The Odd One Out

Classy, give the bed-bound guy a taste of his own 'medicine'. Clever, cruel and cannibalistic; what more could I have asked for?

"I do not like that condescending tone of yours!" Logos copped an attitude, as if it had not spread the human jam all over the floor. Modern artists truly were one of a kind, I didn't like 'em.

Also, do something about that face of yours. Let me assure you, even as a raging narcissist, being involved in one car crash suffices. Please, get the other out of mine. 

"What an astute observation, however did you know…?"

Yes, I know. Yours is not yours, since yours is mine and because mine is yours and mine, it insults ours.

.

.

.

Profound stillness ruled over the room. Both of us looked at one another and neither knew just how to continue the conversation without pretending the last sentence had never been uttered.

A certain discussion had put the fever into dream, which did not help this conversation. Not like it was something new to me either.

Making sense, made no sense.

So, once more awkward silence, it is.

Under a great sigh, my conversation partner retracted its elongated trachea into the body it violently emerged from. Without opening its mouth, the eldritch horror returned to its mediocre Mike costume.

The floor took on its spotless state again. Freed was it from blood, entrails, and the former head, which now rested at its rightful spot. Everything was how it had been.

Logos snapped its fingers, a familiar appearance appeared.

The sister is once more. Still frozen in place, still carrying a spoon, still situated as prior. Traces of her happy, little accident entirely reversed. Her lithe figure, blissfully unaware of the horrors this realm held.

"Would you like a different model?" An olive branch extended, a haughty grin followed.

"Spending your numbered days looking at something unpleasant is too much of a waste."

Slow steps resounded as the entity made its way forward. Poise inhabited within each stride taken, bearing form to a low audible feedback, by proxy laid an eerie ease exuded. Noise halted, when the feet came to standstill, a stop before the frozen figure of the being referred to as my sister.

Logos hand primed upwards, gliding over the face of such fragile quality.

The object was taken in, its structural integrity manually palpated─details digested under revulsion. Under repulsion digits drew blood, samples were curated, possibilities extrapolated.

With respite options grew disincentivized, the gash followingly cauterised, an conclusion exercised, her purpose finalised. A second taken, a nod taken, an agency taken; a fate sealed with a single nod.

Set in motion came the plan.

Anodyne hands shifted upwards, atop the head they perched. The wrists turned, the fingers spurned, phalanges established cranial, epidermal contact…sorrily they sank in…to the flesh. 

Sudden the next action, wet the result as facial skin was ripped away.The motion swift and calculated. Revealing a macabre sight below.

─there was nothing, there was just some empty space. It was just the back of the head, just some pink skin. Just…that…

Greetings offered to all, the morbid picture said hello.

With glee in its eyes, the removed countenance was thrown towards me.

"Feel free to yell stop, should you fancy something."

The fingers snapped.

The skinned face gracefully flew, soaring through the cold room, concluding its journey with safe passage onto the legs of mine.

Stella's removed visage began to shift, cycling through iteration, after iteration. Round was her face, an oval, a square, a diamond, rectangular…through shapes I could not name, through thin to thick, from, pudgy to malnourished.

My gaze glued to the grotesque display at the end of my bed.

The iris fell to a bouquet of colours, all of them empty, devoid, uncaring. A silent transmogrification, no sound, no noise, no life remained behind.

Countless different humans were born in split seconds.

"Anything?"

Another snap.

The attached hair changed its lengths, its type, its cut, its texture. Modern met old-fashioned, realistic met fictional, reality met its fluid end.

Blemishes wilted and bloomed. Sickness and disease ate away. Young vigour embraced hue of deathly sick. Skin aged, skin estranged. Constant, merely the change, it was disparity─impermanence, life's sole permanence.

"Picky, are we not?"

Next was the body.

Nothing mattered, nothing was left untouched.

Archetypes, stereotypes, somatotypes, phenotypes, all of those were catered to. Sex altered, muscles added and removed. Bodies born to be crippled, maimed, impaired, disfigured… dead.

