Archives Volume II

By: Apeman ( zeni316@yahoo.com )

:05 Illusion :05

                “I’m going in, Kohta,”

                I looked up at the abandoned tenement in the slums of the city.  The sky had darkened, and a light downpour began to fall as lightning illuminated the night.  I looked through my shades as I walked toward the entrance.

                “What the hell’s happened to you, Kohta?” I yelled, kicking the dilapidated door down. “You’ve become insane!”

                I stood at the opening, hearing nothing but the splatter of the rain.  Lightning lit the hallway as I began to climb up the stairs.  The place was a mess; there were holes in the walls and spider webs everywhere.  I walked slowly thru the entire first floor of the building, my shoes making loud clump sounds.

                “Kohta!”

+++++

                The second floor was no different, but the third floor struck a nerve.  I reached the top of the stairs leading to the third floor when I noticed how clean the level was.  There were no spider webs, no rat holes.  All the doors were missing except for one.

                “Room 304,”

                “Yes, you remember this room, don’t you?”

                “Kohta!  What the hell’s happened to you?” I cried, looking everywhere for my insane partner. “Why are you doing this?”

                “My dear friend, “ his voice echoed. “I’m not doing any of this,”

                “…………………”

                “You are,”

+++++

                I kicked the door down and entered room 304.  It was dark and cold, but the smell was unforgettable.

                “Room 304,” I whispered. “This is where we all…”

                “That’s right, Takeo,” Kohta’s voice boomed. “This is the room where we all used to live.”

                During my childhood, I moved from parent to parent because of the system.  It seemed like I was unwanted; every foster parent I had was a druggie, murderer, or child molester.  To many abandoned children, however, room 304 was either a haven… or a torture chamber.  To me, it was a haven; to Kohta, it was the latter.

                “Is this what this is all about?” I yelled, turning my head around. “Kohta!”

                I walked through the room, noticing how neat and perfect everything was.  The furniture, the pictures along the wall… everything was as it was.

                “This has nothing to do with Kohta,” his voice called. “But it has everything to do with you,”

                “Kohta?” my hands began to shake. “Stop this, Kohta, please,”

                I fell backwards, tripping over an action figure of a G. I. Joe, its head missing.  I stared and cried out when blood came gushing out of the toy.

                “You see,” Kohta’s voice echoed. “I’m not the crazy one.  It’s you.”

                I shut my eyes.  “NO!”

+++++

                I opened my eyes.  When I looked back at the headless action figure I saw no blood, just a smiling G. I. Joe.  I sighed and rubbed my face.

                “What?”

                My hands were cut and slashed in multiple places, soaking my palms and fingers in crimson.  I cried out and stumbled to my feet.

                “NO!”

                “Do you see, now?” it was Kohta again. “The cause of all your misery is quite simple.”

                He paused, and I grasped my left wrist, thinking it would stop the pain.

                “You wonder why you’re so miserable when you see Kyo’s tracks all over a murder scene.  You ask yourself why it angers you so when you stare at the corpses of Kyo’s former parents.  You’re puzzled when you see Kyo one step ahead of you.  The answer is quite simple.  If you just take the time to look at yourself in a mirror, you’ll easily find the answer.”

                I gasped as I clenched my hand around my wrist.  I stumbled forward into a tiny room in the corner of room 304.  Then, I saw it: my reflection showed Kyo’s smiling face.

                “You are Kyo,”

-cont’d-