He was frustrated with himself, with the decisions he had made in the past. If only he had done that instead of this. If he had taken another decision at that crossroad. If he had, if, if...

It was always the if, the hindsight, that plagued him. It was a weakness he had refused to acknowledge throughout his career, but now it stood there. Laughing in his face with the disappointed faces of his soldiers staring at him.

He shook his head and concentrated. The battle wasn’t lost yet. The jets were coming. The last card he had to play. If he broke from pressure now, they would lose for certain. He decided to remain strong, to pull the last ounce of strength he had.

“Sir!” The Corporal’s voice was stricken with panic. “We have a problem. Some of our guys are too far up. If the jets strike now, they’ll hit them too!”

“What?” The Colonel stared at the screen, trying to locate the squad. He found them to the northeast, closer to the enemy than any other squad. He recognized their insignia. They were brilliant soldiers, but he hadn’t anticipated them to push that far on their own. “What the hell are those guys doing? Tell them to fall back!”

“Sir, we already told them. They are pinned down by heavy enemy fire. They are stuck.”

At that moment, the Colonel permitted himself to let go of the screen. He stared at it for a few seconds before eyeing the hatch. “Corporal, how far out are the jets?”

“Two minutes, Sir. How so?”

The Colonel didn’t respond. He walked over to the hatch and opened it. Bright light blinded him and the noise of war could be heard in the distance. The Corporal didn’t call out to him. The Colonel put his boot down on solid ground.

From the small elevated hill where the APC stood, the Colonel could take a real look at the battlefield. He could see his men pinned down. He could see his tanks stuck too far back to be of any help. He could also faintly make out the location where the squad was stuck. It was too far away for him to see the men, but he could imagine them fighting. Bullets flying all around them, lifeless bodies falling to the ground. They probably wondered what he would do, as they were aware of the impending airstrike.

“What would you have done?” he whispered into the wind. The gears in his head turned and turned. Different combat situations exchanged each other, as the Colonel tried to find an alternate solution.

But there was only a conflict of interest. The interest of life and the interest of war.

“Sir, thirty seconds,” the Corporal said behind the Colonel’s back. “What are your orders?”

The Colonel scoured the horizon, eyeing the plumes of black smoke that rose high into the sky. He could now hear the jets, coming from far away. The birds of war. He knew the firepower they carried. Firepower that was at his disposal.

He had a choice to make. If he didn’t decide, the battle was lost. If he made the wrong choice, his men would die. But no matter how much he thought he couldn’t see a right choice.

So he decided.

“Corporal, tell them... Tell them to go ahead with the airstrike.”

He didn’t turn around to face the Corporal, but he knew the boy’s emotion from the reply that the Colonel got. He couldn’t blame him. But the Corporal hadn’t made the decision. He wasn’t the one that would have to inform the next of kin.

The jets came from the east. As white lightning they shot across the sky so fast that the Colonel had trouble following them with his eyes. They only left a thunderous rumble that signalled their departure and existence.

As the bombs fell, eradicating the enemy and the squad that held his own men, the Colonel saluted in silence.

Emperor of One

Origins, File 10

"All great wars had their weapons. Sometimes, it was the weapons that made the war. The last war was no different. After discovering the first forms of Velocity Altering Technology (VAT) the warmongers of the time took no time to make it into a weapon. And thus the the barriers came to be. According to the (natural) laws of physics as first discovered by Newton, every body remains in a state of constant velocity unless acted upon by an external unbalanced force. This simple law of nature indirectly makes bullets kill, explosions hurt and was the foundation for all so called modern weapons before the war. With the advent of barriers the threat of bullets was no more. Guns became nothing more then toys. It was not just guns that became obsolete, explosions relied on shock waves, shock waves relied on speed, velocity and speed went hand in hand, and so the shock wave was nullified by the barriers and explosions became far less effective where barriers were present. They would still burn, but the thunder that made them so deadly was no more. Bombs, feared for decades since their invention, became no more dangerous then fireworks.

Some thought this new technology heralded a new era of piece and prosperity. But the world doesn't work that way. As horrible as the old weapons were, they were part of the old balance, the old stalemate. With them gone, the balance was lost. It didn't take long for men to find new ways to kill themselves for differences.

