vignette #3
Aleksei’s gaze wandered over his surroundings, dull and listless. Normally he could control his drinking, but this was not a normal time. Nothing had been normal for years, over a decade now. He gripped the neck of his near-empty bottle, as he walked through the empty stone hallways of his castle. Last Light, a dim and faint one at that, he thought. The thought didn’t make much sense to him. Nothing made sense to him while he was sober, and nothing made sense to him while he was drunk, either. Must not matter if I drink more, then. So he did.
Alone, so terribly alone even if he were in a crowd of hundreds, Aleksei felt a sudden rise of pity and anger alike. He clenched his bottle, and for a moment he felt such an intense rush of adrenaline and fury that if there had been someone with him, he would have drawn his sword and made to kill them. He reached for his sword reflexively, but it was not at his hip. It was in his God hole, from which he could summon them in fire and send them in ash. He hated the God hole, almost as much as he hated God in his private thoughts, in his moments of intense anger at everything. He wanted to kill someone, and he didn’t even have his sword. He wanted nothing more than to feel them dying in his hands, and watch the life fade from them through his eyes. He wanted hate, and anger, and he wanted it all to go away.
He threw his bottle, unsurprised at his impulse but immediately regretting it. It shattered on the wall, and the crystals of glass scattered all over the floor. Guilt overcame him then, guilt he tried to convince himself he did not feel on impulse. It was what he would do when his wife lived. A terrible thing would occur, by her bidding or his, and he would try to take pride in it instead of reject it. She always took pride in it. The only person he ever saw her take pit on was himself.
And that was the worst of it. He sat down against the wall opposite the shattered glass, well away from it and feeling dizzy. His head spun, and his thoughts spun with it. He wished desperately for the peace he could almost remember in the afterlife. Just on the edge of his awareness, something he knew was there but was just out of his reach. As he reached for it, sleep found him instead. And as he began to drift off to sleep, he felt his forgotten cat kneading his leg as it went to join him.
He awoke in a dream. Aleksei did not like dreaming, and he would reject them whenever he realized he was in one. Away, back into the void of his sleeping unconscious he would always try to wander. And yet, they would always be there. As insistent as his obligations in life, his dreams would not let him rest either. He recognized the place he was in. It felt like a crown dream again. A vision that he could not suppress, not push away. It occurred to him then that the crown might not have been what caused the dreams, but his own irregular mind. He hated his mind too, in that case.
He was in a house, and it was familiar though he hadn’t been to it in decades. A little house in Grafjel. He rose from the bed, feeling oddly light and weightless. In the dream, he walked as though over clouds to the stairs and then down them. He could see outside the windows, and a figure stood there in the shape of a man. And it was only the shape of a man, nothing about it resembled one beside for the outline. It was wrapped in bandages and cloths turned a rotten yellow through age, like an embalmed carcass, but loose and flowing like a robe. Aleksei felt strangely drawn to the figure, and felt a compulsion to open the door beside the window and step outside.
A voice stopped him. Small and faint, but he heard it all the same. “Don’t go, Opa. You can still be good.”
Aleksei whirled, startled. Where nothing had been before, now there was his granddaughter. Sweet Katherine, his little bee. She was no more than three years old, barely able to stand on her own. Yet there she was, and in spite of his young, fragile appearance she spoke with the clear articulation of an adult.
Aleksei spoke to her, now. “Why should I not? A wise man should consider every option, no?”
“A wiser man knows that some options are unthinkable, and some choices may never be reneged upon.” His granddaughter looked at him with love and concern in her eyes, and Aleksei noticed then that she glowed in the darkness around them. A pearlescent, clean glow rather unlike that of a candle or anything like he had seen before. “Evil is an objective thing.”
“Evil,” Aleksei sneered at her in such a pure, frank show of disgust as he never would have revealed in his waking life. “There is no such thing.”
As he turned away from her to look out the window again, he saw that the man-like thing was closer now. He could hear another voice, but he wasn’t sure it was the man that was speaking. It sounded like a buzzing of distant locusts, far away but so many and so loud that he could hear it on the wind.
“Give her to me,” the distant voice lulled. Aleksei felt it in his bones. He felt it like he felt the need to draw his sword. He felt it like he felt the want to kill, like the way thoughts of death whispered into his mind more seductively than any lover. The temptation was so intense he almost reached for her, and then the reality of what he would be doing came back to him. He loved Katherine, and Katherine loved him. It would break his heart.
“I will do not such thing, demon. Tempt me not with your lies.” He called out through the window at the man like thing, and it called back.
“I do not lie. You are who you are. Stop pretending to not be. Men do not change.” Aleksei felt his hackled rise. It was like reading something profoundly true. Something that could be known without it needing to be explained or understood.
He felt Katherine hold his hand. Her voice was pleading. “You need to hide me from him, Opa.”
