My world has ended long before i even knew what the world looked like. Conceived in amidst of flames and ruins, there i stood like a lost puppy.
Wandering around the corners of death, wandering towards the edge of a cliff. Each second, my end awaits. But in the end, only i remained. I reached for afar, i reached for a sky, i reached for the light- But nobody held my hand back. The rain proceeded, and only i remained.
I saw the painting of hell that gradually, continously, never stopped. It painted itself red, it painted itself with the faces of a hundred children, unnamed sacrifices and uneventful deaths. There were no final curtains to be brought, for they were all burned. There was no one left for a funeral. There was no one left to be blamed.
There was no one left to stand and be ashamed for living. Except for i. The one cursed with the burden of living, when others did not. The last dance was given to a child whose legs was too tired to even move at all.
Often, i find myself closing these eyes and will the flames to return. To finish what they started. A corpse remains conscious, a soul remains basking, a heart kept on beating. But it will keep on reminding me that i continue to remain. Remains of a soul that gnaws with every dawn. Perhaps my wishes has been already willed. Maybe, in exchange of this body to keep on moving, my heart stopped beating, and my soul has stopped singing.
Seven years ago, in the seventh of February, God laughed at me.
Long before hell was let loose, i have already seen what it all looked like. And every night, it always comes back to haunt and laugh at me again. A tireless, relentless, and endless laughter of mockery. Imagery of the same scenery that my heart refuses to to shroud.
"It hurts!" I repeat. "It burns!" I repeat. "Somebody !" I repeat. "Help me." I repeat. I repeat these words, as the same scenes repeats. The dawn never arrives, but a light is always present. A light that burns. It burns but never leaves a mark. The light would soon then bent like a crooked smile. The corpses pulsed, and flames started crackling loudly. My footsteps no longer had sounds. But the noise of the raindrops gradually grew deafening. Soon, the crackle of flames and the drops of rain started sounding like applause. A mockery from the dead, applauding me for living.
"Congratulations on living !"
"Congratulations, you lived !"
"Congrats on living !"
"Congratulations on leaving us behind so you can live !"
A thought came like a spark. Shadows sharpened, and the range of houses burned into flames became endless. Roses peeled from each corpses, with their petals falling backwards. And soon it'll warp, the petals would transform into arms with fingers that desperately tries to reach mine.
From that on, i knew this wasn't real.
I need to wake up. I need to wake up. I chanted the same words until i was sure to open my eyes. My chest grew heavier as i did so, my fist clenched my own skin, and my teeth gritted against itself.
And so, something unseen whispered behind me.
....
"Lord Messiah ! You're pale and sweating !" My eyelids were heavy, and my heart felt heavy, carrying both my anxious soul and trembling body. My eyes would reluctantly open from the voice of a loudly, yet faint yell of a woman in dastardly distress. "Are you sure, you're truly fine?" She asked in a soft, almost motherly tone.
"I'm fine, but.. Who are you?" I could blame my eyesight, or perhaps my memory. But i was baffled to see a new face as i wake up. I remember a certain encounter, and i remember it quite vaguely. Even though for all i care, it must've happened a few hours ago. but my memory faded in a swift seconds before fainting. "We're you the lady that Angelica saved yesterday ?" All i could remember was my failure. All that i could remember was the humiliation of being saved by another for my naivety.
But as soon as the cage of guilt would fall on me, an odd warmth pressed against my head, a light touch that sweetly came as a pat. "She sure is." Angelica's palm presses against my head, ruffling it as she wills, like a mother in deep concern but drowning in frustration aswell. "A lady that almost lost her life, which would also direct in you losing your life." She stated with a sudden shift in her tone and touch, her pat that gradually became aggressive, shaking my head like a reliever of her distress. I couldn't do anything, nor did i want to do anything. She had every right to be angry at me after all. It was my cowardice that led me into this state of pathetic-ness.
"One of these days, you will tell me all that i need to know about your oddity, Lucy Forester" She exclaimed, a growing smirk in her everlasting smug.
I find myself in a tight inn, stucked with two ladies who seem to be unsure of me. Tight spaces such as these possesses a grave risk, but also a rather sweet and secure sanctuary. The percentage that a demon might find a person in such a space is below twenty, especially these days that nearly most are already wiped out.
But the risk comes from the fact that once a demon does enter, your chances of escaping ranges from one to zero percentage.
"What a.." I utter as i try to stand, ultimately failing. Two reasons was present, both of which aren't exactly exclusive. My body is either too fragile, or i was still deeply hurt from my previous battle, if you can even call it a battle. "What a pathetic state is this.."
The lady held my back with her soft fingers, massaging my muscles simply just from her touch. "Call me Misha, our lord messiah.. I am a medical student myself, so i would suggest please refrain yourself from moving at the moment.."