Stripped of dignity, presented to the world without cover, without privacy. Vices and their prices revealed alike; all awaiting a choice to be made.

Nothing halted, the situation developed as per design. An immoral selection had not yet been taken.

What should one settle on?

Was one to get a brother, a sister, a father, a mother?

Was I in the right or in the wrong? What action should be seen through?

"And if she did not expire, she is still swapping vessels to this very day. Till the day of doom, when she goes 'boom'." Logos spoke, its patience a signal of virtue.

Mediocre Mike's fingers tapped impatiently atop one another, urging me to settle and make a decision. A decision, in a hurry…hmm that does rouse suspicion. Why would time be of essence all of a sudden?

I was given a glance, my mental well-being doubted, again. Logos seemed too befuddled to even comment on my train of thought.

Maybe, it was another ruse. To leave me confused, to leave me second-guessing.

I was not born yesterday, just in a coma till then. Please, do not take me for a fool, I see right through those little mind games.

Why should I not bide my time? My happy-ever-after is not meant to last a long while. 

The being beyond comprehension, appeared, at most, peeved at my words. Stress, which was quickly relieved after waving 2 middle fingers in my general direction.

"You want a fairytale? Very well, I shall oblige."

At once blaring warning sirens echoed in my noggin. Auspicious words were a precursor for the situation to develop as Murphy and his law intended.

My former brother from another mother, looked at me, carrying a loaded, sardonic smile, ready to drop a reply dripping with snark and wit. As the mouth opened, armed to the teeth, about to end my career at life, it stopped.

Its attention caught by another affair, one my eyes could not perceive.

"It appears that our time is coming to an end. The hubbub invoked by your return to conscience, has birthed lesser waves than initially predicted. How peculiar, the critical point seems to fluctuate less."

The curiosity emitted from Logos' eyes, came to dwindle fast. Looking within, a hint of loneliness resided there. 

Given the circumstances it was in, a more than logical response.

Whenever human output hit the ceiling fan, it did tend to mull over things. The longer it refused to comment or act upon any of my antics dictated the severity of the information received.

I had grown numb to it a long while back.

My partner in brain-cell-killing crime, can you spare an ignorant miser some context clues?

"What a pauper thing to say, Mr Twist. Such gruel-ing request. With a snap of my fingers, your resurgence to conscience should have been our transport to the metaphorical streets of London, namely Oblivion Avenue."

Back to normalcy.

Mr Charles here was without a doubt staying true to the first syllable of his surname. Not that it matters; nigh'd it been, the calling of a guttersnipe snipped away with snapping fingers─ was too funny of an image to bear a grudge over.

A great cause for the greater good of all, but reality was a cheese grater and we were gouda. So it is that we all degrate ourselves to a man-made system, and tear ourselves to shreds in the name of competition. 

Yes to vie. Why? Y, why?

Yes, It stands to reason, however, the sun rises, in the morning still. It repeats, so do we. As we all know, Ladies and Gentleman, and everything in between me and sane the saying goes: 

The show gouda go on.

Was I perhaps milking this comparison too much? Arguably it was already riddled with holes─just like a cheese─and even without yellow journalism a common theme can easily be established: they both are yellow.

Now, one armed with sharp wit and conviction might come to voice the following question:

What is the correlation between a cheese, which is obviously of said colour, and a yellow comparison?

To which I say, my dear imaginary voice raising points unasked for, I have no idea. Mayhaps there had been a valid similarity in the beginning, but any semblance of coherence was now cheese.

Onto another subject that is neither yellow or cheese, yet equally filled with disappointment. Our beloved tuxedo-bearing observer was currently rubbing its nose bridge with gloves draped in velvet satin.

Words were muttered under breath, very uncouth ones, I must add. Brows of eyes were furrowed, the forehead turned into a maze of creases and the nose itself scrunched into obscurity.

Tempered breaths were the melody of great discontentment to my intellectual property.

