12 - 15 The Devil

Once upon a time, I had an idea. It was a beautiful idea which drove me forward. Forever forward. It involved a family. One I could love and one that would love me back. We would love each other for who we were and not who we could be. We would have pride in one another. At the things we would do for each other and with each other. We would all be a good fit for each other. Maybe not perfect, but a good fit. None of us would have to change to be with the other. There would be compromise, as there should be in any relationship. But not change. At least, there wouldn’t need to be change for the sake of being with each other.

I knew who I was. And because I knew who I was, I knew who she needed to be. It was like a checkbox in my mind I completed every time I met someone. No one ever fulfilled them all, I wasn’t so foolish to expect that. I just wanted some of them. The most important ones to be fulfilled. Anything else would lead to settling, to a relationship both us would be unhappy in. I knew what I wanted and I was going to chase it.

Then there would be our daughter. Our perfect little girl. She would understand us, and we would understand her. There would be fights of course, but those would make us stronger. We would share similar passions. They didn’t need to be the same, but they would be similar. We would be able to nurture her passions, to support them even if we didn’t agree with them. She would love us. And we would love her.

But I said it was an idea. I said “once upon a time” for a reason.

“This isn’t real.” I shake my head in disbelief. The face in the film is blurry again. I can hardly make out anything but I can hear his voice clear as day.

“And why is that?” The Fool’s voice turns lower, turns viciously deep. “Because everything up until now was perfect? Leading up to a perfect happy story?” It turns dark, demonic. “Welcome to the other side.”

I turn to face him, to shout this won’t be the way it ends. It can’t be. But my voice catches in my throat.

It isn’t the Fool who stands before me. No longer does she wear her twin tailcoat with a top hat. She no longer bears any resemblance to a human at all. In his place stands a goat, hooves flaming, a pentagram on his head. I take a step back, shocked at this sudden transformation. I recognize the image. Recognize the card. But the Fool has never changed like this.

I trip, stumble on my own feet. A glass shard falls towards me.

Once upon a time, I had an idea. I was stuck in a dead-end job, going no where fast. I hated the work I did. It was dull, monotonous, boring. Officially, I had resigned myself to this job. I could feel my soul dying with each day I went into work. I’d given up on every being anything more. At least in a professional sense. I would be so much more in another way.

There was one thing I could do. I could write. While I worked my dead-end, soul-crushing job, I would write. I would write powerful stories, stories about fantastical worlds and amazing people. In those stories, I would create worlds I wanted to live in. Worlds where life-shattering events could happen. Worlds where the mundane became extraordinary. Worlds where dead-end jobs changed into opportunities for true, meaningful work. For a meaningful life.

I would create stories where I would be everything I wanted. The characters would never be named after me. They would never be molded after me so completely. After all, if they were, there would be no story to tell. Instead, I would build them out of me. Change what I needed to. And create amazing stories with them. Their worlds would change to suit their needs. I would mold the world to satisfy their desires. To give them the mother they always needed. The friends they always hoped for. The partner he longer for. The daughter I wanted.

The stories would touch the hearts of a few. And then they would spread. They would tell their friends. Then their friends would tell their friends. And so on and so forth until the story took on a life of its own. Until those who loved the story clambered for something more. Until somebody, somebody powerful took note and saw the potential in the stories. And finally, I would be able to leave my dead end job.

Once upon a time, I had an idea. An idea that my stories would be good. That they would be worthwhile to read. That there was meaning to them.

Once upon a time, I had an idea.

“No.” I say out loud. I still can’t make out the face. Can still hear his voice so clearly. Hear the pain in his voice. Is that even it? No. I realize it’s something much worse. Its—

“Apathy.” The Devil sneers at me. He steps towards me, advancing on his flaming hooves. I scramble to my feet, back away from him slowly.

“What do you want?!” I scream. I want her back. I want the Fool.

“But he’s not here anymore. It’s just you. And me.” Forever onward. Forever backward. When I stumble, he looms over me, covering me in his shadow.

Once upon a time, I had all these ideas. Ideas that would make me rich and famous. Ideas about stories told that would touch the hearts of millions. Ideas about climbing the corporate ladder through this dead-end job. Ideas about how my dedication and hard work would carry me out above the rest. None of them came true.

I had ideas about happiness too. About how I would find the things that would make me happy. Find the passions that kept my soul alive even when the work didn’t. Passions I could one day turn into work. I had ideas about the people I would meet. People who introduce me to those passions. People who would be a part of my life forever. One day, they would be sad to say goodbye to me forever. I haven’t met them yet.

