Destroyer Myth Cycles

Souls in Delusion

 

My name is Starul. I am one of the beings who did not survive the end of the world. But this is not my story: this is the story of the destroyer and the saviour of us all. His name is Oblirian. For all I know, he is the only survivor. And this is how I knew him:

                I was a graduating student taking up a major in psychology. Our thesis was about the psychotic disorders in Old Age. As I had the most patience and tact in my group, I was chosen to do the interviews.

                I remember that I was half an hour late for my appointment at the Harefordia Sanatoruim for the Aged due to the unaccounted road constructions and building renovations in the city. Sadly, elections are nearing, and main roads have either been closed or half-closed.

                I got down from the taxi and faced a gothic manor with highly maintained gardens and a moss-filled fountain with still cherubs piping down water. There were people there strolling, some with nurses pushing wheelchairs and some feeding the elderly on benches, and some elders were just alone. It was a beautiful place that is, if you prefer ancient structures or enjoy the company of old people. I walked inside the building and was greeted by a crude but surprisingly beautiful receptionist who told me to wait in the sitting area and sign some papers for guests. The nurses were prompting my interviewee, one of the most hallucinatory patients, whom I was painstakingly requesting for in months.

                Finally, I was led to the inner courtyard and saw my patient waiting for me on a wheelchair. He had that common old person look: white hair, droopy eyes, wrinkles and a slightly hunched back. He never had fits, so the nurses can do other things and watch us from afar.

                “Hello, grandpa,” I greeted nervously,” My name’s Starul. I’m your grandson.”

                “Charmed.” He croaked, “My name is Oblirian. You know,” He hunched forward and whispered to me. “I’m only pretending to be sick. Did you know that I used to be a superhero?”

                He left us without a trace about three years ago. I had always been afraid of him because he was an obsessive-compulsive and choleric. Maybe his own mind got annoyed and took revenge for all the pressure he gave it. Maybe he started having hallucinations because, I don’t know, because he left us and couldn’t find his way back so he convinced himself that he had lived a better life than this? Focus, boy, I thought. Your future of success and bliss depends on this interview.

                “Really, you’re a hero?! Well then, I am truly honored by your presence, sir.” I played along. “Please, do tell me your tale.”

                He straightened up, looking suspiciously at the space beside me. Maybe he can’t see well? I was dearly anxious for him to play along.

                “You young people,” he spat, “always up for the pranks, eh? Ah well, since you remind me so damn much of my handsome young self, I shall tell you my tale.”

                I was horrified upon knowing that I forgot to turn on the red button on my recorder, so I did.

                “When I was about your age,” he began,” I already have my own home and family. This one particular night, you see, I was lying down on my roof and was star-gazing. I was dozing off when I saw this comet heading towards me from space. It landed on my roof surprisingly without noise and I, scared as hell, looked up at the face of the most beautiful girl I ever did see, adorned with a soft and blinding glow behind her. She said her name is Gabriella and she’s an angel.

                “Oblirian, do you want to save the world from damnation?” She asked me in a melodic voice. I said yes, of course. If it’s the whole world involved, then it’s probably a big enough deal.

                She then handed me a gun and a sack of broken glass before she disappeared.  It was like nothing happened. You know that hanging, awkward feeling, Starul? When there happens a great situation or event and suddenly, it stops with the blink of an eye?

                “Uh huh”, I answered with a nod.

                “That’s exactly what I felt!” He clapped his hands, “The following nights I couldn’t sleep. I wanted answers. I’m no religious scholar, but I’m sure angels handing you guns and a bunch of broken glass isn’t how divine callings work. That’s crazy! I started thinking that I was just hallucinating.

                Finally one morning, I got so frustrated that I got the gun and began shooting recklessly at the sky. For some inexplicable reason --and I mean that in its greatest extent-- I made holes in the sky, and it started bleeding profusely.”

                He started having convulsive coughs. There was a water bottle beside him on a wooden table and he got it.