The technology of peace had several flaws, and they were soon exploited. Radiation, such as electromagnetic radiation, was not bound by the barrier, so any laser weapons would still be as effective as always. Fortunately at that time they were not even pathetically effective. Standard nuclear warheads had the same problem as bombs, their thunder was no more, however they would burn everything anyway so their devastation was still feared and the radiation fallout no less horrible. Even worse, most were converted to neutron bombs, so the fallout behind them would be unbearable even in specialized suits for years.

With most of the high tech approaches failing mankind resorted to more simple solutions. And so the era of blunt weapons come back once more. Soldiers again wore armor, took up swords and went to fight bloody close quarters battles. It wasn't long before technology was brought in and the armor became more sophisticated, the swords more deadly, and the soldiers less human. The artillery went back to the old ways as well. It no longer relied on precise shells and explosives but instead of just hurling ever heavier shells, since the barriers could do nothing against pure mass. The limitations on how effective the barriers were on velocity was always, and still is, proportionate to the objects mass.

And so the war began. It is lost to us when exactly the war started, or who started it. But what we do know is that it was in the name of freedom, and democracy. And thus the flames of the endless hell were brought to consume this world. Men fraught their wars everywhere. For many decades the great war didn't even have anything that could be called sides, nor countries or alliances for that matter. It was all just chaos. Whatever framework to society there was before, was burned to ashes in nuclear fire. Zealots with weapons would rise up, and kill each other for whatever excuse they could find. Death had no honor, death had no purpose, it was all just for the great vain of the world and mankind's arrogance fueled it ever onwards. More death brought even more death with it, and the vicious circle carried on for years.

Inevitably chaos gave way to ordered chaos. Cities rose in the ruins of the old ones, build up on people's fears. For protection great flying fortresses were build to guard against the madness of the world around them. By hovering over cities they were hard to hit by artillery fire, because of gravity pulling projectiles down to earth, and thus battles against them were harsh and long. It is ironic how man takes a few steps forward and several back.

Inevitably cities took over other cities though various means, all rinsed in blood, and in time two major factions emerged. One called itself the Empire and preached order, another called itself the Republic and preached peace; yet both did not have either. In the end the Empire lost, and the world came to settle in a tangible peace, but the mighty Republic payed a heavy price for it's victory and now stands as a mere shell of it's former self.

Even now, 39 years after the war has ended, death still lingers. The war was not kind. Many weapons were used, horrible weapons. And each day new horrors are discovered from the those dark day. One can not even walk outside the cities with out potentially falling prey to madmen or sleeping weapons, or worse. The old ruins and installations scattered all over the world are all potential lairs of horrors.

The majority of the population is living in cities, or ruins of old cities. The life expediency of anyone living outside the cities is not even a year. The rest of the world, the so called outside world, is split into yellow zones and red zones. The administration tries to clean out the old threat but judging by the death toll the efforts seem to be counter productive and more symbolic and political then anything. In ages past people earned for our current state where you can just walk outside 'the village' and fight monsters; the relics of the technologies lost in the war, such as nanotech and and the abominations of bioengineering. They would write about them in fairy tails and create games about them. In these stories heroes would rise up and fight, but in our age heroes seem to be nowhere in sight, and whatever heroic acts have been recorded from the war are more acts of self preservation and desperation. One has to wonder what would our ancestors think of us now if they only knew. What—"

"Ahem! … are you done reading that piece of trivia yet?" said Kou with a bored look and taping his finger on the table.
"Ah. Mr Kurou, my sincerest apologies. It would appear I have had completely forgotten about your existence." said Isolde
"Is that so. Then I'll be going." Kou lifts up and moves towards the entrance.
"No, please wait. Unfortunately, I am obligated to have a talk with you."
"Obligated?" Kou looks at the broken window and the library on the right
Isolde puts the book down and grabs a cup of tea, "Yes, obligated. Would you like some tea?"

Kou ignores her, and just heads to the nearby bookshelf. The top row is littered with archives of the war.

