Rain (Finale and afterword)
So, this is it.
Thanks for reading, everyone!
Themes of suicide, if you don’t like that, don’t read it. Please.
This is the climax, the very best you’ll see from me.
The Dream, one more droplet.
It’s raining in Death Valley.
An absolute flood.
As if God had sent a flood once again.
She’s there, next to me.
Sish.
“Hey, Kaikki. Be careful when you sleep.”
“Figured it could cause something bad.”
“Yeah. Last time I slept we wiped out the dinosaurs.”
“We?”
“Me and Namus. It was a nightmare.”
“What am I dreaming now?”
“You’re still a baby; it’s more-so prophetic visions now.”
“So I’m seeing the future?”
“You’re seeing now.”
“Can you see me?”
“I see everything.”
“Why is it raining? Can you see that?”
“God cries whenever we sin. You did a terrible thing, Kaikki. He’s in terrible pain right now.”
“Is God real?”
“I think so. Who made me?”
“You’re a God yourself.”
“Maybe a fallen angel. I’ll never know.”
“If you believe in God, how could you let us suffer?”
“What happens happens. I know I can control it, but I’m not meant to.”
“That’s just learned helplessness.”
“I’ve suffered too. Everyone has their own ways of justifying it.”
“Were you human, too?”
“I was.”
“Tell me about it.”
Do you want to see?
“Yeah.”
Alright. Let me show you.
She’s speaking to my mind right now.
Figured you’d be able to do that. (that was my thought)
Yeah, I can. I’m a bit of a mind-reader.
“And I still beat you at poker.”
You crumbled a lie that I built for years. You beat me at everything.
“Is that what you did?”
I’m the best liar to have ever existed.
“Tell me about it.”
The vision, a flood.
I was born, I suppose, on some day in the past. That place which I have called home – planet earth. Finland – north. Lapland. Tervola, in the year 201. February 14th, valentines day, as I would choose to call it.
My first memory is of my mother.
I was covered in blood, as all babies are when they’re born.
I’ve always felt special. Magical. Destined for greatness, I suppose. Nobody remembers what happened in their past.
The truth is I can see everything. Every single life to have ever passed, every one that is to come. With what you did, Kaikki, I am blind. I see nothing. The future I had imagined, the fate I had seen, is all gone. It’s disappeared. It’s disgusting. I hate this. It makes me recall a conversation I once had with Zina:
“Zina, what do you do when you’re all alone in the pool?” I asked.
“I work out. Try to beat records, race and wrestle with the people who pass by.”
“What do you get out of that?”
“Isn’t it fun to get better?”
“I suppose it is. I got here by doing that.”
“See? That’s my point.”
“Let me ask you a question, brother. What would you do with a blind man? Or one that was missing a limb?”
“I’d return his sight and limbs.”
“Why?”
“It’s better.”
Wait, wait wait wait – I interrupted.
I had that conversation too.
Really?
Yeah. I did.
That’s funny. No wonder we fell in love.
So, you listened to him? You believe it’s better to be healed even if you don’t want to be?
I want to be healed. Some people don’t.
Very enlightened, dear.
Fuck off. I’m angry at you right now.
Thanks for telling me? I’m sorry.
It’s okay. I’d rather be having fun than yelling at you, but you’re not here right now.
Sorry.
Anyways,
I’m blind. I hate it. I want to see everything. I want to be enlightened. I want to be the earth and the sun and speak with the stars. I want to love the moon and marry Saturn, I want to experience everything good and die in the vacuum of space. I want to enjoy the beauty and ugliness across the world, but you’ve ended it all.
I hate you. All I have now is bad memories.
Bad memories like my mother trying to drown me, sending me away in a freezing cold river to be raised by wolves. Don’t you know how angry it made me when you asked me about the woman in black and I had to tell you she was my mother? I killed her right after that. I hate my mom.
“Why not forgive her?” I asked.
Because I don’t want to. I do what I want, when I want, how I want, why? I want to. I don’t need a reason. She tried to kill me and I washed up shivering cold into a den of wolves.