"Misha, huh?" Angelica's face softens for a split second, scoffing it away as soon as her sentence ended. "A medical student, you say? I suppose a rich lady?" Prompting Misha to nod. "I am a Steinfield, if you must know". She spoke with quite of an insecurity, visible within her voice.
Angelica and i would tilt our heads to look at eachother in sheer speechless-ness.
Well is that not odd. She's a Steinfield. From a family that runs a medical facility at the capital, known for their quality service, shit ton of money, and a certain controversy. Dear lord, i speak within the vicinity of a high profile woman, but i suppose the world does get smaller once nearly the entire human race is gone.
I feel time pausing as she finished, needing of something to continue from her stance. In which, prompted me to nervously ask. "Your brother, where is he?" Hesitant came with my tone, but deeply from the words that I uttered. I wanted to ask. Her brother, from what i can recall, Michael, is a much younger lad who came from a different mother. Shamed in his entire life, i was quite expecting Misha to hate him.
But i see her head lowered itself, claiming the distant silence that forever lingers. "He's... I'm not sure myself. I have been trying to find him myself." She affirmed, with the tone in her words that spoke of regret. "Had i been there closer, maybe, his hands would be on mine as of now." She held her own hand, as i wondered. Should i be holding her hand aswell ? Should i make her feel my warmth aswell ? She seems to be in need of comfort, such a shame that i posses the inability to simply shake away her problems. I see regret in the way she holds herself, and i want it gone. My fingers would linger as the moment of silence dragged on. But my arms would feel a sudden determination. My hand crept closer to hold her's.
"I swear to help."
This is the image of a messiah that i wish to become.
"I wish to save."
This is the image that i relentlessly try and reach.
"So please, will you let me?"
I won't let there be silence. For that is what a messiah should stand for. My body is frail at the moment, but i feel my arms reaching out to hers. I've seen that look, i wanted to comfort that look, and assure her that all is fine. "All is fine." I thought i spoke out loud, bu I felt Angelica's hands holding mine and hers, and reassured myself that i said none. I could not face her myself, but even so, i can tell that she's smiling. "Because we are here to save you." Her face leans forwards to see me look at her. Her curled hair brushes against mine, despite being nearly covered, i could see a glow in her eyes. A glow that tells me;
"Fix those bones of yours."
Signaling the coming of the dawn, the night's feast came to an end. Outside became a wretched, growling place for the wicked. I hear loud scratches, and i hear glaring shrieks. They do not fear the day, though their eyes are accustomed to the dark. "I suppose the safest would be to stay here for a few hours, i take?" Angelica suggests. "That would be the most logical. Although the decision always must come to the one we follow." Misha states. Their eyes averted to stare at mine, i see expectancy in their glare. One that i simply can't just dismiss.
"Uh..." I hear myself stutter, as i lean towards the safer option. "We'll stay here. My back still hurts, and frankly the state outside is still unsure." The sweating shyness of silence passed by, omitted by Angelica's abrupt laughter. "Well, look at our leader maturing." She effused. "I'm simply doing my job !" Angelica's laughter never ended, followed by Misha's smile that gasped between a laugh and merely just a grin. I would find myself in a warmer spot in between their laughter. Awaiting for that cage to fall upon me. Despite my body being lighter, i can feel my insides, my soul and heart getting heavier.
"Lord messiah, can i ask?"
"I would be ecstatic if you stop referring to me as such" A giggle left my lips. "But go on Misha. I suppose asking questions would be a great way to pass time." She paused with a silent smile that filled the room. What once was warm shrouded itself, further growing colder. "Why do you look so young ?" Misha asked, her voice careful, as if she feared the answer. I stopped. The wind tugged at my cloak as the word circled around my head. "Young"?
Her eyes searched mine, not unkind. "You carry yourself like someone twice your age, yet… you can't be more than—" My breath hitched. How old was I? For a heartbeat the world dulled, the sounds of the crowd softening to a distant hum. I tried to summon the number as easily as I would a prayer.
Eighteen? No—nineteen. I turned the years over like stones in my palm. Nineteen last winter… wasn't it? The memory of a birthday fire flickered: a single candle, the smell of pine smoke, someone else's trembling smile.
Nineteen.
The word rang like a bell, hollow and shocking. Nineteen, and I had called devils as if they were everyday obstacles. Nineteen, and the sick is suppose to cling to my robes for healing. Nineteen, and God whispered my name as if it were a prophecy or a threat. My chest tightened. My hands—these hands that I've been using to crush and destroy devils—suddenly looked small. "I am.. Young ?" I said at last, the admission rough in my throat. And for the first time in these long months, I felt the weight of what I carried not as destiny, but as a boy still learning how heavy a crown could be. But it wasn't crown that i was expected to carry.
It was the cry of the entire world.
"I'm.. Nineteen.."