"Ahem. Well, first let me introduce myself—"
Kou quickly interrupts, "(sigh) I know who you are. You're the librarian. I wouldn't have come here if you weren't, so get to the point."
"Actually, while I am the librarian, I am also the student council president; well more like the student council, since there's nobody else besides me."
"Um— so?"
"I'm afraid you don't completely comprehend the situation. I am responsible for student problems, and problem makers."
"So."
"Well, it happens you're caught my interest. I've received some complaints, and require some explanations."
"About me? And you just received complaints now, you know I came here ages ago, you should check your mail more often."
"Unfortunately, these complaints are straight from the city guard." Isolde pours herself more tea. "You may sit down, and talk to me, or you can talk to them. I leave the choice to you Mr. Kurou."

Kou pauses for a moment, but then goes back and sits on the sofa.

"Before we get started, are you sure you don't want some tea. I can have Walter bring you any flavor you wish in no time." said Isolde
"I thought you said you were alone."
"And I am. Walter is a robot servant—of sorts." said Isolde
"Well, time is passing us by, so I'll jump to the point. Several weeks ago, three to be exact, you were called to Sir Rei Katashi's office. Since that day you have not made any other contact outside of class that anyone is aware of. Is this true?"
"Maybe." said Kou
Isolde pauses a moment looking at Kou, she then takes her teacup up again and continues "I know you were asked to follow the girl Mao. I need you to tell me everything that's happened in those three weeks, starting at the beginning."

Kou paused and appeared reluctant.

Isolde starts tapping the phone with her left hand. "Mr Kurou…please."
"(sigh) Very well. Have your butler, robot, whatnot prepare you more tea, …you'll be here for a while."

Flickering Light

It's cold. I take a deep breath and exhale with all my might. I can see the air escaping my mouth at full speed; it's like smoke. It only takes seconds until it turns into colourless air again.

I hate the cold. And I hate the dark. I hate days like this.

I get up when the sun has yet to rise and I return home when it's already hiding beyond the horizon. The lack of light depresses me. I want to feel the sun on my skin; I miss the warmth filling my body.
The few people on the street look at me funny. Do I look so out of place?
I'm tired, so I trudge forward at a slow pace. Maybe I should take a bath once I get home? But it always takes so long, so I always prefer a quick shower in the end.
I clench my hands into fists – harder and harder - until the knuckles turn white. I let go and stretch them out and then clench them again. I really should have brought gloves today.

I finally arrive at the bridge. Just a little more and I'm home. Maybe I should have some tea once I arrive? But I tend to forget about it until it has steeped for so long that it has turned too bitter to enjoy.
One of the street lights flickers. I stop in front of it and watch it for a bit, wondering if the smoke ascending from my mouth reaches the light bulb up there; even when invisible. The neon light reminds me of my youth, when I roamed the neighbourhood with my classmates. We hit the street lamps until they went off. My lips want to curl into a grin, but they give up half way. I rise my foot and kick the flickering street lamp with all my might. The scream I let out echoes through the nothingness surrounding the bridge.

The light bulb stops flickering. And I stand in the dark.

I feel strangely satisfied, but also like I should scold myself somehow. I'm not a kid anymore, right? Shaking my head, I slowly turn around and want to continue my way. But then I spot him-

A man.

He's standing on the railing of the bridge on the other side. His back is facing me.
It suddenly hits me: he's looking down into the river. He wants to jump.

I stand there in the sole dark spot on the bridge that I created with my attack on the street light; I'm petrified.
A whole torrent of words whirl up inside of me, but none make it out of my mouth. Only the smoke continues to leave me.

I look around, but it's just me and the stranger, no one else in sight. For a split second I wonder if I should just run away, but I'm ashamed of even thinking that 'no one would ever know'.

The man suddenly lifts his head up to the sky and raises his arms as if they were wings.

No.

No.

I can't just watch.

I have to-

I have to-

Someone-

“NO!”

The word finally bursts out my mouth as I run over to his side. I grab the fabric of his coat before giving it a thought.

“Don't do it!”

The man slowly turns his head to look at me. My stomach clenches as I realize that he's about the same age as me. He only raises an eyebrow at me.

“Let go.”