The eye lids remained shut, done in by sheer frustration. A snollygoster plotting revenge against the obnoxious, little human being that left it lollygagged.

My status as a sapient being had been placed under great scrutiny.

Not entirely unfounded, given how much my brain adores taking itself for a joyride on the local high-way after hijacking any emotional prospect, driving itself straight into any wall it could not overcome with logic.

Or it was doing something else…how'd I know, things would have been quite different were I born an empath.

Blessed be thee, accursed norm.

Ever so the elusive enigma, the mossier green on the fence's other side that eluded me since.

What does the promised land of the unseen harbour? What sight do the others see?

The abnormally normal, the same unique view of the world, the genuine, real experience promised to everyone.

Where are you? Where were you? Why do you hide? Why can't I find? You?

What more is asked of me? Tried, I have. Trying, I had been. Trite, I am.

Soul, how is that we differ? Why are we another other unlike any other?

The mundane ordinarity. 

Why is that, despite all, I still do not feel you?

"Consolation, you never found it through introspection, extrapolation, definition. In your pursuit, you were met with some. Some did you distinguish; some did you fail to discern: never did you grasp it."

Did I say I was finished with my dramatic thinking process? What gave you that impression?

"To annul the lull, the choice fell to extremes. The logical consequence to determine the unique perspective irrespective of moral standing."

You have your moments and I have the mine, please let me think for Pete's Sake.

"Still, a desired derivation bore no further delineation to the deviation."

The conclusion of a million times arrived.

"You were who you are." 

Quo vadis, my friend? Quo vadis? These words hold no weight anymore. Regurgitated en masse, repeated ad nauseam, if they held meaning once they serve no such purpose now.

At best, they are pivotal in reaffirming the status quo of this head space of mine. Not dumb enough for blissful ignorance, not smart enough to be able to fix it. My ab's remain in front of normal and use─lessness prevailed in sheer excess.

The lesson of a lesser: Born one, died some, bereft none.

So, with all due respect I do not believe in whispered sweet nothings, reality is nothing that can be sugarcoated.

The cumulative taste of two lifetimes was a bitter one─a bitter-sweet savoury.

Logos, you must know…there is no solution to this. There is no cure for the problems residing within.

Ultimately that was the universal truth, I, by one way or another, always came to end at.

…

But Logos was not listening, its eyes were glued to the TV. Zipping through its memories of old, passing moments of a long gone past. Its former reflection gesticulated inside with enthusiasm unbecoming of the cold and hollow exterior borrowing its face of today.

Time has worked its wonders. Done did its dirty deeds, picked up the poor sod, threw 'im in the washer called life and left the guy on tumble for a few years.

Dried of hope and positivity by the interaction with other sentient beings, it was spat out a bona-fide butt bonnet. To come clean for once, our cynical cryptid shared more similarities with me than I'd like to admit.

It was the first individual I could relate to. Weird isn't it? Whether that spoke more about my lacking qualities as a human or the failure as one…is not at my mercy to decide.

A million and one.

Would this be the one to finally change things?

For reasons eluding my understanding, maybe done on a whim or simple caprice, my eyes began to wander over the scene in front of them.

It hurt to do so.

A simple room stretched out on a limited perimeter. There was nothing to be made out of it. It was a mundane composition where wood met more of its chopped-off brethren.

A rocking chair idled beneath a dark, ebon ceiling. A nightstand stood beside the wooden frame of the bed. Everything rested on a hazelnut floor nourishing the hungry mouth of termites. 

This place offered warmth and hope, as only a recluse of dead trees could bring. They withstood the test of the ticking clock.

Which should not be said about its current inhabitants…

A 'sister', an identity crisis, an eldritch horror, an existential boredom, and wasted potential, a russian nestle doll of psychological issues─that was the terrible trio of frozen time.

A group of misfits seemed to have found another at the right place, at the right time. Everyone was special in their own right; everyone was different, but the wrong kind.