Yet when he looked at her, she was almost too bright to bear. Light radiated from her now, brighter than before, enough to hurt his eyes to look at her. He squeezed her hand, but he saw the long shadows her light cast through the house. “I can’t hide you. How can I hide something like you?”
“I can make you less lonely. There are so many already like me, and you can make others like me too. Give her to me, and let it all go. Let the frustrations die; no, kill them by your own hand like you want to kill so many things. Does that not make you strong?” The buzzing grew louder in his ears. Yet, while he grew frustrated with the light of his granddaughter, the buzzing somehow felt good.
“Strength is in not giving into temptation. Strength is in discipline, and love.” And Biene held his hand tighter now. Biene, who he had held as baby. Biene who he felt no strong love for, until he protected her. Biene who was so unlike his own children, who he watched grow from a young baby into a strong, independent woman deserving of her place in life. He loved her, and her glow did not feel so unbearable now.
Yet, he doubted her still. “Then I have no strength. My discipline fails me, for my habits are old and tired. I have no love. No one loves me, and I love no one. I am as tired as manure gloves. I cannot be cleaned and start anew.”
“Wisdom is in age, and experience! Give your love as advice and counsel, give your love as a guiding hand!” Katherine, Biene, his granddaughter, she began to blur as he wasn’t sure what she was anymore. Her form became distorted, while the figure outside became clearer.
It had a face now. No, it had two faces. It bore the stern face of the Kaiser, of Peter the Great. Peter the Conqueror. Peter, the man who in public feared God above all things. Yet in private, how confused were his beliefs, how confoundingly contradictory. The man who did not even know the word oxymoron, yet embodied it while still presenting strength beyond reckoning.
And the other face, James. How it had two faces at once, Aleksei only knew that it made sense in dreams, even if it made no sense in life. Sweet James, James who died too young. James who had no public persona, but who was who he was, and no one more. James… who Aleksei did not truly know. How long had he known the man, the only gentle and kind man in his life he had ever truly felt he knew? One year, two? Was that all? Yet in that time, how his sincerity had touched him.
He looked to the love that reminded him of his conscience, and he looked outside to the Inner and the Outer. The Truth and the Lie. The masquerade that was both the true and ugly face of all men, and the persona that they wore to hide their inner turmoil from others. He looked on himself then, his own rational mind. These things lived apart, but must be made as one. Yet how?
I am, and you are. A voice whispered in his mind, as he felt the vision fading. If you do not know, how am I to know?
Aleksei’s gaze wandered over his surroundings, dull and listless. Normally he could control his drinking, but this was not a normal time. Nothing had been normal for years, over a decade now. He gripped the neck of his near-empty bottle, as he walked through the empty stone hallways of his castle. Last Light, a dim and faint one at that, he thought. The thought didn’t make much sense to him. Nothing made sense to him while he was sober, and nothing made sense to him while he was drunk, either. Must not matter if I drink more, then. So he did.
Alone, so terribly alone even if he were in a crowd of hundreds, Aleksei felt a sudden rise of pity and anger alike. He clenched his bottle, and for a moment he felt such an intense rush of adrenaline and fury that if there had been someone with him, he would have drawn his sword and made to kill them. He reached for his sword reflexively, but it was not at his hip. It was in his God hole, from which he could summon them in fire and send them in ash. He hated the God hole, almost as much as he hated God in his private thoughts, in his moments of intense anger at everything. He wanted to kill someone, and he didn’t even have his sword. He wanted nothing more than to feel them dying in his hands, and watch the life fade from them through his eyes. He wanted hate, and anger, and he wanted it all to go away.
He threw his bottle, unsurprised at his impulse but immediately regretting it. It shattered on the wall, and the crystals of glass scattered all over the floor. Guilt overcame him then, guilt he tried to convince himself he did not feel on impulse. It was what he would do when his wife lived. A terrible thing would occur, by her bidding or his, and he would try to take pride in it instead of reject it. She always took pride in it. The only person he ever saw her take pit on was himself.
And that was the worst of it. He sat down against the wall opposite the shattered glass, well away from it and feeling dizzy. His head spun, and his thoughts spun with it. He wished desperately for the peace he could almost remember in the afterlife. Just on the edge of his awareness, something he knew was there but was just out of his reach. As he reached for it, sleep found him instead. And as he began to drift off to sleep, he felt his forgotten cat kneading his leg as it went to join him.
He awoke in a dream. Aleksei did not like dreaming, and he would reject them whenever he realized he was in one. Away, back into the void of his sleeping unconscious he would always try to wander. And yet, they would always be there. As insistent as his obligations in life, his dreams would not let him rest either. He recognized the place he was in. It felt like a crown dream again. A vision that he could not suppress, not push away. It occurred to him then that the crown might not have been what caused the dreams, but his own irregular mind. He hated his mind too, in that case.