His voice is a lot lower than I would have expected. He is looking at the river again. I follow his gaze. The water looks black and is calmer than I would have thought. I can barely hear its movements.

“But ...”

I stop, but he hasn't interrupted me. I just don't know what to say. 'I understand how you feel'? No, he would just laugh at me.

“Let go. I don't want to jump if that's what you think.”

He faces me again, smiling broadly. I let go of his dark coat, surprised by the gesture.

The man grins, waves and starts to jump- I scream so loud and high pitched my ears ring.
But he didn't jump; he had stopped right before taking off. He looks at me wide eyed, before he starts to break into laughter. He slowly sinks down to the railing into a sitting position, still laughing. He even holds his belly as if he had no care in the world and being shocked by someone wanting to jump off the bridge was the most absurd thing in the world.

I want to shove him down now.

“YOU!” My silence finally ends. I can feel that my face has heated up. “What do you think you're doing?!”

My screaming makes him stop finally. He looks at me surprised.

“I was just standing here, you're the one who approached me.”

“Because I thought you were going to kill yourself, you idiot!” I huff.

“Oh really? So you came to save me then?” He says, obviously amused, and locks eyes with me. I want to wipe the smug grin off his face more than anything.

“So what?! It's what you do when you see someone attempting suicide!”

“Hmm, is that so?” He hums. His eyes aren't leaving me.

I look down at my feet; unable to endure his sharp gaze. I did the right thing, so why is he making fun of me?

“Do you want a pat on the back for being so heroic?” He mocks me.

“Do whatever you want, you lunatic!” I turn to leave.

But he isn't done with me yet:
“Wasn't very heroic to be honest. If I had really wanted to kill myself you'd been too late.”

I jerk to a halt and glance over my shoulder. He's standing again, facing the dark water of the river.

“Way too slow. Once you noticed me you froze up.”

I want to ignore him; to just go home. But I'm rooted to the spot.

“What were you afraid of?” He asks. I hear him chuckle.

“It's normal to be shocked when seeing something like that.”

“Always the same excuse.” The man shakes his head.

I can't help but turn around. I open my mouth, but no words find their way out of it.

“What I'm doing here?” He grins at me from over his shoulder. “Just wondering.”

“About what?” I nearly shout, because I don't want to step any closer.

“If you'd die from such a height. If it'd hurt.”

He has smoke coming out of his mouth, too.

“So you want to die?”

“Sometimes.” He kneels down and starts to drum on the stone railing. There's barely any sound. “At least I wonder about it from time to time.”

“... you should go to a therapist.” I mutter and start to walk away. I’ve had enough.

THUD. He jumped down the railing – onto the bridge.

My kneels feel weak suddenly. I suddenly wish I had just ignored him. I'm afraid; please don't be dangerous! Please be a harmless lunatic! I start to walk faster but he catches up to me immediately.

“I don't need therapy.”

I just want to walk past him, but he doesn't let me.

“It'd be weird to never wonder, don't you think?”

“I never thought about it before!” I shout and look around, but the only person I spot makes sure not to look this way.

“You're lying.” He grins at me again.

Just when I start to think about how I could defend myself, he suddenly walks past me and goes the other way. He stops in front of the turned off street lamp.

“My thirst for life is greater than yours.” He says and kicks the pole with such force the metal starts ringing. The street light flickers two times – then it stays on, illuminating the darkness around the weird man.

He leaves without saying another word. Leaving me in the shine of the street lamps, feeling petrified yet again.

One Man


Decline

"I'm just one man, what can I do?" The man was deep in thought, despite his laboured breathing.

"WHAT THE HELL!" he suddenly screamed, as he tore the tender flesh off his knuckles on the nearby steel railing. Spectators on the same sidewalk scurried by, shocked by the sight that unfolded before them.

Many gaze upon the troubled man, yet none stop to ease his pain. They simply keep on walking, dragging the man's last hopes with them.

"Mommy, what is that man doing?"
"Sssh, don't look at him! Come now, just keep walking."

When the screaming subsided, the one man realized that nobody would become wary of his desperate pleas. If only one man would step forth, only one...