I could understand, at least now, what they were saying.
“Should we eat it?”
“Yes.”
I replied: “please. I no want die.”
“It speaks?”
“It speaks.”
“I speak, yes,” I said.
“How?”
I was a crying baby barely forming their language: “I no know.”
The lead wolf picked me up by my nape. I started bleeding from her bite.
“Ow ow ow ow ow!” I cried.
“I will not let you down. You come to safety.”
“Yes. Ow!”
The wolves brought me to their little den and laid on top of me to keep me warm. I couldn’t breathe. They were so heavy.
I drank their milk and slowly learnt to crawl. They were satisfied with my crawling, as they already walked on all fours, but I knew I was destined for more. I always have been. Crawling was never enough for me, I was meant to run. I’m meant to fly.
I think I had grown to be about 7 years old when I first met another human. I knew I was not a wolf, and would oft stare in my own reflection in the nearby river when it froze over. The wolves would catch me and cackle, but I would growl back.
They were afraid of me, and I was okay with that.
At some point I had grown to be their shepherd, leading them with my human instincts to farms to go catch meat.
They knew I was smart.
I’d never eat raw lamb, I’d always freeze it first. It kills bacteria and parasites – it was my way of cooking. Everything tasted like shit, but that’s okay. People have to eat it sometimes.
Eventually I was caught, and it was the first time I’d ever lie. It was raining.
The shepherd screamed: “Kuka siellä?”, who goes there.
I replied with a grunt.
“Kuka olet?” he asked. Who are you?
“Olen Kaikki.”
I am everyone.
“Kaikki?”
Everyone?
“Ole.”
Yes – my grammar was a bit broken.
“Niinko?”
Really?
I don’t understand how he believed me.
“Niin.”
“Siis tullee. Haluan nähdä teidät.”
Then, come. I want to see you.
“Ei. Olemme meeneen.”
My grammar was broken. I tried to say we were going.
I think he meant to distract me long enough for his dog to pounce on us.
It bit me. I ran off into the forest, leaving a trail of blood. It was bloodthirsty and followed.
Did they love me? Did anyone? How many steps have I even taken? I’m barely entering the forest. This dense, empty forest. A forest like this only appears once a century. It’s a mystical thing. The canopy protects me from the rain. It’s comforting.
I’m all alone in this forest. This forest, this dewey forest. It’s just forest forever, forest forever and ever. Forever. Spruce, forever. Every tree looks the exact same. The ground is covered with this slightly brown mold. It’s like its own special, alien yet completely earthly grass equivalent. There’s a wolf.
There’s a wolf?
Theres a wolf.
Alone, like me. Maybe even hungry too. Hopefully that’s not why he’s walking to me. I’ll call him Kolmas. Yeah, that’s a good name.
His feet go pitter-patter on the ground. He keeps his head high. I would say he isn’t intimidating, if I could feel intimidated.
I try to speak to it, as I do with animals: “hello.”
It does not understand, it must be a different breed.
Kolmas walks up and sits right next to me. I sit down with him. Animals understand me more than humans. They don’t feel like people do. Neither do I. I pet Kolmas, and he raises his head. I’m getting sniffed all over. Why am I laughing?
Kolmas pulls his head away. He looks disgusted, even angry. Even I can tell.
He was looking for food.
I’m the only food that I have.
Kolmas lunges at me as I pull my arm back. My body is shocked it’s still together. As I try to stand back up again. Kolmas nips at my leg, tearing my thigh apart.
I should call him “the dog” or something like that now, shouldn’t I? After all, he’s trying to eat me.
He tries running off but I pounce back at him.
I try to.
I grab his tail and he yelps, letting go of my leg. I grab his tail tighter and tighter. I’m hungry too.
He bit his own tail off to live. Kolmas – the dog – deserves to live. At least I have my thigh back.
It’s covered in dirt. Time to dig in. Thanks, Kolmas, for asking if I had food before eating me. I guess I do have food. Thanks for telling me that, too.