He was in a house, and it was familiar though he hadn’t been to it in decades. A little house in Grafjel. He rose from the bed, feeling oddly light and weightless. In the dream, he walked as though over clouds to the stairs and then down them. He could see outside the windows, and a figure stood there in the shape of a man. And it was only the shape of a man, nothing about it resembled one beside for the outline. It was wrapped in bandages and cloths turned a rotten yellow through age, like an embalmed carcass, but loose and flowing like a robe. Aleksei felt strangely drawn to the figure, and felt a compulsion to open the door beside the window and step outside.
A voice stopped him. Small and faint, but he heard it all the same. “Don’t go, Opa. You can still be good.”
Aleksei whirled, startled. Where nothing had been before, now there was his granddaughter. Sweet Katherine, his little bee. She was no more than three years old, barely able to stand on her own. Yet there she was, and in spite of his young, fragile appearance she spoke with the clear articulation of an adult.
Aleksei spoke to her, now. “Why should I not? A wise man should consider every option, no?”
“A wiser man knows that some options are unthinkable, and some choices may never be reneged upon.” His granddaughter looked at him with love and concern in her eyes, and Aleksei noticed then that she glowed in the darkness around them. A pearlescent, clean glow rather unlike that of a candle or anything like he had seen before. “Evil is an objective thing.”
“Evil,” Aleksei sneered at her in such a pure, frank show of disgust as he never would have revealed in his waking life. “There is no such thing.”
As he turned away from her to look out the window again, he saw that the man-like thing was closer now. He could hear another voice, but he wasn’t sure it was the man that was speaking. It sounded like a buzzing of distant locusts, far away but so many and so loud that he could hear it on the wind.
“Give her to me,” the distant voice lulled. Aleksei felt it in his bones. He felt it like he felt the need to draw his sword. He felt it like he felt the want to kill, like the way thoughts of death whispered into his mind more seductively than any lover. The temptation was so intense he almost reached for her, and then the reality of what he would be doing came back to him. He loved Katherine, and Katherine loved him. It would break his heart.
“I will do not such thing, demon. Tempt me not with your lies.” He called out through the window at the man like thing, and it called back.
“I do not lie. You are who you are. Stop pretending to not be. Men do not change.” Aleksei felt his hackled rise. It was like reading something profoundly true. Something that could be known without it needing to be explained or understood.
He felt Katherine hold his hand. Her voice was pleading. “You need to hide me from him, Opa.”
Yet when he looked at her, she was almost too bright to bear. Light radiated from her now, brighter than before, enough to hurt his eyes to look at her. He squeezed her hand, but he saw the long shadows her light cast through the house. “I can’t hide you. How can I hide something like you?”
“I can make you less lonely. There are so many already like me, and you can make others like me too. Give her to me, and let it all go. Let the frustrations die; no, kill them by your own hand like you want to kill so many things. Does that not make you strong?” The buzzing grew louder in his ears. Yet, while he grew frustrated with the light of his granddaughter, the buzzing somehow felt good.
“Strength is in not giving into temptation. Strength is in discipline, and love.” And Biene held his hand tighter now. Biene, who he had held as baby. Biene who he felt no strong love for, until he protected her. Biene who was so unlike his own children, who he watched grow from a young baby into a strong, independent woman deserving of her place in life. He loved her, and her glow did not feel so unbearable now.
Yet, he doubted her still. “Then I have no strength. My discipline fails me, for my habits are old and tired. I have no love. No one loves me, and I love no one. I am as tired as manure gloves. I cannot be cleaned and start anew.”
“Wisdom is in age, and experience! Give your love as advice and counsel, give your love as a guiding hand!” Katherine, Biene, his granddaughter, she began to blur as he wasn’t sure what she was anymore. Her form became distorted, while the figure outside became clearer.
It had a face now. No, it had two faces. It bore the stern face of the Kaiser, of Peter the Great. Peter the Conqueror. Peter, the man who in public feared God above all things. Yet in private, how confused were his beliefs, how confoundingly contradictory. The man who did not even know the word oxymoron, yet embodied it while still presenting strength beyond reckoning.
And the other face, James. How it had two faces at once, Aleksei only knew that it made sense in dreams, even if it made no sense in life. Sweet James, James who died too young. James who had no public persona, but who was who he was, and no one more. James… who Aleksei did not truly know. How long had he known the man, the only gentle and kind man in his life he had ever truly felt he knew? One year, two? Was that all? Yet in that time, how his sincerity had touched him.
He looked to the love that reminded him of his conscience, and he looked outside to the Inner and the Outer. The Truth and the Lie. The masquerade that was both the true and ugly face of all men, and the persona that they wore to hide their inner turmoil from others. He looked on himself then, his own rational mind. These things lived apart, but must be made as one. Yet how?
I am, and you are. A voice whispered in his mind, as he felt the vision fading. If you do not know, how am I to know?