Yet, we found another. We could have supported each other, brought each other consolation, confided in another, shared our burdens and grown together─in theory, that is what could have been done.

The truth, wish-full thinking mattered little to it.

Finding myself in the company of kindred spirits, merely underlined how each on their own, albeit together, was alone, to be changed never forever. 

Even in this band of outliers, I could not fit in. A shame, really.

In the menage-a-trois of oddities, I was the odd one out. 

One was a doll, her path and will prefixed, following her chosen design. Nothing about her was guaranteed, everything subject to change following someone else's choosing. And she would never know…

Despite all, she could be happy. 

The other dictated the destiny of many others, hers a minute concern amongst those. It, too, was bound by something else. By its own admission, it merely observed, watching on and on. Only to intervene if needed, only to act when led. 

Despite all, it had been happy.

The room was so cold, the pain delivered to my body lacked its usual warmth.

Here I was, after all these years, finally possessing that free will. I followed no doctrine, was not subservient to any separate opinions; there was just myself. I had freedom, autonomy─no strings attached, no invisible hands guiding my thoughts. It was just me. Me, alone.

Despite all, why do I not feel happiness?

No one replied, because there was no answer to give. There was no price to claim, no princess to be awoken from pearl slumber by prince messed-up here. The fairytale of retrograde amnesia could not fix everything.

The fruitless search yielded no crops of enlightenment. On the fertile lands of doubt only despondency grew.

Not always had it been that way.

All it took was a single day. Of said day, it was not more than a minute till my eyes were opened to the inadequacy of my life. That day, that man made me realize just how fake and fabricated my entire world was.

Befitting the core narrative running through my entire existence like a tapeworm mastermind, in the moment destined to change me, to permanently alter and shape my path forward…I was the second fiddle; the people watching did not care, the people walking by did not care and the man, he had more pressing concerns.

Everyone did not see the problem, how I saw it. Hocus-pocus, sippy sipped from Cocytus. Tada, turns out it's a me…I am the problem.

I know, I have tried.

Been trying to understand, to rationalise, to empathise. Been trying to see like them, be like them and feel like them. Been trying to associate, denigrate, evocate; tried to dissociate, delineate, and to dismantle, to disrupt, to detach, to despair and to disappear,

I had tried, I had tried.

I observed, and I deduced. I read, I analysed, I studied, I monitored, I hypothesised. I examined and I tested. I predicted and I validated. I compared and I assessed.

Been scouring the records of human history, searched the internet, Looking through art, music, recordings and documentaries. Seeing, hearing, witnessing the darkest of our past, the wonders and the tragedies of our time.

I talked and I asked. I listened and no one heard. I saw the faces of sympathy, empathy and apathy. Bore witness to prejudice, happiness and sadness.

Try, I did. Try, I did.

Outward replication proved feasible on the exterior, no such outcome on the internal. Capturing the human essence through writings became a failed endeavour. My creation, even faced with literal devastation, remained foreign─faked and tweaked to simulate a human being.

Explanations derived and given credence to by adhering to systems of power beyond the human perception, faith or belief failed to bring about the desired.

I sought, and thought…but whichever I fought for could never be bought.

Despite all, why did I not feel happiness?

One conclusion seemed obvious: Maybe there was just something wrong with me. Maybe I was just a victim of circumstances, maybe I was just born broken. Maybe there just was something wrong with my DNA or the wiring of my brain was faulty, who could really say what those neurons do up there?

Maybe my neurotransmitters were just one lobotomy shy of being normal. Maybe it was just a physical malady that time would heal one way or the other. And then I died…

Death didn't fix me.

It was not the physical that was off, it was the spiritual. My soul was defective.

That's how everything ends. All roads, thoughts and considerations always lead up to this. Because how does one fix that?

Another attempt followed another attempt. Eyes peered ahead, at the ceiling, into the horizon, contemplating the emptiness, which befell them from the moment of their conception.