I’m worse than an animal, aren’t I? I would’ve just eaten the dog.
It’s starting to rain again. The rain, the pouring, wet, rain, seeping into my open wound, is my will to cry split into many pieces.
I scream. The pain caught up to me. It’s like nothing I’ve felt before. It’s thrilling only in the sense that I know the remaining 10 minutes of my life have more value than anything else. It doesn’t matter that my leg IS there, I know that it will rot. In fact, my body has already went through the process of deciding that I will rot. My leg is rotten in memory.
I don’t need that leg anymore. It’s broken already, all I’m doing is doing what I know hasn’t but can’t help but know has already happened. I’ll eat it. I’ll live.
It’s not delicious nor disgusting to eat your own body to live. It’s something holy. Past, at least my own, human knowledge.
I saved the bone as a club if any other dog tries to eat the other leg. I need that one. Not for long, I’ll die soon. I want to see the beach before I die.
I shuffle and walk for days along the forest. I drink the rain and eat it too. The clouds blow away from the sea. I go towards it. I wonder if I’ve even walked that far at all.
The clouds are beautiful. The trees are beautiful. It’s hard to describe beauty to this level in words, let alone in sight.
I’ve fallen and haven’t even noticed. I’m so elated, far from anyone to hurt, that I don’t notice my own pain. The only thing I can notice is the warmth of people. Clothed in flowers and leaves. I see them, now.
Something about here is magical. Even in the middle of snowy Finland, the overwhelming heat of this place is sickening.
God, strike me down now. I’m being swarmed. Why do they want to help me? I’m evil.
A world where I’m wrong is the world I’ve built / And so I cry, cry tears of guilt.
The people flock over to me, speaking a language I don’t understand. I read their faces and see empathy, something I understand less; to me, they are for once speaking a foreign language that will never click for me.
As blood gushes from my leg, I feel it drop into the ground. It is as if there was a well below me, sucking me down; I fall. I sink. I sink in to the blood.
“This is the temperature of blood. Not too hot, not too cold, as if someone had sat in it for an hour,” she said, to me, as if an omniscient voice above the memory she showed. I snap back to my dream, and speak.
“How do you know that?”
“I hate it too.”
“What is blood to you?”
“Blood means suffering.”
“Don’t you praise suffering?”
“I don’t praise it. I never did. I only ever said it was necessary, which, truthfully, it most certainly is. I don’t like it whatsoever. I hate it. Suffering is what marks life and it is a scar on my back that has carved its way through my heart. Gah! Even speaking about it brings me visions and allegories of my blood. Of my veins, and my heart. I am meant to make my perfect world. I have to accept that suffering is part of it. Isn’t blood necessary for life? I don’t want it to be there, but it has to be part of it. What else is there to make beauty good?”
“We don’t need beauty if there is no ugly.”
“We’ve already had this conversation, Kaikki.”
“Why did you name me that?”
“What? Kaikki? Because it’s beautiful. I love you. I think I fell in love with you at first sight, honestly. You are my everything, Kaikki.”
“And Sishkur, what does that mean?”
“Sacrafice.”
“What about my first name? Mashlum?”
“A waterskin; your destiny. To be filled by blood – to suffer immeasurably, and become the greatest thing to have walked this earth.”
“Did you puppet my whole life to end where I am now? Did I ever have free will?”
“You’ve been asking that for a while, I sense. You always did.”
“I believed control was a myth until I saw all of your facets.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“My belief has returned.”
“Why, because you beat me in poker?”
“I beat you bad, didn’t I?” I laughed.
“Yeah, you did,” she chuckled back, punching my shoulder.
“I’ve earned some combat experience, foe! I can defeat you surely,” I joked.
“Oh, have you? So it won’t be like last time?”
“Not at all!”
We rolled around on the soggy sand, just for a little.
“I’ve missed these days,” she said.
“I really did too.”
“I love you,” she said. Part of her left with the words from her mouth, as if it were a parting gift. Confidence, security, self-reliance. They were sacrificed just to express a simple emotion, one too human for a god to feel without remorse; one too divine for many men, as well.
