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i. budućnost
Her saccharine words linger in the air like perfume. Her warmth follows it, winding around him like silken ropes, almost suffocating him in the process. He wouldn't mind dying at her hands. At least it was her, and not anyone else. He wouldn't mind dying. At least it was him, and not anyone else.
If it was them, they would make the most beautiful murder scene.
He looks at the picture frames and swirling clocks around him. His gaze lands back on her cornerstone. He'd reach his hand out to it, if he had the possibility to stretch his muscles. He would cradle it within his hands as he would cradle the bullets he'd put into his gun. Weapons of massacre, the love of his life, in the end, it all blurs into the same motion.
The yellowing image tears at the edges, letting small bits and pieces of it fall in front of him. His body cannot move, it cannot save it from the fire that would burn it. He looks at the Future as it incinerates before him.
"What, does her cornerstone wrench at your heart so?"
"...I was merely curious why it was here."
"Maybe that winged guy put it here to taunt you. Just to make you realize that your painstakingly arranged magic show is nothing but a death rattle."
It was a death rattle. The snakes of her scent would hiss in his mind, echoing the truth he did not want to admit. It was her, in this wretched place, her, somewhere where he asked her to be. He asked her to witness his own succumbing. He gave her a piece of his cornerstone.
He should have left most of it behind.
There was no turning back, after all. And when the clock would ring out in solemn tolls, he would pay the price for all the sins he committed in this lifetime. He would cross the bridge beyond the edges of reality and dreams. He would look back and see that comforting glow and understand he has missed out on every chance he had to try. Try and be with her. Try and be the anchor she might've been looking for. The family she wanted to start and connect with.
He missed out on every upcoming birthday party for her companion animals, every time she would light the candles onto a cake, set the plate in front of the birthday animal, and blow out the candle herself if they couldn't. He missed out on every cold night staying in, watching whatever movies they might've wanted to, every mission he could help her with and protect her on, every moment of fleeting happiness when she would give him his coat and tell him to be careful.
He missed out on every moment he could impress her with illuminated Christmas lights, every walk down different planets and climates, every new thing they could explore together, while Numby would sniff out anything worth taking back. He missed out on the moments he could comfortably sleep together with her, cuddled up into her, or her into him, to the point where he wouldn't be able to tell what the difference was between them.
He missed out on the connection of a lifetime.
But, perhaps it was better this way. For if he admitted to cherishing her in the way he does, he would wither away. If he ever did expose himself to her, he would break like the pieces of the gem he took the name of.
Maybe those were just comforting words, in the face of such tremendous loss. The stag hunt would not end, even if he betrayed himself. it would continue, until the ultimate loser was the one who became the prize.
"...Just look at it, tsk. Shattered, just like your life. Poor thing. A humble pebble coated in the most lustrous sheen. I take it back, this thing is far more precious than your life."
Fate was kind to him and it always has been.
And Fate noticed. Thus Fate intervened.
He was never supposed to be by her side. The Future he yearned for was not in store for someone like him. He would only taint her if he had gotten the chance to. He would only gamble her away, like he always did.
"The cornerstone is gone... Another illusion of the Harmony."
ii. prošlost
"Hello, we meet again, Mr. Pretty-eyes."
That was not the first time he'd heard that. Plenty of times in his past has he heard such an empty compliment. But this was just a child, one of his people, so he knew that there was nothing he could hold against him. The poor child did not know of the emptiness that he prompted with such a comment.
Yet he remembers all the times she would tease him with it. Not fully understanding why he flinched away the first time she did say it. Not fully understanding who she would grow to be to him. Not understanding the truth that lurked beneath his gaze. The intentions with which he asked her whether she was serious.
She'd answer with her head cocked to the side, a small confusion expressed through her confirmation. Only she would be able to see the human within a man so cursed as he. She'd hold his hand, whisper that he has the prettiest eyes she's ever seen, so vibrant and clear. Hers were muddled, she'd state, giggling right after.
How innocent did one need to be, to say that to him, in his third-hand uniform of the IPC. Whenever he did small routine jobs for Jade, still as Kakavasha, whenever he visited her and Mr. Dvorski, who still had her under her wing then, he'd see her. He'd make small talk, pretending he was bigger than himself, better than who he truly was. He covered any blemishes with a small scarf. He was a little older. He had bragging rights by default.
"They put me, Papa, Mama and Big Sis together, turning us into one big family."
It was impossible, wasn't it?
The downpour so heavy that even the drops slid down painstakingly slowly, the pressure building up until it all overflows. Flooded streets, ruined clothes, drenched ground. He vaguely remembers the way the small patches of grass felt against his skin, the few times it did rain. Tickling his neck as he laid upon them before it had been branded.
Before he had grown up to be that what the young boy in front of him had yet to become. Before he lost everything he ever could claim to have.
"You should give it a try too, Mister!"
It was gone, wasn't it?
The endless chances that would give way to possibilities beyond anything he had imagined. The honey-dipped hair of the Goddess, the one she had blessed upon his people. The heartless luck that she embedded into his being, into his eyes, into the ways he existed and took breath. Into her prayers.
The hope she left him when it came to loving Jelena.