                “What’s curious is that the thing that was falling out of it is blue and…muddy. It’s blue mud, I’m sure.” He went on. “Imagine thousands of…sewer-- waterfalls raging down from the sky. Some holes were small as plates, some were as big as meteor craters. It was such a site to behold: so awe-striking, hair-raising. And I made it happen.”

                His story was undeniably interesting, I thought. I gave him credit for creativity and coherence. In most cases, people would only claim to have seen swift visions; like phantoms conversing or walking through walls, or objects being out of place like cars in their bedrooms, and mostly they’ll realize it wasn’t real after some time.

Psychotic disorders have two symptoms, which are hallucinations and delusions. He cannot possibly be a schizophrenic because he doesn’t show any signs of paranoia or fits of panic. I would actually think of him as a normal old person if I wasn’t listening to him psychobabble about angels and blue mud from the sky.

                Oblirian went on, all the while looking beyond me as if he was talking to more than one person. It freaked me out a little, but I’m glad he’s doing it. I wouldn’t want him staring at me all the time with that eager expression and that ecstatic look in those brown eyes -- my mother’s eyes --, purely convinced that he is a significant being of the world. I might not bear it.

                Anyhow, he said Gabriella appeared at long last after the mud started pouring. She said that the mud were the souls of people that are yet to be born. And because millions of people are born every day, the sky almost empties itself of souls, therefore it turns black and the world changes into night. Eventually new and old souls will line up again to be born and they will fill up the sky and so it will be daytime once again. That is the actual truth, she says.

                More and more people became hedonistic and evil throughout time. That is why the godhead had proclaimed an apocalypse: to save the majority of his ungrateful children from the threat of eternal damnation.

                As a reward, Gabriella took Oblirian to heaven as a whole. That is to prevent him from dying with the rest, but, incidentally, to forever suffer with the thought of his less privileged loved ones as well. He had always wondered, “Why me?” He had concluded that maybe people who would’ve asked that question were all candidates for being the destroyer. Only, the bingo ball with his clueless face on it came out first.

                As I walked home that evening, I thought about him. I would’ve wanted to hear more of his stories if I were still a child. He is in my bloodline but I do not feel any kind of attachment to him; maybe because he left us for another woman and made a hell of an epic story out of it.

                After we finished the interview, we said our thank yous and I wished him with good health. I didn’t really care to be honest.

                As I was walking home, I played the recorder. I wanted to analyze his condition more, all the while imagining my classmates’ reactions when they hear this.

                “So Gabriella, you see,” Oblirian’s voice was low and static in the recorder. His voice and the sound of my feet on the gravel road were the only sounds audible. It was an unusually deserted and darker evening. “She took me by the hand, but I grabbed hold of the sack of broken glass just in time. We flew. I can see the morning sky as it slowly turns darker, just like thousands of humongous funnels bringing the liquid in. To be honest, I was thrilled with the fact that we were flying, amidst all the chaos. I didn’t recogn--“

                I clicked pause and looked around. I heard dainty footsteps, or maybe a swish of a thick cloth on the ground. I couldn’t see any other living creature from my point of vision. I was walking on a main road. Usually, people and cars were abundant here. They’ve probably closed this road temporarily because of the reconstructions and I missed the sign board saying it is so. I shrugged and went on.

                “It really looked nothing like the world.” grandpa said, “When we were high enough to touch the holes in the sky, I felt my heart pump painful remorse which spread throughout my veins. I suddenly had an impulse to throw the sack into one of the holes, and I did. I’m really not sure what made me do so. To my utter surprise, the glass shards spread and enlarged. They became as big as the holes.” He laughed. “They covered the holes and stopped the flow of that mud. Yes, they really did! And they turned out to look like stars and moons, only brighter and more vivid. Ah yes, to see it was a delight, and a privilege. I do wish my family should’ve seen it…

                I was too late, though. The sphere was half full. Gabriella said that this one particular event cannot be postponed. She knows the plan; knows and accepts it like humans accept age. But I dared to take one glimpse of her face and there is an undeniable tear under that angel’s eye.”