Desperation

"You...bloody...cruel...world."
Oh, how differently the one man viewed the world now; it was somewhat ironic. It had only been 3 months ago when he knew true happiness.

~~~~~~~~~
"I-It's a girl! She looks like an angel!" cried the man, as he held the new member of his family. Turning his head to face his beautiful wife, he couldn't be more thankful that they were all together. "I'm the luckiest man alive, you know that?" he had said.
~~~~~~~~~

And the irony of those words had sunk in. He wasn't the luckiest man alive; it was simply a moment of bliss. Bellowing a sick laugh, he slumped down into his own pool of blood, which still flowed freshly from his open wound. At that exact moment, the sirens of an ambulance could be heard; it would only be a few more clicks before the man would be whisked away for treatment and incarceration.


Demolition

"S-Stay back, you bastards!" he cried. Following standard procedure, the medical team did not halt their progression on the one man. There was no choice left for the man.

And in the span of 3 seconds, the trauma team was on the floor. "WE NEED BACKUP! PATIENT IS ARMED AND DANGEROUS!"

Laughing in a sick tone once again, the one man began to step backwards in a trance. Once he had stepped over the obstructive railing, he held his balance and pointed the firearm at his own temple.

"YOU WANT TO HELP ME NOW?! AFTER I rend the flesh off of my skin, AFTER I lose everything, and AFTER I faced rejection from all who gazed at my situation. After...I lost...everything."

That was when the one man reminisced upon his tragedy, his undoing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I'm the luckiest man alive, you know that, honey?" and very weakly, she had replied with a smile. No words needed to be uttered, the one man simply cracked a smile back.

Their bliss however, would be quite short-lived. "Congratulations, Mr. Y...w-what? WHAT? Quickly! Charge the defibrillator!"

As the panic spread across the floor, all that could be heard were the doctors and the beeping from the equipment. Another shout, "Raise the charge to 200! CLEAR!" but the whirring of electrodes could not open her eyes. It was over in mere minutes.

There was nothing left; both the giver of life and her offspring had passed on before they could taste life in its entirety.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the metal obstruction, the one man broke into tears. Suddenly, one bold man had stepped up from the ground to approach the man on the railing.

"Please sir, we just want to hel..."
Then, a squeaking noise. Sneakers scrape across the metal as the man falls backwards over the protective barrier.
As he fell, he could see the bold man's eyes on the bridge above; the sincerity in his eyes...

"Somebody did care...thank God."
The dreary echoing of a lost soul resonated upwards towards the people above as he took his last breath.

Carry the Dying King

The noble king gasped, eyes narrow, but face dignified—the just king is slain.
He fell to the world.
He expected his spirit to be carried on.

The old warrior-king had felt his foe's spear pierce through his armor, but paid it no mind. The blow brought him to the ground, but the honored man was prepared to die. After all, he was dying for his country and his people, dying as the great and benevolent ruler! His retinue of men-at-arms swooped down on the enemy, fighting for the body of the king they thought dead. They overwhelmed the man who struck down their ruler. The king smiled behind his helm. This devotion—absolute proof of the good king!

A shriek sounded high above the plain. A raven looked down on the king with a bold stare. The king’s eyes grew wide; he felt something else piercing him now, but it was far beyond the physical. Some ethereal sense lanced itself deep into his chest and overwhelmed the king with disquiet. The king caught sight of his killer then, gutted and dying as he was. The man’s helm had been knocked off in the melee and the lordly king saw the man’s mutilated face. Vapid eyes stared into nothing and his gaping mouth was filling with blood. He drowned in it. Terror seized the king’s throat.

Hands took hold of him now, his knights, and they would carry him. But they would not take him away from here—from this newfound horror—as he had hoped. The raven shrieked again, its accusations following the king. It rose above the clamor of men fighting and killing, weeping and dying. He tried to refuse what he saw as he was dragged along. Some soldier, merely a boy, gave an unearthly scream as he bled out from his wounds. Another tried to, but instead it only bubbled the blood pooling in his throat from the cut there. A third was only silently weeping as he lay impaled by an arrow. They were without distinction; the blood covered both his crest and his enemy’s just the same. The lamentations were endless, but, in spite of all who were here, they were private lamentations. The suffering of any one did not matter when they all suffered. Their only observers were the king and the raven.