All the chances he could be someone to her, all the chances that she could be someone to him. She was already locked deep within his heart. She would stay there, out of view for even him, for the rest of his days. He would fool himself into thinking that there was nothing, that the emptiness had already swallowed him, merging his very soul into nothingness.
That he has already seen the end, the blackest of holes, usurper of meaning and form.
There was no room for her radiance. No room for her yellowed treasures, rustic ideas of who she was and what they were. No matter in the sinking embrace of death, the blanketed fall into the deepest abyss. She would not follow. She will not get warped by him.
Let bygones be bygones. Let it all wither with him, let it all be drained into a singular point of reference. Let the world watch as his limelight arrived, and let her not be blinded by it.
"...Boring."
He lost, by being the one who won.
iii. sadašnjost
"..."Death," but whose, exactly?"
"We'll know when the dice falls."
If only the dice could fall earlier. Then there would be no deliberation on his end. No time to think over whether his actions would truly end up being correct. He was already set on being the one who would undertake this mission. The one to risk everything in the hopes of it being the final time.
He already knew this. He has always been a gambler. Why was he hesitating? What was there to hesitate about, when the ending was in sight?
The calling of the emptiness grew larger and larger. It was inescapable. He could hear the pinball machines and the leftovers of delighted childhood screams in the distance. Echoing until they reached the pinnacle of their amplitude; trembling until they were no longer discernible anymore. It was replaced with tv-static and a tinnitus he could never shake.
"There's only one place he can be going, whether it's in the past, present or future!"
Somehow, a cartoon villain saying that fits in the current predicament. There's only one path to traverse. It was a straight road ahead. The lights of the theatre called to him, and he would answer, a moth to the eternal flame. The clock was ticking closer and closer to the grand finale.
"How long will you stay?"
"Forever. We'll be with you, forever in this dream."
If only such a word could be realized in life. He stared at the ghastly blonde of his Future. He would not grow old, or live long enough to see what that would look like. This is why the Harmony has given him this reflection. His future was now, and with that, also no more.
"It's best to die without regrets."
How does one say farewell to themselves? To something that never is, never was and never will be?
Aventurine has pondered this time and time again, staring into the ceiling of his small room in the IPC, before he was Aventurine. Before he was anything other than "Kakavasha".
Kakavasha was blessed under the Goddess, her name sweet and true; Kakavasha, reverent to her holiness, Gaiathra. Yet that blessing meant a curse upon everyone else in his life. When misfortune does not hit you, it gets cast onto those closest to you, first, and then reaches beyond those. Like rippling water turning into monsoons. The sun that scorches, the blades that kill and the rain that drowns.
Kakavasha, you poor, poor child. If misfortune only follows those who need to protect you, doesn't that mean you are plagued with it yourself?
He didn't want to plague her with it. Even as a child, he hid everything under a placating smile and daring words. He'd take the bigger wager, make a bet with utmost confidence. He was the one who had to know everything in order to be able to protect her. He studied the chips and the cards and the games. Learned the theory of every move. Strategized until his undereye bags would stretch halfway across his cheeks.
He'd put in so much time trying to find ways to deal with his loneliness. His hurt from all the injustices that were done to him. The damage he himself dealt to others. She was a huge part of the answer.
But the IPC was never an environment to grow up. Its hallways would stretch on for longer than the walk towards the opening curtains. Longer than the conversations he'd have with Kakavasha during thunderstorms in his room. Becoming the perfect blend of orphan and relative, talking himself down from the emptiness. The IPC nurtured the trickling sands of time he used to run through his hands, funneling it down a singular point.
Where else could it lead, other than the void?
It need not matter. The curtains were here now. It was his cue.
Was there anything left to do now? Anything left to say as his final words?
What would he say to her, the one entrenched in his heart, who would be the sole chosen witness to his demise?
When his body was withering away from every gamble he took, the golden sun molding him into glass, his face melting together into the caged masks he used.
When the reasons justified the ends, and when the ends got tangled up in the means. When he lived a life that would never be free from betrayal, when every version of him would end up dissipating into deadly fumes; things he used as weapons to win.
Was there any way to win this game, when it stopped being a game a long time ago?
Perhaps there was, in some way. If he has given up on trying to win her over, if he folded every time, down to the very last, never using the aces hidden under his sleeves, then was he ever gambling in the first place? What kind of gamble would that be?
His cornerstone cracked under the pressure. He steeled his resolve. Somewhere, deep within that so-called soul of his, he'd whisper a goodbye to her as well. He'd dedicate this final act to the ones who protected her from coming too close. The one who wanted her to be there the most.
Non-Zero-Sum games were always his favourite, anyway. Losing and winning always feel sweeter when it's done together. Regardless of if it was with someone whom he hated, or worse yet, loved more than anything.
"Let's assume — just assuming, now — that every time I roll the dice, there is a possibility of achieving this particular outcome...
"Then, I would be quite happy to make that wager."
-
She stared at the dimming light from the chunk of his cornerstone. The ground underneath her feet would swirl in terror as its previous warmth dissipated into the air. Her hands would shake, and the tears at the edges of her eyes threatened to fall alongside her.
There was no game to win anymore. The Goddess wasn't able to save him from the suffering that befell him. Yet his spoon fell headfirst into the honey, nonetheless.