Then there were the ideas about family. About the things I wanted, the things I needed. The things we could have done together. I may not have become rich and famous so instead I lay that hope at my daughter’s feet. I thought my family would heal me. Could cure me of whatever it is that ailed me. I thought they could be what my family never had been. Somewhere along the way, I realized that wasn’t fair.

Somewhere along the way, I realized these were all just ideas. Once upon a time, it bothered me. But now, I sit here at home. Alone. Watching the TV to pass the time. Watching a show I’ve watched a million times because I’m not sitting here to watch it. I’m sitting here to pass the time. Sitting here because I have nothing else to do. I eat my dinner so I can stay alive. Go to sleep because I have work tomorrow. I do it all because that’s what it means to be alive. It means moving on. Onward. Forever onward.

My eyes widen. I stop even as the Devil advances on me. I understand. And I hate it.

“Do you then? What do you think you understand Fool?” The Devil stops in front of me, daring me to challenge him. I’m still holding the shard in my hands, still listening to his voice echo in my head.

“He’s addicted to ideas.” I tell myself. “He’s addicted to believing these things could exist but never pursing them. Always scared the reality is worse than the idea. So, he lets it happen.” The Devil still sneers at me. Still grins his evil grin.

“Then you don’t understand it all. Not yet.” He knocks me to the ground. Pins me to it while he towers over me. He stares me in the eyes. I see myself reflected in his eyes.

“All these stories, all these ideas you’ve watched and heard. This world. This darkness you find yourself trapped in and you still don’t see it. Still don’t see what you could become?” He’s mocking me. I hear it in his voice. Hear it in the confident smugness.

“Why did you think I came now? After all this time? After all these stories? Did you really think it would always be a happy ending? Always think there would be a little happy bow at the end of your story?” He pounds his flaming hoof into he ground beside me. I can feel the heat of it. Feel it burn against my cheek. But I feel a different burn running down my cheeks as well.

“You’re in the darkness for a reason you Fool.” He’s right.

“Of course, I am.” I knew this was all in my head.

“It is.” Knew I was running from something.

“You are.” Know I’m still running from something.

“And now it’s found you.”

“But I found something else here too.” Through the pain, through the heartache, I felt something else. Felt rage. My hand still on the shard of glass it shattered before I even knew it. I felt the tiny, microscopic shards digging into my hand.

“And what might that be?” His voice is already changing. The cruel smile on his lips turning gentler.

“A journey.” I say, throwing the shards of glass into the Devil standing over me.

Once upon a time, I resigned myself to my fate. I was prepared to lead a life of obscurity. A life few people would miss. Day in and day out were forever the same. Clock in. Clock out. Eat. Sleep. Work. Every day was the same and every day was filled with the same apathy. No. To be more accurate, day by day, the apathy grew stronger. The resignation more complete.

I had had ideas. Ideas which could have made me something more. Ideas which could have made my life more interesting. But they were only that. They were ideas and nothing more. The reality of pursuing them meant to much. Cost too much. There were the obvious costs. The costs of money and time. Those were both resources I had come to find a careful balance with. Time used appropriately. Money used appropriately. Then there was the less obvious cost. The one more expensive than anything else.

The cost of believing in them. But even that cost could be ignored. A wave of the hand. A recognition of the realities of the world and the realities of the possibilities. Once you’ve had enough ideas fail to come true, it becomes all too easy to believe they will never come true. No there was another cost. The cost of having them. Because even if I don’t believe in them, once I even have them, I know they exist.

I wish I could say meeting someone changed my beliefs. Made me believe in ideas again. Or that I somehow realized there could be something more. Maybe even I pursued one of the ideas and it came true. But those, everyone of those, is also an idea. A possibility that could have occurred, whether by my own hand or someone else’s.

My beliefs haven’t changed. I’m still sitting here. Day in. Day out. Eat. Sleep. Work. Everyday is the same, filled with the same apathy. And ever day, the resignation grows a little stronger.

The Fool coughs, waving his hands in front of him to swat away at the shards of glass. The story within them is already fading but I don’t regret it. I smile as the remnants of it fade away. When the shards finally settle, she speaks.

“Well, that was morbid.” I smile. A bittersweet smile.

“The Devil was right. These stories, this journey, it has more than one ending. We would be Foolish to ignore that.” She coughs again, a few glimmering shards of glass glitter in the air again.

“Even though you destroyed this one? This—” Cough. “Story you’re saying is so valuable.” I grin at her. Grin at the twin tailcoat and top hat. Grin at the faceless face in front of me. Grin as her smile turns Cheshire.

“It just didn’t feel right. Watching a story without you.”

“Well then.” The cards dance in the air around her, asking to be drawn. “What story shall we see next?”