“I love you too,” I said, returning whatever she had given me. It doesn’t hurt me as much to say those words as it does her.
No, that’s a lie.
It hurts more than anything.
I’m killing her.
“I’m glad it was you that’s killing me, Kaikki,” she said.
“You mind reader. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Is it really?”
“Everything will be okay. I trust you. I trust your plans, your goals, your ambition. Love is trust.”
“Love is trust.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“I can’t be.”
“I hurt people. I killed your friends just to make you angry; I am fully responsible for your rape.”
“I am a broken man; I crave love, and the love you give me fixes every cracked piece of my soul.”
“I’m not good for you. I deserve this.”
“Some people do. You don’t.”
“I wish I were human.”
“You’d’ve never met me if you were never a god.”
“I wish I were a human and born with you.”
“You’re perfect already.”
She started crying.
“Don’t see me like this!”
“What’s so wrong with crying?”
“You’re too good to see me cry.”
I started crying too.
“Thank you.”
“It’s just the truth.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you more. Why are you crying?”
“You’re crying.”
She started crying more: “and that makes you cry?”
“Of course.”
She looked bewildered.
“I was never empathetic, either, Sish.”
“And you are now?”
“For you.”
“For me.”
As my dream crumbled away, I had realized she said that she loves me more. That is a blatant lie, and I wish I could have corrected it before I lost the chance.
00:01:01 remaining
I wake. I must return!
I go to the black hole where Namuš once was.
“Friend! I have waken. I apologize for my absence, I had an amazing rest.”
“Was it truly? Great to hear, my friend! Shall we wait?”
“We shall speak to pass the time. Tell me, Namuš, what is your greatest regret?”
“I suspect I share it with you. What we are doing now… killing my sister, dear friend, hurts me greatly.”
“Killing her hurts me too. But it is necessary.”
“I understand, my friend.”
“Did I date your sister? I apologize, I did not know.”
“It’s no worry to me. She has had few lovers.”
“How many?”
“Ha! Are you jealous?”
“A little.”
“She had been with only one other man. Adam, and they called her Eve. She was with a woman, once, as well. The one you all have deified to Ishtar, and she was the shepherd Dumuzi.”
“I see. I was a little jealous, my friend. How did she fall in love with people before she was born?”
“You asked about Elämä, not Sishkur. They are one and the same; they are equals. Sishkur had turned into Elämä as water into ice. If you ask about her, you are the first.”
“Have you ever fallen in love?”
“Only twice! Once with Sor Juana Inez de la Cruz, and once with Louis Pasteur.”
“Louis Pasteur, the inventor of germ theory, savior of billions. You hate death, don’t you?”
“I despise it. I’d been meaning to kill myself for a while in order to spare you humans.”
“Does hating death mean loving life?”
“If anyone else told me that, I would kill them! No. I believe death is what makes life. Every moment is made better by knowing that it is fleeting.”
Memories of begging for suicide – those days where I thought “today is the day”, those days where everything was so much more beautiful, return. Those days where all of my insecurity and coldness disappeared and I finally felt okay.
He continues: “To hate death is to hate life, but to love existence. I believe the two are different. To love existence is to be satisfied every moment, is that possible? To love life is to take it to the fullest, and ensure that whatever you do is enjoyable. To love existence is to be happy no matter what, to love life is to always make yourself happy. I am immortal, and as an immortal I cannot love life. I have no life; I simply exist, I have made this clear many times. Quite frankly, I do not love existence.
“Us gods act as if we love life. You’ve seen me toy with the dead, and you’ve seen Zina try to make himself better every moment. Elämä accepts suffering to make brighter moments exist. Maybe it is fate, as we are the only gods who will die. Zina is dead, therefore he was alive. My sister and I will die, therefore we are alive. You have not met him – Synty – but he is like a father to us. He is truly immortal. He will always be satisfied with everything, and we respect him. Kigali is unsatisfied no matter what. He lives like he is already dead. He is unsatisfied with his world but does not try to better it, though I suppose as the god of the afterlife that is fitting. You are immortal, my friend. You must live as an immortal. You must be happy with whatever passes.”