                …a ghostly figure in black. I think I just saw something like it. But it was dark. People tend to have hallucinations in the dark. It may be triggered by fear, pressure, drowsiness, hunger, and certain medicinal intakes. I have at least three of those. I took a deep breath and hastened my pace.

                “Angels don’t feel the way humans do. But they know pity, they really do. I’ve seen it mys--“

                I ran as fast as I could in different paths, but I can still hear it catching up with me. I was scared for my life. I began recalling the news reports about children and students being robbed and killed and found clogging the sewer lines with their chopped and unrecognizable bodies. It has happened a lot of times in this place. I screamed for help, expecting people to appear at some point, but there were none. What’s going on? Where is everybody?! I kept on running. I ran until the beating of my heart is faster than my pace. I don’t want to be murdered by an anonymous killer. I’m graduating in three months. Give me a break!

                I came across one of the buildings that were under construction. Without a moment’s hesitation, I climbed the thin steel barricade with the “Hard Hat” symbol and cupped my way down into the darkness of the building’s basement. I curled up in that unsafe nowhere for a while. Shaking and catching my breath slowly and quietly. Sanctuary, I hailed in my mind.

                Half an hour or so had passed, I guess. So I, reluctantly, stood up and walked with precaution. I don’t feel as nervous as I was before, but I still damn am. There was a steep walkway and because I can hardly see, I missed a step and fell on a much deeper level of ground. I know I’ve made a racket, so I froze, quite impulsively, and waited. No one appeared. The place was in total silence.

                I sat up and cleared my head. I can see the moon from here because the walls on the upper floor weren’t put up yet. My eyes twitched by the sudden brightness. I imagined and longed for the site of my house, my bed, fried chickens and iced teas in the dining table with all my family members, watching television with the lights turned off, sitting in front of my computer with the electric fan beside me, and reading a book while lying in bed. I don’t want to be here because here isn’t comfortable at all, and I’m exhausted and frightened and hungry and filthy.

When my eyes have adjusted, I saw that the ground below me was made of some kind of frosted glass, which reflected the moonlight. I looked down and saw an indoor swimming pool. I’m no architect, but I think it’s unpractical to fill the pool when the rest of the building is even barely finished.

Wait a minute, I said out loud before I can stop myself. I pressed my palms and nose on the glass --good thing it was smooth-- for some clarification. It’s too big to be a pool…it’s seems to be getting higher and higher, in fact. When I believed that it’s close enough, I backed away. The ground began to shake mildly, at first, until it was already shaking so hard that I couldn’t stand up. I leaped as farther from the glass floor as I possibly can, hopelessly knowing that I wouldn’t get too far. I heard a big splash, and I realized that the glass had been broken and tons of muddy water exploded from all visible grounds around me. I went up the steep debris of unfinished floors haggardly. But to my surprise, muddy water also started pouring in from above. I got a fast glimpse of the sky and saw land-less, solid-blue waterfalls. How peculiar. The End of the World is Nigh: I remembered an article having this title in a tabloid which I bought that morning. I remembered that I sniggered upon reading it. Not sniggering about it now, if that is in fact happening now, that is. I still tried climbing up, but the mud is heavy, slippery, and coming in handfuls. I was dragged in with the flow. As I bumped my head in the ceiling and embraced a stiff metal rod so I wouldn’t keep bobbing in the mud, the faces of people I cherished and the things I want done and have done and those things I still didn’t, came flashing violently in my head. I breathed my last air and let the blue mud engulf me in careless, hopeless surrender. It was smooth and sticky against my skin. It carried me impulsively to random places. I bumped my head in something sharp and hard a couple of times. I felt my hands rip and my chest torn. My leg got stuck in something hollow with sharp edges, and almost killed me completely right there. I breathed and gasped with every severe pain I felt, and mud went inside my guts and suffocated me. Finally, when I cannot bear the torture anymore, I saw a brilliant light without opening my eyes. And I followed it and then the pain was gone.