Pain's, the voice hovering atop of my shoulders. Experience's sitting to its opposite. Both speak of truths already internalized. Winged ethereal creatures born in Aether and brimstone lead me astray. The lost child, whom had fallen from grace.

So, I do as I did. Did what I had done before.This is how it starts. 

A cycle is born, a creature of habit does what it knows best. "There has to be more," the brain tells itself. It lies, it knows, it cares not. It just does what it knew best.

On it goes: a million and one and counting. Conclusion…nil to be done.

Thus our little adventure reaches its premature ending, anew. At an impasse, we passed on, yet again. The status woe remained our status quo.

With a heavy heart I must announce the expected outcome to have occurred. The funeral of my faintest embers of hope has been adjourned till the subatomic particles have been located.

It was; so I was. All the same, all the same.

After careful observation, the fabled feline was out of the bag─dead and gone. Call it my aspirations and dreams. 

No one laughed, nobody cared. The desperate narcissist was a miserable punchline. Misery loved company, but whatever came to accompany did not like me.

Que Sera, Sera. Whatever will be, will be

The future I have seen, a lost cause I have always been

Que Sera, Sera. What will be, be willed into existence regardless of choice. A self-fulfilling prophecy clamours that hateful female voice.

"You just don't get it, do you? Everyone you cherished will leave you behind."

A memory of forgotten days resurfaced; it could not be repressed.

"They moved on [Moirai ], found something better."

A face obscured by the veining rays of the sun, lectured me. Tales of a time from different days, idealistic ones. There was a truth to these words, one I found hard to acknowledge.

Golden locks sway and twirl in the air as they wove the prophecy of a certain future.

"That's the story behind your life. You will be all alone, no one by your side, no one to remember you…"

The figure twirled around me, my gaze fixated straight ahead, seemingly missing the courage to follow it. The sound of movement entered my ears, drowning out much of the spoken words.

It was just a static noise that remained. My body reacted for reasons I could not fathom, yet it remained rigid and incapable of movement. 

" …only then will you ever be happy."

Why was that part the only thing that did not occur? Why was this the first time you were not right? Do tell, do tell, do tell. The price of being right for once was not something I was willing to pay.

The scene faded into the confines of my mind, blackness was once more. My eyes once again embracing the cold reality brought forth by the clandestine wood.

Merely the faint sounds of soft breathing echo through the frozen sphere of time. My vessel did its best to stay alive. Logos, the sister, the world had all fallen to absolute silence. It was not to my liking, not at all. 

The voices on the inside were the loudest. It played out again in my mind, the words, the images, the sounds. It looped again, judging me, condemning me. 

Murmur echoed through the ranks of my brain, chaos descended as an evaluation had to be made.

The gavel hit downwards indicating order in court. The jury has to come to a consensus:

The suspect was guilty of all charges.

The verdict was spoken, the words were deemed true. The sentence laid out and executed as life. Parole was not an option, the manner of conduct was not indicative for any change in character. 

Even in solitary confinement, there had been no traces of happiness.

I still had myself; maybe that was still too much?

Woah there brain…you seem to be taking this just a little nudge too far. I am a big fan of artistic impressions, I really am, but the overabundance of those melodramatic words might make the core message seem a bit more brain tumoury than brainy. Living on the edge, in more than one way, huh?

The choice of a sob story was also questionable at best. Lyrical depression is certainly a form of expression, not a helpful one though. Guess what, things suck. Congratulations you are the very first human to be in that unique spot.

It is bleak and hopeless, but could it also not be a lot, lot worse?

The soul striptease of mine really just felt like I was caught with my emotional pants right at my ankles. Talk about crying over spilled milk.

"The past has all passed us by" spoke the fortune cookie dispenser called Logos. With phrases offering as much nutritional value as their carrier, it certainly was rather easy to stomach.

Where are my manners, where are my manners? I do apologise profusely for questioning the wisdom of the entity that did not even spare me a glance while talking to me.

