Volume VIII: Inherited Dysfunction

4. The Child

Even though the battle is ongoing, the madness never ends. Fighting is futile when neither side will give an inch. Not an inch, not a mile, not a motive or ideal. And here we stand, locked in this war of selves, this ongoing debate where nothing is certain and everything hurts. Breathe in pain, breathe in madness and uncertainty. Breathe out the past, breathe out the present. Breathe out yourself. The trenches have been dug in ancient ground and will never be overtaken. And we shall always be locked in the ongoing cycle, the circle with no end, walking further away and getting nowhere. Locked to more than this - locked to each other more than ourselves. But the lack of compassion suffocates the core and in the end there's nothing left. Nothing left to this but ashes. And as the flags fall and the body count rises we're left here, still locked in, not an inch given or gained. And all that remains is consideration. Contemplation. The scars and dried blood. The lost tears and forgotten memories. Black and white. Words and images. And this. This moment. The wheel turns again but the team's not all on board and it doesn't matter because if you don't scream, nobody will notice. And if you do scream, they won't notice anyway. And here it goes. Here it stays. In motion or merely the illusion of it.

My name is...

Does it matter? Perhaps. Perhaps it matters just because I’ll be a person in your mind, I’ll have a title to which you can refer to me. You’re not getting my real name though. Because it’s mine. And it’s my secret to keep to myself. I’ve already given you my father. But this is mine. This is my lie. My tragedy. I am the living dead. I am the ghost of something that’s been gone for years. I’m the lie that lived simply to motivate my father’s madness.

I’m sorry Dad. I really, truly am.

I only wish that you were here to see it. I wish you were. And Mom too. But it was your own doing. Your own undoing. And me as well. Your child.

You had to believe I was dead. Or else you wouldn’t have gone on your crusade. You wouldn’t have killed the remaining narrators. Including Mom. You wouldn’t have gone through the trouble. Left no proof standing. But I stopped you from burning down the Dragon. That was her. I stopped you from destroying the parlor. I faked my own death. Not without help of course. And the cycle will start new. Without interference. It won’t end.

It’ll start over.

With more, smarter, more rational people at the wheel. And this is your end. I’m sorry Dad. I’m...I’ll miss you. I’m sorry. I couldn’t take any chances. You won’t pull the trigger. And Mom was lonely without you. I’m sorry Dad. I really am. But this is how it had to be. It had to. You understand, don’t you?

This is my life. My tragedy.

Hello.

My first name is...

Fallen.