 

I opened my eyes. I have been drooling in my sleep. I sat up and touched my head. It hurts terribly. I just had the most terrible dream. It was all this stress, I assume. I looked down and both to my surprise and agony, I was sitting in a glass floor. That part was real, after all. I pressed my palms and nose on the glass yet again, but this time I feel heavier with my disturbingly new-found knowledge. I think I know but I’m still weighing my odds: maybe it’s an underground river? No, those are a hundred miles farther down. Maybe, it’s a carpeted room. I can’t see well from here, but I can see enough to know that it’s moving, though.

I think I know now. For some unexplained reason, maybe I’ve always known. Maybe, so did everyone else. I wished that I’ve missed seeing this instead. It’s a sea…

 

…a sea of blue mud.

 

Oblirian was right and my dream…it was real. How could I have forgotten?

 

I fainted.

 

--And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea…

--And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new. And he said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful.

--We are in the Garden of Eden once again. Back in the time man has not yet eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge, so that we shall not remember and we shall not be condemned. Maybe limbo is just in the same place. It was just my conclusion.

 Amen. Even so, come, and let it be done.

 

The first thing I saw when I gained consciousness " again-- was the Harefordia Sanatorium’s receptionist in her black trench coat, which looks unnervingly familiar. She was hovering above me with her long dark hair on one side of her neck, a bit unsure what to do, I think.

“What time is it?” I asked. She was startled by my voice.

“It’s late. What’s happened to you, boy?”

I sat up with effort and she assisted me. I was back at the front gates of the sanatorium. It was dark, except for the street lights with their dim yellow lights. I was feeling very nauseous and my body aches, as if I’ve just grown some extra bones and they’re squeezing in with my muscles and guts, and that memory that I will never get out of my head. This is not a feeling you can get used to. No, not at all.

“How did I get here?” My voice sounded hoarse.

“I wouldn’t know that, love. I just got here myself. I’m on my way home, in fact.” she said, “Ah well, teenagers these days are very impulsive, is what I think. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.” She stood up and lent me a hand. 

We walked slowly to her car which, gladly, was just a few steps away. I was feeling dizzy and cannot keep my balance on my own. I went in and cuddled in the passenger’s seat. At that moment, I felt as if it is the most comfortable spot in the whole world.

She drove. I was still abashed and shaking. She, on the other hand, seemed ecstatic and was psychobabbling about a female patient who claimed that the chocolate with stick-people icing that she ate actually have real people inside them and they’re inside her head, dancing and making a lot of noise. They had to tie her up because she started banging her head on the wall and almost on the verge of sticking a fork in her ear, begging them to let her sleep.

Noticing my silence, she asked, “Your name’s Starul, right?” I nodded. I just realized that she has a fascinating, melodic voice. We were quiet for a long time.

I know what I saw. I am young and my mind and vision’s still in the right track. If the whole world is dead, then what’s the purpose of keeping us here? Is it to give us a second chance to reconcile? Every achievement, success, dream, and accomplishment: why would it matter if it’s all make-believe, temporary? If we’re going to be stuck here forever, then there will be neither salvation nor damnation for our actions. Then what is guilt and conscience for?

I glanced at the beautiful receptionist. Is she really just another lost soul taking me home? Am I really just a ghost anticipating a graduation day that will never come? I remember that blue sea that seems to move on its own. I imagine myself as one of those hopeless unborn souls who looks up vacantly and see a multitude of stars, some relatively bigger than the rest. I feel like I’m on the verge of fainting again.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “What’s he like, Oblirian, I mean?”

She sighed. “The first time I met him, he was a paranoid: cynical and skeptical about the world. He was also a dreamer. Thinks it would only take bravery and luck to change his fate, exactly like those heroes in Greek myths like Hercules or Perseus or those protagonists in the movies, where everything alters on their behalf. It’s just hard for him to accept that he cannot do everything. Methinks the reason he became delusional is so that he can escape reality and be a superhero. Such destructive passion the mind can offer you.” she shrugged. “He snapped out of it for some time, though. And I got the opportunity to chat with him during that sanity period. Turns out to be a very wise man. He preached to me, and some of the nurses, that man has always asked about their purposes in life. Man’s purpose, according to him, is only to exist, and make their purposes themselves. Of course, we don’t all share a single purpose. Like pigs, for instance, they can be food for me, a pet for some, a companion, a sacrificial offering, or even a lead character or inspiration in motivational books and movies. Our purpose is to live, to influence, and to be wherever fate leads us to be.” Her exultance is transferring into her way of driving. We barely made it out of traffic in one piece. I would’ve cared if I didn’t know we were dead. We passed several construction sites. I wondered if maybe they have glass floors at the bottom, too.