Ya know on Planet Earth people can get hitched to inanimate objects. Logos do you want me to set you up with a 4k flat screen?

You would make for suuuuch a cute couple.

My attempts at matchmaking were expertly dodged by the aspiring eternal bachelor, it simply resumed to be all lovey dovey with the TV screen mounted at the far right corner.

The appeal of that channel was a bit lost on me. Now, by no means, I could not be called very artsy. In good faith, no person could claim such a thing given the hellscape that was modern human television programs.

Still, this thing was more than a graveyard for human brain cells, it was like the four horsemen of stultification: Clickbait, Ephemerality, Propaganda and Reality-TV had come together to form a love-child of humanities' finest brain rot.

That baby, idiocracy given shape, blessed me with the knowledge that television was a matter of mass destruction.

How fortunate that the other social media are better, right? Right.

'Bout the human rights violation before me, it was just one of things I would never get. Language sounded like a walrus trying too hard to join the choir, the letters looked like the alphabet soup needed to be put in rehab. 

Jump cuts and bright colours, so quick and flashy, blurred the line between an interrogation technique found in Guantanamo Bay and seizure-land founded on people shaking what their momma gave 'em.

Weird symbolism in all flavours of LSD kept on popping up. Weird subtext flashed across the screen telling the impressionable crowd uplifting messages.

"OBEY!"

"Your life for the hive!"

Or other suitable interpretations with no political agenda whatsoever─straight out of the 1984 playbook. I'd feel real smart about myself, but due to all of that intellectual posturing, I actually forgot to read the book.

Next came a transition so perfectly smooth. It denoted time, heralded the fix for verbs, served as an adjective in Latin. A crude jingle marked the promised arrival…

It was an ad.

The who's and the what's been advertised for were not something I could follow. The only thing I took notice of was the small, old lady waving a red flag in the right corner of the TV.

Sometimes I wish my personality was more cheerful, similar to that of the old woman.

A big smile was plastered on her face, her whole being brimming with youthful vigour. One might think she hadn't done anything else in her life other than waving this flag.

This was truly propaganda to my liking. I don't want my geriatrics to look like they are being forced at gunpoint to do so. Nobody should threaten their actors with the livelihood of their family.

The prefix "North" truly was encapsulated rather well here.

I could hardly wait for what was to come next. After all, things were rowdy in the Wild West here. Would it be the Middle East or would it all go down South?

Stupid question, I know. On the silver-platter, this selfless world will slap the answer across my face. According to expectations, I will be especially nonplussed. Said answer does appear arbitrary at first glance, though proves to be ironic or sarcastic in nature drawing parallels in some shape, form and contrast to the seemingly unrelated topic.

Ergo, QED madness ordered a la carte.

By some miracle, I tell you, had the senior, senior citizen procured something wondrous from somewhere, just saying I personally would insist on those being sanitised.

Yes, 52 cards with fancy illustrations were born and currently ogled by the woman, who had become the very thing she was waving prior. 

The fulcrum of my argument was not on the iron-pumping, jaw-dropping hunks on the back of the paper cards nor on the woman willing to risk a pelvic fracture for a good time.

No, no, none of that. You see, a la carte has a word similar to card in it…that was it, the big revelation that brought it altogether. A grandiose golf clap for this masterpiece.

"Moirai, Oh Mo-i-rai, would you not look at the time?"

Logos' finger pointed at the wall to my right, directing at a crude, round thing painted onto it. 12 equally spaced out lines were supposed to indicate that it was a clock…and I guess the bold letters, in its midsts, stating: "IT WAS TIME TO STOP" were indicative of something else.

…oh you sneaky little bugger, you. I nearly missed that. Talk about an analogue clock, huh? Are we keeping things digital? Or are you making another analog i.e?

How about the prospective fairy tale idea,that you have brought up aeons ago, hmmmmm?

My valid point, got valiantly ignored.

"Egads. A parlour trick, consider this helpful monologue as such…as one that magically reduces your complexities, into a complex easier to bear─for me.