“I love you, friend, you are he who is closest to me.”
“Likewise! Shall we?”
“Yes, we shall.”
In one instant, the black hole explodes. Everything does. The gravity which held this world together explodes into a beautiful supernova of flying particles and dancing light which reflects and reacts into beautiful rainbows that cloud the once dark space. It is as if I had seen the big bang, and there is nothing more beautiful than this.
Oh, Namuš! In death we will celebrate you. You are a kind and beautiful soul, and I am grieved greatly. I have no time to mourn you, dear friend, and you do not want me to. His blood washes over me, and I am pained to feel it.
Oh, Sishkur! In death, I mourn you more than anyone else ever has. You are my greatest love, and you will stay with me forever. I would have done this over trillions of times just to let you survive and live with me in paradise, and my grief for you will extend to the end of the world.
I will die, thinking of you.
Quinary memory
Sitting together in the nighttime holy garden, I told her:
“I’ve never lied to you since the first day we met, Sish.”
“I know.”
I paused for a second, and she spoke.
“Are you trying to say you love me?”
“Yes.”
“I love you too.”
“I wish I could be more like you.”
“Haha, no you don’t.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re smart and pretty and funny and know everyone so well.”
“I know too much. The world outside of here is so much better than what we get… I would not suffer so much if I didn’t know. But I have you, so that’s okay.”
“I doubt anything would be better than you, so I don’t think I’d want what’s outside.”
“What a romantic! You’re such a smooth talker.”
“I’m not trying to woo you over right now.”
I smiled.
“I know, I’m just pulling your leg,” she laughed.
“I’m sure I could. I really have that talent, you know.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Only with you, though.”
“Are you saying I’m easy?”
“Haha! I wouldn’t know yet.”
“Oh, my!”
“No, it’s just that I’d never want this with anyone else.”
“Wanna circle back to what you said before that?”
“Well, I wouldn’t.”
“Yet?”
“All up to you.”
We leaned into each other.
She whispered into my ear, “you’ll never say that again.”
I returned the favor, “Really?”
“You’ll never say yet.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’ll make sure.”
She shoved me down to the grass, and the moon shone above her.
“Yet! Yet! Yet! Yet! Y-”
She shut me up with a kiss, and I embraced her.
You know what happened next.
Sixth inscription
Synty Of Birth
Above me, above the beautiful supernova of Namuš below me, lies a gigantic floating pool of blood. From here the rain must have come. This god… Synty… must be the strongest of them all – even if there is no hierarchy. The pool reflects the lights under me. It’s so beautiful. It looks like I’m in the ocean. Every time the light flashes, I remember where I am. I am on the road to heaven – carried by my blood.
“Art thee satisfied?”
“Yes.”
“I am glad. My child, hast thou gotten all wantest?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything that thou regretest?”
“Yes…”
I feel an indescribable urge to call it Father.
“…Father”
“What doth thee regretest?”
“I am a sinner, Father.”
“All men are, my child. What in particular do you worry about?”
“I am greedy, Father.”
“Why doest thee fear greed? Why is it something to regret?”
“I wanted too much.”
“Doest thee regret thy greed? Didst thou not get what wantest? Succeedest. Greed is not something to be feared. It is ambition. It is nature. All men are born with greed as all men are born with sin by nature because greed drives you to do better things. Greed is not a shadow that clings to thou, my child, greed is an object itself who has a shadow casted in thy light. In the sea of thy achievements, is greed such a bad thing? Sayest that the ends justify the means and greed was a means to thy success. Thinkest that givest salvation to us all, how is that bad?”
“Father, when I see the ocean of your blood, I understand that my accomplishments are too little. My greed is now only comparable to me – to my little body.”
“It is not a noble path to condemn oneself. What doest thee gain for doing such? If art so small then thou doest not matter enough to condemn. If thou hatest thyself thou doest not need excuses.”
“Father… I do not hate myself.”