But no! the king told himself. The people still loved him, the knights were still loyal. He clutched his personal truth and held himself over it. He felt himself pushed against a tree by his knights. He wished for anything, any more to prove his truth. He wished for words of mourning. But they talked only of the prestige and courtly honors they would gain for retrieving the body of the king, the lands they would take from their newly conquered foe after the battle. They left, satisfied with the death of the king.

Then the world around him grew louder. But it was not the sound of battle. The raven called, and the bodies surrounding the tree—there are so many bodies, why are there so many bodies? the king asked—seemed to respond in kind. The king heard a din, both somber and angry, rise around him. It grew. It drowned out everything. The one voice of the dead mass arose and attacked him, rejecting him, sentencing him to die as they had. The king tried to cover his ears, but his body had long given up to death. The raven perched above the tree, cawing and cawing, and the king knew that it was the composer of this elegy. The din rose still, still! and swallowed the king’s personal truth. And they told him. He had never been a people’s man, only a confidence man, peddling some petty nobles’ war as theirs. He had merely conned himself.

The bodies condemned him.
Warmonger! they called him.
Tyrant! they charged him..
Murderer! they convicted him.

A horseman—carrying the king’s own crest!—rode by and knocked the king’s body askew. His face landed in mud. The king, but now only a broken, craven man, began to heave. He choked on the mud and his own spittle. He lied mangled, as the world around him lied mangled. The dignified king existed no more. The raven gave its malevolent cry one final time, but this time it was halting, sputtering, staccato. And still again it came above that damned din! The craven man heard laughter.

The sepulchral king begged, groveled, whined—wasn’t I a just king?
The world rebuked him.
The carrion bird did not.

The Most Difficult Decisions

"Hey you! You seem to be enjoying yourself, eh?" shouted the twintailed girl in the mecha suit.

Arata had been caught in an extremely compromising position. Indeed it appeared to be an enviable situation, for he was somehow lying on the floor, with the class representative pressed on top of him. And she was dressed only in a bathrobe. But appearances deceived, for Arata's mind was in great conflict.

Really, he was now considering a difficult question. It was a weighty decision, something that he had been unable to resolve for the longest of times. "How can I possibly choose?" he thought. "Was it all a mistake?"

Everything began two years ago.

~~~

Meh, here's another one, the devil thought. Then he sighed a sulfurous sigh. The boy didn't look all that smart- quite the opposite actually- and would probably not prove much of a challenge to manipulate. But then again, the fun didn't lie in the mind games, but in the twisting of consciences.

Yes, offer them the chance to buy their heart's desire with a moment's sin, and watch them squirm and wrangle with themselves for the rest of their lives. A moment of pleasure for the buyer, a lifetime of entertainment for the seller. Better yet if the incentive was only marginally more attractive than the cost; then they would justify to themselves that their choice was not wrong, and yet never quite succeed to erase their doubt.

"What do you desire?" the devil asked Arata.

"C-can you truly grant my wishes? Truly?" said the teenager, with both hesitance and eagerness in his voice.

"Everything is possible, if you do but pay the price. A small tithe is all I requ-"

"OK! I ACCEPT!"

And to the fiend's surprise, the foul deal was forged in a fantastically fast record of 30 seconds.

~~~

What an idiot, the devil thought. What an absolute fool, agreeing even before the contract was set! How much easier could the job be? Still, the details remained, but what were details to devils?

The devil studied the teenager carefully with unearthly vision. Besides being inadequate in the mental department, he was also utterly unremarkable in every other aspect; looks, athletic ability, social skills, family background, special talents, all average or below average. He was indecisive and spineless too. What an interesting specimen, if only because he was uninteresting to the extreme!

Epic fail, in mortal words. No wonder he agreed so readily.

The devil then pondered over the choice of sins to force Arata to commit. Murder was of course always popular, except that those stories always ended so soon. The old ones had such brutal tastes, always about violent delights and violent ends. He preferred finer courses; it had to be something more subtle. Perhaps the crimes of the heart? Fitting, for this one so unacquainted with such affairs.