Giving me the side eye is really uncalled for.

Logos twisted its head towards me, index finger placed on the lips. A soft "Shh" was pressed outwards.

"Would the audience please refrain from heckling? This show is best enjoyed if any concerned viewer just kept their precious little trap shut."

A wink was given.

"So sit back, grab a chill pill and let the great Logos whisk you away into the land of the fantastical, the unthinkable and unimaginable. Join us as we delve into the realm of the supernatural."

Cheers erupted from the crowd, thunderous applause filled the room, and the speaker beneath my bed blared their unending support.

To the left I hear tapping, Logos is now stepping. To the right I hear clicking and clacking, someone prancing; Logos was tap dancing. The bottom of the floor split, like a sophisticated Brit, emerging came every magicians' kit.

A pitiful machine threw bits of haze, adding really much to the vibe of this place. 

Shrouded pitifully in a 'sea of fog", were a cylinder and a cape, not exactly rocking me out of my socks.

The magician gave me a glare. Don't you like my fabulous flair?

So, to be precise, you want me to be concise?

An unspecified black cylinder of no redeemable quality was elevated through the upward thrust of the grabbing apparatus of an undisclosed entity. The material it was draped in resembled an item from Earth hereby referred to as velvet gloves.

The #83242D invoked a sensation of considerable familiarity. Speculations link this impression to the magician of my childhood, whose only notable feed was not succumbing to alcohol poison, after consuming inhuman qualities of cheap vodka.

Due to the torque applied beforehand, the aforementioned object rotated twice around its axis and proceeded to land where one ought to wear it. 

Wild went the crowd deafening me with the prerecorded shouts. 

On goes the narration, from the caucasian, rising to occasion. Let me be so brazen, don't we feel this abrasion? No suasion without invasion of my brain.

Soo, do indulge me. Make my day, make the hypocrite feel things…I can wait, yes. That I will do. Just show me. Not today, not tomorrow, but I want what you promised…

Ugh, body I would really appreciate it, if you would stop trying to perish for one moment. Please, you can die on me later.

A violent pain assaulted my left eye, vision blurry, vertigo singing the gastric acid passing the oesophagus blues─left me gasping for air.

I see, that's how you want to play it. It's not like this was my first rodeo…

A few deep breaths later and I returned to my new normal. Still hurt, but that it did for quite a while now. My eyes scanned the room and met the curious gaze of Logos.

I nodded, he nodded.

Time to rock'n roll.

And now Ladies and Gentleman, gather round, gather round. The end is beckoning, for HE is here. HE is the definer of reality, the halter of time, the one above definition, the one free of withouts.

Bear witness to a spectacle unlike anything you have ever seen. An opportunity of extraordinary proportions, a festival for the senses, a gift that will shatter the world as you know it.

An opus magnus, an ultimate illusion, WELCOME to the Grand finale.

Give it up for Logos, our Maestro of Mandibles, as he tries to make the impossible possible.

"Thank you, Thank you. But I do not find the label of magician to be fitting. Magic is born from emotions. A pure thing, it is."

A deck of playing cards was flung from the walls of the TV and gained a dimension more as it entered this. With practised ease, Logos caught those and held them up for the crowd to marvel at.

"But herein lies the crux of the matter. People have come to believe that in this system there is order, there is an established hierarchy."

All 52 cards were rotated around, spread out and found ordered by magnitude, colour and symbols. Aside from the questionable backside of the cards, they appeared normal.

With a big smile plastered on his visage, he began to shuffle them again.

"There is nothing wrong about viewing it through those lenses. However, have people ever considered that…"

A pause was taken, 5 cards were drawn─revealed one after another.

Ace of Spades, Ace of Hearts, Ace of Diamonds, Ace of Clubs.

"... that the game itself…" the fifth, an Ace of Hearts. "... was rigged from the start?"

"OOOOOOOH!!!!" went the enthralled viewers. Mouths stood open, incredulous looks were exchanged and popcorn was now an airborne species. Never had something like this been seen prior.