“Regretest and blamest on thyself. Is that not hate?”
“Father, please… I don’t want to be consoled. I simply want to be reborn and live with those who I saved.”
“And forgetest all thou hast lived through? Is it worth it, truly? Is it worth it? Is it worth it to forgo all things that maketh thou thee? If thou doest not hatest thyself then thou doest not want to be reborn.”
“Father, if I secede myself, will I be reborn?”
“Doest thee wishest to be reborn?”
“Yes…
…Father”
The pool falls upon me
And so I wallow in the rain.
Life, I see with your eyes! To be reborn is to start life again, and to do that I must die.
Death is not the end of any story, let alone that of mine!
I will not let guilt and grief consume me, Namuš! I love you, my friend, and I have mourned you in your fathers presence.
Greed consumes me from the inside, clashing with the blood outside of me.
“You know, Synty, how much I despise blood.”
It washes off of me, and I am finally clean. The manic heat emanating from my body before, that which previously boiled my blood away, has cooled and started its journey to normalcy. I am now for once clean. I am separated from that pain which seeped into my body, even if it floated away.
There is no blood here at all. There is only void, and a beautiful glowing light above me that Synty’s pool once blocked.
“And yet you chose it willingly, Kaikki Mitä Haluat On Elämän Vastaan Siis Pyydä Mahdotonta.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve found that, over the last few hours, specifically, I’ve grown tolerant.”
“And you still deny me now?”
I lift my arms and look at my clean hands, eventually shifting the focus of my sight to my wrists.
“It’s hard not to. My body rejects it, and I feel the need to slit my wrists and let it all pour out of me every instant, at the back of my mind. I’m used to it, of course, but it’s terrible.”
“I could never understand what happens to one in their lifetime, Kaikki, and for that I apologize.”
“There’s no need to be forgiving.”
“I want to understand, and for that I am sorry to myself.”
“There are some things that are impossible.”
“Have you not proven that wrong?”
“I could see why you would believe so, but I myself do not. I did not exert any force over anything. Every act I caused wanted to happen. Control is nothing but a myth, you see. I can only control my own actions and lightly tap on those of others, but nothing is permanent. Even if control is real! If it is, then how can I control anything when everything controls itself? It’s stupid.”
My mind shifts hundreds of thousands of times per instant. I feel like an inhuman and uncontrollable cast of feeling that fights itself and remakes itself in the sake of perfection.
Nothing leaves me – I bury the old, and it resurfaces.
I continue speaking: “did you forgive my greed, perfect Synty, because you yourself forgive your greed every day?”
“I am greedy, of course, to some extent.”
“Synty, I speak, not trying to belittle you, but I must state the following: I believe you are just as human as I, and I just as human as everyone else, and everyone else just as human as me. Then, naturally, you, like me, should be subject to all sin to some extent. At what point does it become something evil? When is my sin sinful? I have imposed my image on to the world, but the world was painting itself into a similar state already. I am greedy, but it does not harm, and yet I still do not want to be greedy, despite your praise of it.”
“My child, do not shift your responsibility.”
“I know it was my fault, but not entirely – only a fraction large enough that, if I had not put any effort, the act would not have happened. I take blame by principle. Anyone else, in disagreement, could have stopped me. I am solely responsible for this occurrence, but I played no part.”
“My child, your philosophy justifies you. You speak for what cause? To make yourself feel better?”
“You have more to say, and I ask you speak to me like any human would.”