And so the words were etched onto the invisible contract.

~~~

"Now, state your one true desire."

There was a pause. "L-love." Arata said hesitantly.

A small grin appeared on the devil's face. What a small desire, and ironically one that would ultimately be shattered by the weight of sin.

"Very well, it will be s-"

"Wait, no! She must be cute!"

"Urg. Ok, it wil-"

"No, cute will wear out! She must be sexy! Yes, she must be sexy!"

"Ok, then -"

"Hmm wait a minute- looks aren't everything! It's better if I know her well already- so let her be a childhood friend?!"

"Is that your final -"

"Now that I think of it, that's not so important. But I would like intelligent girls, honor student perhaps? Good at sports and studies..."

And he went back and forth for ten hours, constantly changing his fickle mind, weaving from twintailed childhood friends to mysterious esper transfer students to shy librarian girls to outgoing class representatives. This was quite exasperating for the devil, who was bound by mystic forces to listen to this endless babble.

"Why don't you just get a cat." the devil uttered in annoyance.

"... A cat is fine too..."

~~~

At the end of thirty hours Arata had yet to come to a decision. Yes, not even one single decision. Instead the list of "true" desires he considered increased limitlessly; "I should be an ace pilot in a mecha academy", "A student trying to become a movie director", "Student council vice-president", "A ronin working as the manager of a girls dormitory", "A magical-zombie-boy", "A teacher at a magic academy", "God of gaming". Nevermind the fact that many of these desires could not be fulfilled without seriously warping the fabric of reality (quite beyond the devil's powers); it was the sheer fact that these wishes were the most ridiculous SERIOUS requests he had heard! And many of them contradicted with each other!

The nonsense barrage kept coming in- where, where did he get those ideas!?!?!

~~~

With superhuman endurance he lasted one week. No, not Arata, but the devil. At that juncture all he wanted to jam his horned head repeatedly into the nearest wall. But unfortunately all the nearby walls had already been destroyed. He could not hold out any longer...

"OK, OK! YOU WIN! I'LL GRANT YOU THOSE, OR WHATEVER SUBSET THAT DOESN'T BREAK REALITY! JUST GET LOST... I can't take it anymore...."

~~~

Back to the present, Arata was struggling with inner conflict, oblivious to the dangerous situation around him. But his inner thoughts were loud and clear.

"Childhood friend or class representative? Twintails or hime cut? Flat chest or D cup? TSUNDERE OR GENKI GIRL? CUTE OR SEXY? CAT UNDERWEAR OR... OR.... NOTHING? I am in despair! I am truly in despair! Hahahahaha!"

His mad laughter echoed throughout the room.

"...F-Flat c-chest!? CAT UNDERWEAR? DIE, YOU PERVERT!", screamed the girl as she used a shining punch to propel Arata upwards, through the wall, then the ceiling, and finally into the sky...

"I finally understand... I finally understand! The most difficult of decisions are those between a good and another good. HAHAHAHAHA...."

The sound of his laughter continued to be heard as he spiraled through the atmosphere.

SANDCASTLES

For Fadwa Laroui
And for Japan

These are days
when newspapers bury readers in bad news,
when names like yours need
to be unearthed from the wreckage of many other lives –
names which contain nothing but
whispers
hushed, hissed –
floating, drifting.

These are the days of people
asking why why – why you?
When prayers are eaten away by stronger winds;
winds which toss lives like yours onto its tide,
like the crest of a waiting wave.
And it falls to break you on a lonely shore,
with the washed ruins
of a thousand sandcastles,
bullied by the surf.

And there are days, following these
when someone will write your name in the sand;
when, soon, everything will pour away into
the swell, and wretch
you out to sea.

Here no wave disturbs your prayers,
no wind rocks your watery steps.
And here, nothing blossoms but the sky,
as the clouds bear you back
home.

In a Moment

Broken smiles
Lonely souls
I was yearning to be loved
Catching a glimpse of an open door
but it closed just as fast
Was never to be more
than just a dream...
but that's okay
dreams don't last
I set mine free
though a part of me will always be
with you

"GOOOOOOOD MORNING VIETNAM!!!!", my IPod has no shame with it's morning alarm, much like myself as I lay on my bed, not moving a muscle as I truly wish that my pitch black room reflected the conditions outside. However a quick peek through the blind's of my window and the bright and evil sun blinds me, outstanding...

