--Yamucha--
I should have become a psychiatrist.
Joining the order was about the worst career move I've ever made. A dreary little room with bleached walls and the company of madmen would be less detrimental to my health and morale than the moldy recesses of this God forsaken place. Which is ironic, when you consider that it is located in one of Down Town's busiest areas and that it bears quite a decorous title:Satan City Cathedral.
And yet it comes to no surprise that I chose faith over reason. I suppose it's the last sensible thing left to do when reason no longer seems to make any sense. There's a whole city outside these walls that has gone mad, and there's a lot of frightened people who need comfort, however slight it may be.
So here I am, immersed in the darkness of the confessional, waiting for the next forlorn soul, the next harrowing tale of fear, lust, paranoia and attempted suicide. I'm the anonymous shoulder people with no names and no faces come to cry on, the book of Human grievances. I am prematurely old, my once dark hair has turned white almost overnight;sometimes I dare not look in the mirror lest I won't be able to see the vibrant young man I have once been. Hours spent listening to voices in despair have finally taken their toll on me...
But there's much more contributing to my general state of weariness than mere depression.
To put it simply, I'm dying.
For some time now I have felt it growing in me, a strange, insidious sickness slowly consuming my spirit and my body. I'm not the only one who's infected, we all are, at different stages. Some are just beginning to feel the first symptoms, others are terminally ill or dead.
It's a virus, eating us alive. It's the poisoned gift from the people who have assumed this Earth as their own, and live on the top of our heads in a preposterous semblance of peace. Nobody knows that of course. To the few skepticals and enemies of the established order, "the top floor people" are a pure product of some conspiration devised to awe the masses, a governmental hoax. To most of us who actually believe in their existence, they're living Gods. Beautiful, civilized and refined divinities. We never see them, but they're watching us, always.
These people...
These Creatures.
If only the other Humans knew.
The Caste-as they call themselves-have signed our death from the moment they set foot on our planet. We were strong then, but that hadn't been enough. We received help from the future, but even that had proven futile this time around. Some of us are dead, some are alive, but what difference does it make? We've been defeated. There is no possible way out, no salvation for any of us, and I'm too afraid to hope for another miracle. The Caste will hunt us down the moment they decide to leave Earth, and that moment is drawing nearer.
You can then judge how shocked I was this very morning when I realized that one of them was sitting next to me, just on the other side of the confessional's fragile wooden partition. I had some idea that Death was lurking around the corner, but I certainly didn't expect it to come to me so soon!
Blessed be the ignorant.
"Bless me Father for I have sinned..."
"What do you have to confess, my Son?"
"Nothing you can absolve, I'm afraid... " replied the man, a hint of mock amusement running though his cold, chilly voice.
"My Son, there is no such crime that cannot be absolved."
"Very well, I am a murderer." the voice declared on a very matter-of-fact tone.
"I get a lot of these," the priest countered evenly.
"I'm sure you do."
"Oh yes, all kinds come in here. Chain-saw murderers, axe murderers, first time murderers, mass murderers, fork murderers... So what kind are you?"
"The worst kind."
"Ambitious, aren't we? Killed anyone recently?"
"It all depends on what you mean by killing. You know, there's a lot of different levels in murder... But I'm just being fussy over the word here. Let's see, the last time I killed someone was five years ago. His name was Gohan... Son Gohan."
An awkward silence followed as the priest found himself shrinking from the confessional's window. The stranger chuckled softly, and soon his low, mirthless laughter filled the empty nave.
"Yes Father, indeed, I am a resident of the *top floor*. I am
'one of them' ", the man said slowly, detaching each word. "But this isn't
my confession. I didn't come here to talk about myself. I didn't enter
this place with the intention of hurting you either...Not today. Maybe
never. Of course, you will die, but at least you will die knowing."
"Knowing...what?" the priest stammered, terror threatening to break
through his calm countenance.
"It's time, Father."
"Thanks for the amiable warning... "
"Father, I wasn't finished. And would you please come closer to the window? I said I would not hurt you."
The priest hesitated and finally complied.
"For one moment I was almost wondering why I couln't sense your ki... You're one of them freaks..."
The stranger remained silent, ignoring the priest's comments.
"Listen Yamucha," he said at last."Listen to me very carefully."
The priest started when he heard his name, but he refrained from making any other remarks.
"The prophecy still stands. You people still have one card to play. The Child, do you remember? 'The Child born to save the conquered race...' "
" '...and rid the land of its conquerors,' " Yamucha finished in one breath, his brows knitting together, as an expression of stunned recognition came over his features. "Good God... you're... you..."
"Please don't say it. Whoever you think I am, I'm not. Not anymore. Forget we've ever encountered, it's for your own benefit. We're very close now, and you don't want them to suspect anything, do you?"
"...How can you live like this?" Yamucha asked.
"I just don't. Right now I'm here, talking to you. I remember you, I remember being Human.Then once I cross this threshold, it'll be over. I'll forget it all, I'll be one with them again. It's as simple as that, and it's the only way..."
There was another moment of silence, finally broken by a whisper.
"How is he?" the man asked, his voice suddenly raising with a flicker of emotion.
"He's a fine boy," Yamucha asserted with conviction. "Your son is a fine boy. Well, he..."
"Yes..?"
Yamucha laughed a little nervously.
"He's bright, very bright, there's not a doubt about it. He's just not exactly the kind of serious person I'd imagine fulfilling a prophecy or the like. I know it was best not to tell him anything until we were sure he'd actually be the one, but he's so unprepared...And he's also a little... e... to... unmanageable. He's got this *problem* with things that are forbidden. I think he's hacked into just about every high security system he's seen. He wants to get out of Satan City. He wants to get us out. He wants to know who his father is. He wants so many things."
"Ah." The voice paused and spoke again, from afar."I wasn't expecting anything less from him. I'm still hoping for the best. He'll listen to you, he admires you."
"How do you know?"
The man chuckled.
"Ever watching, am I not?"
Yamucha snorted.
"Oh, that one. Comes along with the package, doesn't it? Ever watching, all knowing, all powerful..."
"You forgot the disease spreading part."
"No, I've just come to hate talking about death."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"I'm sorry," the man repeated, his disembodied voice growing more and more distant."Tell him I'm sorry for all that will happen to him. Tell him that he was never meant to bear such a responsibility. Tell him that there wasn't a day gone by when his father did not think of him. And thank you."
Silence followed once more, and Yamucha knew that his visitor was no longer sitting next to him. There was nothing left to say, but he rushed out of the confessional, in an attempt to catch up with the man. All he had time to see was the cathedral's heavy double doors creaking open and a tall, eerie shadow flowing out, his footsteps barely audible on the cold flagstones. As Yamucha reached the doors himself and was hit by harsh daylight, the man had already disappeared, a figure lost in the city's milling crowd.
"Miracle number two," the priest whispered.
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