“Fine, then. That is your greed speaking, of course.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve always wanted this kind of conversation, you know? It’s enlightening. Everything is my child, but you were born outside of me – or, rather, reborn, molded, something along those lines; having internalized this, I’ve referred to you as ‘you’ without my noticing. It’s odd, and I like the new experience. You are imperfect, striving for perfection, as all humans are, but you have set your own terms for perfection. Your philosophy bends and shifts to fit your actions, to justify them, to save yourself the pain of having changed so many things so drastically in moments of mania and depression which, having fled you, no longer align with your beliefs. You change your beliefs, then, once more, to remedy having changed in the first place. What is the point of such a philosophy? Living by these principles of salvation and sparing those the pain you felt – it is noble, I must agree. I would love to say that this pain you’ve taken away from others was some kind of horrible act, justifying suffering in some way, but I have not felt enough of it myself to live a life where I think of it as something justifiable and necessary. It’s quite boring, really, to live as the blank slate in which countless lives are painted. I have no opinion, no philosophy, only my tempered sinful nature contrasted by my conscious rebellion against it, but one in which I accept it as much as I fight it. To me, at least, the ultimate philosophy is to have none at all; to let all things be and to let them stay. To let them live in their own images of perfection, but that is a philosophy in itself. The beauty of it, to me, is that I don’t have to live with the guilt that you do, and I do not have to live fighting it.”
“May you permit me to interject?”
“Of course, and I appreciate the kind gesture of asking.”
“If I were to follow your ideals, then how would I ever grow?”
I feel like Zina. Everything I say seems so familiar, my voice’s tone bouncing between the sounds of everyone I’ve met. I am made of everyone I’ve met in the past.
Grinding against other souls,
we shoot sparks into the air
I pick them up
and mold my armor.
“Why would you ever want to?” Synty continues.
“I am dissatisfied.”
“And I am not.”
“Is that the root of it all? What we want? Our greed?”
“I suppose. The story of yours, Kaikki Mitä Haluat On Elämään Vastaan Siis Pyydä Mahdotonta, was defined by blood. Such a human thing… it is not satisfactory for you. Is then, your definition, greed?”
“I suppose. Why not wrath? I am angry. Or pride? Something like that – why greed? I want as much as I am angry and as much as I believe my endless journey leads me to greener, deserved, pastures. What point is there in defining my story? I was born without a name, raised in a horrible world with no parents and my only love born into a slightly better place, cursed with the knowledge of better, and cursed to suicide. Her blood stained my soul and clouded the clear water she showed me. I was ignorant and blind. All part of some ritual… I was brought to the tub. I was raped and reborn as Sade, killed, and journeying through your world. Tasting life once more, I forged my own path, and my own name, one so long that I am already tired of hearing you say it. Is that my story? In one short paragraph, scribbled onto the papers of my mind? No, it is not. My story is written in those same pages, but it is torn apart and rearranged every instant. What I am, what I am not, what I want to be. All of it changes. Am I defined by change? By my philosophy of change? It is so immeasurably strong that every moment I change my mind. I don’t believe it is my definition. I will ride the wave where it takes me; I will dance with the ebb and flow of the ocean. I will enjoy the cold tides, the warm currents, and the lukewarm undertow that sucks me down. I will crash, one day, as I am crashing now, and was crashing before; watching myself be buried. A new wave will grow from a small ripple, stronger than the last, only to crash again. I sacrifice it all at the altar of progress, moving so quickly I forget what is behind me. I may be different now. New things will come, but they are oddly familiar to me; waves fall, and old water will resurface. I feel lonely, Synty. I want someone to hold me. I want someone warm to shelter me from this cold existence. I have not found them. I try to generate my own heat, but I am inept. The machine inside of me churns an attempt to burn fuel but I find that it leaks from my every pore and cools me down like sweat nonetheless. I feel colder now than ever.”
“Will you learn to live with it?”
“Maybe.”
“I love you, my son.”
“I love you too, father, and I love the oracle. I love the daughter, and her twisted father Massu. I love Jesus Christ, the bible, and whoever invented the language that let me read it! Words will not sufficiently describe what I feel at this moment – my mania is returning slowly, but I love it too. I love its heat! I feel a little warmer now, but I am not yet thawed.”
“Are you satisfied with an unsatisfying end?”
“Maybe I was a few minutes ago, and maybe I am now. I do not know.”
“I understand.”
“That’s rare. Nobody has. I don’t. I feel like a god.”
“You are.”
“What can I do?”
“What can you not?”
“I believe I cannot do anything.”
“Then change your mind.”
Something so eloquent and understanding as that makes me cry, and I laugh.