With a true lack of energy I roll off of my bed, hitting the carpet with a gentle thud and a clang as my head hits my belt buckle, still attached to my school pants which I haven't washed in a few days, I'll get around to it eventually..

I stumble around my dark room, gathering together and putting on my school uniform. Underwear, pants, shirt, left sock, left shoe, blazer, tie, right sock, right shoe. And with an extremely audible sigh I step out from my room.

My Mum awaits me in the kitchen with a toasted ham sandwich and a glass of milk, I love my Mum. I sit down to eat quietly, my Younger Brother walks into the kitchen looking far more lively then myself as Mum passes him a bowl of cereal. Usually I would say good morning but today I was feeling especially lazy/ depressed/ sleepy and I simply finished up my glass of milk, took my toasted sandwich with me and waved goodbye as began the slow and painful walk to school.

The sun shined so brightly as if in spite of my mood, I couldn’t find my sunglasses earlier so I just have to suffer for the 3 kilometres to school. I walk along slowly, my IPod playing some gentle death metal to aid my mood and my head hanging low as I approach the train line that makes up the halfway point for my journey, the sounds of happy and rowdy school mates bombard my ears in a manor I truly find unpleasant. I turn up my IPod’s volume and continue to walk along alone with a glare that scares most children, but it's what makes me happy so... whatever.

I finally arrive at school, I don't enter through the main gate like everyone else, no no I prefer to enter from the back gate, where I can go to the Automotive room that backs onto the street. I pretty much live in the Automotive room, it's the only subject I care for in my second last year of schooling, well if it keeps going this way it will be my last, but again... whatever. I spend a few moments adjusting some things on the car I’ve been working on, getting it ready for after homeroom when I will ditch Physics and come down to work.

I then slowly make my way over to the old and highly religious school room's which I had to suffer in, my fellow homeroom mate's all say hello, I don't say hello back but their used to it, some of them even think i'm cool... whatever. I sit down at my desk, right at the front and next to a window, I didn't want to sit there but my homeroom teacher likes to scold me occasionally so it's just easier for her to have me in plain sight. Speaking of the Devil she walks in with a happy and vibrant smile, greeting everyone with a careless wave, the Boy's respond equally, I don't.

And let the scolding begin, I could see it in her eyes, I swear she enjoys it as she walks over to me with a piece of paper.

"Good morning Seth" she says in a pleasant yet completely evil way.
"Good morning Miss White" I reply with a fake smile, it didn't fool her...
"You know you should really try actual smiling one day, if you do I will try to cover for you next time!" she says whimsically whilst waving the piece of paper in my face.

"So that piece of paper would be for yesterday then?" I ask with an intended monotone of dull.
"Indeed. It appears you've been skipping classes again and that you simply refuse to do homework" she announces to the Boy's who all have their eyes fixed on my back.

I take a moment to reply, removing my blazer and sitting up on the desk so I can see the Boy's and Miss White's faces.

"Indeed I have skipped classes, and yes I don't do homework. But what do you expect when I finished all the homework before the end of class AND! The classes I skip are usually one's when the teacher is away, it's not like the sub can teach us anything and to be completely honest the car I'm working on down at Automotive means way more to me then what the rest of the teachers think of me." I state with a cold and bitter tone.

Miss White fires back fast "you know with that cold and unenthusiastic tone you’re never going to get a girlfriend!"
"If there was any girl's in this all boys school to impress maybe I would be a little more cheery, BUT since their isn't I doubt I'm going to give a shit!"
"And it's THAT attitude which many teachers dislike about you; you give up before you even try" Miss White states to me as she pokes me in the chest.

Whatever, it's time to end this conflict "if you say so Miss, now if you don't mind I'm going to go to class" I announce as I grab my blazer and walk to the door.
"Bullshit, your going to go down to Automotive aren’t you?" asks Miss White, with crossed arms and a quirky smile.
"Correct."

As I leave the room I smile to myself, she’s a good homeroom teacher.