Our beloved Stella enjoyed the mutli-faceted show in her multi-faced state. The one man/woman/kid/grandpa/grandma-hype-crew continued to clap on, totally out of her own free volition.

At times one could easily forget about those cute little dead fish eyes of hers. Seeing her so cheerful, and amazed by the magic tricks made my heart flutter.

"I see many perplexed gazes in the crowd. Allow me to explain."

Demonstratively the rigged set of cards was held up and nearly squashed in my face. Upon, too close for comfort inspection, I could attest it was indeed 5 aces. 

"Some might claim that foul play was afoot. However, let me assure you no tricks have been played here, no optical illusion orchestrated…the issue lies in magic, because magic is pure."

Where in tarnation is he going with this?

"In other words, magic is not fictitious…interests have just shifted."

With a quick flick of his hand, the 5 aces spun around again, only to reveal their backsides to be…credit cards? The punchlines could need some more variety too.

Logos shook his head.

"How could one understand the wonders of this world if the source itself has become diluted?"

From the pocket of his mantle, a small wallet was taken out.

"A lot of importance is placed on those negligible things, things that are usually just another origin of stress and general negativity."

With peace and calm that would even make a sloth impatient, the maestro decided to put the 5 credit cards into the item that just so happened to have existed. A human tongue shot up to take a hold of the plastic.

Each card was gently caressed, softly salivated, thoroughly cleaned and finally slid into the wallet, its resting place.

Not paying it any further attention, he closed the leather pouch after the procedure was done and continued to narrate whatever groundbreaking discovery he had made.

" Even sometimes the best endeavours have a tendency to go up in flames."

The wallet was pried open again…and a little spark shot out, it was a rather pitiful sight. If it was a male flame, it would exclaim that it was simply cold in here.

Logos simply smirked and waited…for good reason, as it would turn out.

In a blaze of glory, a darting flame shot towards the ceiling, burning a hole straight through it.

Impromptu renovations were not the kind of sorcery I had been expecting. Certainly, a ball of fire soaring through the roof was not the warm refurbishment of cultural phenomena I was used to either.

Broad daylight fell through the room, instilling a sense of normalcy to the absurd scenery. Small, little particles danced in the air and served as a reminder of familiarity in this strange world.

A small cone of light descended downwards, falling in place right at Logos' feet.

Rictus formed on my face. He just did not do what I think he did.

The smuggest of grins plastered his face, Logos stepped forward into the spotlight he had created for himself. Savouring the moment, he enjoyed the new ambience to its fullest.

With one arm hidden behind his back, and his lofty demeanour, it seemed more than appropriate to deliver the ground-shattering revelation about my plight, which I, as fate would have it, had been waiting for.

"Moirai, my homo sapiens of the hour, the blame lay not with you."

Two arms were extended, a red rose evinced in one, the other holding onto the wallet.

" It is a problem of the times. Society became a blend of aspirations, materialism and tribalism. How can one expect to find the necessary purity to understand?"

"'He loves me, he loves me not' has changed."

"Does she love me for my properties? Does he love me not because of my education? Does he love me for my job? Does she not love me for my reputation? Does he love my ideology? Does she not love me for my standing?"

And the petals dropped.

And the flower dropped.

And the penny dropped.

None of my problems needed to be solved by me. My view has always been too self-centred, never was it about inward or outward, internal or external. The problem was the outside and the solution was rather simple.

The key, it is her.

"Marvellous, marvellous. Oh, the expression on your face…it is of utmost beauty". There is nothing more left for me to accomplish here"

Oh sorry, I meant 'kind'. They are the tools to experience the 'pure' that you spoke of.

"Yes, yes, yes. The past, the present and the future, those did not matter, not anymore. because you have finally understood."

"Oh, yeah that I have." My voice sounded hoarse, and ridden with disease…yet it also had other elements in it that were hard for me to fathom.

It sounded happy.