“In the short time we’ve spoken, Synty, I have fallen more deeply in love with you than I have with myself at any point in time.”
“You’re simply mirroring the love of your father.”
I felt him smile.
“I know, and that makes me feel sad. I wish I’d felt this sooner.”
“Most people do.”
“That’s why I’m sad.”
“Are you envious?”
“Along with greedy, lazy, prideful, angry, gluttonous, and lustful, I am,” I say, smiling.
“That’s okay.”
“I don’t think it is, and I don’t think I will be for long.”
“Would you throw your humanity away?”
“The little I have, yes.”
“There is nothing more human than to believe that.”
“Why are you so loving, Synty?”
“I just am.”
“I wish I were.”
“You can be. Do what you want, my dearest son. I know that you want to.”
I step towards the beautiful light of Synty above me, the glamorous dazzling white light that transports me to the great forest of Kigali.
I float above it all, seeing new faces born into this world, and slit my divine wrists.
I pour my blood on everything and everyone, and from it new trees sprout. Weeds, daisies, blights and cedars grow with flavor and uniqueness and perfect imperfection. Oh, gravity, Namuš! I see you pulling my blood. I love you, my friend!
The new apples, more red than ever, will be sweet and tangy and a little bit bitter.
Descending from my godly plane, and falling off my cloud, I walk with the people.
I have outpaced my blood and it falls on me, and I am satisfied with it, even though I hate it all.
This world is beautiful, now. More beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
I want to see the face of the true God that I am dying for, but it’s okay that I won’t.
Everything is okay.
I’m fine with growing pale and light-headed, and my cold body is colder than I felt ever before.
The blood falling from the sky is warm to me; lukewarm hot to my cold body. I really love it now.
I love it all. I love my victory, and I love my loss. I love to love and I love to hate and I love everything in between. I love how I feel light headed this instant and I love how I used to feel so down to earth. I love floating and flying and crawling and falling and I love the Daughter and I love the oracle and I would be glad to love everyone else who I meet tomorrow. I feel high, and I love that feeling. Just as much as I love feeling sober, just as much as I love feeling smart and dumb and learning and forgetting and growing and shrinking. Just as much as I love blood and water and wine and beer and mud and clay too. I love elegance and ugliness, sitting down and walking. I love running and I love the idea of having learned how to ride a bike, and I love what has come of my efforts. I love that I lost things along the way. I love who I am, and I love who I was. I love who I will be and who I was meant to be, who I could have been and who I should’ve never been in the first place. I love my history and my future, my pain and my pleasure, and I love justifying and denying everything that’s ever happened to me. I love to laugh and I love to cry, I love to smile and I love the straight face of boredom. I love the drought, and I love the rain. I love you more than anything, and I wish I could’ve seen you one more time. Maybe we’ll meet later, but I have things to do now. Droplets fall on my face and I do not flinch at them. My eyes stay open and are pestered by the blood. These stained eyes see clearer than ever. With the last strength I have in my near empty body, I commit myself to do the one thing I could never do before; what comes for me now is not death, no. I cannot describe it. I am new. I am everything.
And so I dance, now, in the rain.
Afterword
Thank you for getting this far.
I never believed anyone would see this.
The truth is, I don’t know what to say. Any of you who know me in real life will have your image of me permanently changed, hopefully for the better, and the people who have not met me can likely piece together a fuller image of me than anyone I’ve ever loved, and anyone who has ever loved me. There is nothing more rewarding than writing a book or creating some beautiful piece of art that you make solely for you. Every ounce of struggle in my life has been put into rain, and that is all that matters to me. I’m grateful for the positive comments you’ve given me, even if just on part one (for future reference, parts 1 and 2 were published about a month before the rest, which was all published at once). Thank you, truly, sincerely.
I’m working on a new book, one much less fantastical, but with similar themes. If you guys want to see what I’ve written so far, which is about 20 pages, I could publish it, but I’m quite the slow writer so if you like to finish a book as its whole then think of it more as a teaser.
Catch you guys around!