I was deadly afraid to ask her if grandpa told her his apocalypse story. I’m afraid that she’ll either say yes or no, or if she had believed it or not.

“He’s not crazy, you know.” Is what I have proposed instead.

“He is not, of course. Your name is Starul, right?”

“I--,yes.” She always seems to sing. It almost doesn’t matter what she says. I would’ve been very attracted to her if we were in a different situation.

She paused for a while as she overtook two big trucks. “I don’t know how close you two are, and I wouldn’t have any of it, but he’s your grandfather and you’re a psychologist. You can come visit him as often as you want and maybe help him out of his condition.” She gave me a kind smile which seems to indicate that I should consider her suggestion. I would never forget that smile.

I haven’t got the chance to see him again, though. He died that night in his sleep, and left me with so many unbearable questions.

She turned on a curb and we stopped. It took me a few seconds for my house to register in my mind.

I know I was still pale, dumb-eyed and panic-stricken when she told me to take it easy as she drove off. When I was all alone in my front lawn, I searched my pockets and found that all my valuables were still there…except for my recorder.  I guess it was meant to be. What chaos it is if the rest of humanity finds out about the truth.

Maybe it fell in the receptionist’s car. Funny thing is that, I suddenly realized that I actually never had the chance to tell her where I live.

 

“I have found my purpose, and that is to keep the secret and continue the cycle. All of humanity --and I have pondered about this for a long time--is bound to know it one at a time. We are bound to stay here until we all have found out our purposes, only then we’ll achieve salvation. I for one consider this as a privilege: to have a chance to live until we achieve the right kind of life that we want.” I chuckled. “You’re next in line, my boy. Go and make miracles! Oh, and one more thing,” I eyed the college boy in front of me. We were in the same group who made that thesis a long time ago. I’m sure now he doesn’t recognize me with all these white hairs and wrinkles and old skin.

“What’s with?” he asked, while putting back his stuff in his backpack, faking interest.

“Now you will start to age again, just like me and Oblirian, and you will die. Your actions will finally be judged, so live your life well. That is my gift to you.”

We said our thank yous and he wishes my health well. I don’t mind; I know I wouldn’t stick around for long.

Such a fine young man, he is. He will believe me, soon enough.

The college boy looks back as he walks out of the Simonelli’s Home for the Aged’s gates, all the while thinking about some of the things he’ll do when he finally graduates and moves out of his parent’s house. He caught sight of the beautiful brunette receptionist talking to an old lady sitting on a garden bench. For a moment he thought he heard the old lady calling her Gabriella. She looks at him, smiles, and waves her hand. He smiles back, shrugs, and went on his way.

               

Author's Note

This is the first (and longest) story i have written for my own pleasure. that is, without the any attachments pertaining to school projects and homeworks. i hope it will be great. always had this concept in the back of my head...didn't turn out as expected, though. i hope it is worth the read.
— T.B.Fuentebella (aspiring author)

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You did very well with your first story. You brought me in with strong characters and a amazing storyline. I couldn't stop reading this amazing tale. I like the hero in this story. I like the use of Angels and the common folks. No weakness in this outstanding story.
Coyote

[KIMBERLY]

i wanna finish it reading because It's so interesting :) gonna continue reading next time ;)

[patricia]

This was an interesting read. Lots of imaginative ideas. A good subject, blending psychology, age and the meaning of life. Emotive and thought provoking. Enjoyed.

[Thea Fuentebella]

thank you for the review. highly appreciated!