Obi Land

Prologue:Death . 1:Jail . 2:Fear . 3:Goodbye . 4:Insanity . 5:Interview . 6:Thought . 7:Vision

PROLOGUE: Death

Death. That's what we live with, what we can't live without. It's what surrounds us, choking, smothering us with its very existence. We attempt to flee from it, assuming it means us harm, fearing what it will send crashing upon us, fearing there will be nothing left afterwards.

Once upon a time, I was just like that, fearing death, fearing life, fearing existence. I was just a boy, what can I say? It comes with humanity. After all, we are all human, or were at some point. I've moved beyond that now, stretched my limits, faced my fears, and become something more, something greater.

I don't expect anyone to understand, not at this time. Eventually I'll show you, all of you. You'll see what power truly is, what life is, what death is. I'll show you. Then you'll all understand. I'm just biding my time, awaiting the moment when I can be, when I can exist.

Someday, the world will be mine; it will balance, gripped between my fingers, held by my will alone. Someday you will see. Someday, someday, I'll remember….

CHAPTER ONE: Jail

They threw me into the dark stone cell. It was cold, so very cold, I felt as if I would freeze before they allowed my exit. Before my parents bothered to come bail me out again. I don't even know what it was I did that time, I don't remember.

My bottom hit the floor hard; I knew I'd be sore for a while. I think the cop who threw me in, a man with hard black eyes that seemed to bore into your very soul, knew too. I think he did it on purpose. I wouldn't be surprised. Crawling on my hands and knees, scraping my jeans against the rough stone floor, I made my way to the back of the cell.

Besides me, it was empty. They always tossed me into a temporary holding cell near the front. It was never long before my parents showed up; it hadn't been at first anyway. The way it'd been going, I wouldn't have been surprised had I spent the night in the place.

I crawled slowly onto the cot in the back of the cell, wishing so many things, yet wishing nothing at all. I didn't know why I hurt so much; there was no logical explanation for it. I wrapped my thin arms around my equally skinny knees, and rocking back and forth, I began to hum. It wasn't anything most people I knew would recognize, or something most people would expect me to know. After all, where I came from, punks didn't watch anime. I was an odd boy. Nothing made sense to me, and yet I appeared to understand everything.

I never knew why I chose that time to hum Fukai Mori, and I never felt there was any reason. I simply enjoy that song. And the anime, Inuyasha, isn't too bad either. Who am I kidding? I love that show! It was my favorite anime of all time, and even now I continue to watch it. But this is all really beside the point.

Close to three hours later my father walked into the hall leading to my cell. He looked sad, he always did, even when he was filled with joy. It was because of me. I wasn't a good son. I wasn't a good heir.

His movements were slow, and his steps echoed down the hall, going on and on, as if they would never cease, but I knew they would. Everything ends. Everything. The same officer who had thrown me into the cell walked with him. I looked at his badge, knowing I would meet him again. It read Harvey Mason. Mason? I wondered if maybe he was related to a Mrs. Elma Mason, but didn't ask. I was afraid to ask.

He unlocked the cell slowly. I could tell he wanted to leave me in here to sit, to brood, to rot, to die, to live, to be…. to care. That's what everyone wanted me to do; they wanted me to care. I stood shakily, still in inexplicable pain. Walking was far more difficult, a flash of worry flew swiftly across my father's face, leaving not trace of ever being there, but Mason simply waited, his hard features showing no expression. When I made it to the cell door, he smiled. It wasn't cheerful and warm, or even just plain fake. It was cold, heartless, chilling, and evil.

"You should take care of yourself boy, be more careful." I was surprised when he spoke. Not because of how deep and harsh his voice was, I had expected that, but because he had yet to say anything else the entire night.

"Yes, sir." I spoke softly, my smooth voice sounding high pitched after his. My father again showed signs of worry. I wasn't acting like myself; I was being polite. I was obviously afraid. He didn't know it, no one did, but I was always afraid. Just as I was always confused, always weak, always sad, always lost.

"Come on, Zoltan, we should get home before supper's ready." My dad placed his hand on my back, and guided me to the door. It was a good thing he did, because otherwise, I wouldn't have moved. I had just realized something, something that should have been so very obvious to me. I didn't know me.

I know that may not make any sense, but it's true. I had forgotten myself, my name, my birthday, my everything. No, wait, not everything. It was so strange. I remembered my school, my family, my home…. so much, and yet, I knew I had forgotten something important.

I quickly realized what must have happened. Someone had been trying to remove something from my memory, but had accidentally pulled out some other information as well. The funny thing was, I didn't know how I knew. After all, that kind of thing is impossible.

It really didn't take long for me to remember. That's why I was so confused on what I'd forgotten. By the time we arrived at the driveway of a white marble mansion with a flawlessly beautiful yard, I had remembered everything it is I should have known, except that one thing. I still knew there was something missing. Something important, something I may never retrieve.

Inside the table was set. My mother had set out chopsticks, and fried rice awaited me at the table. It wasn't something we normally had. Usually I just ordered a pizza or made ravioli while my parents went to a fancy restaurant. We only had friend rice on special occasions, too bad I didn't know what the occasion was.

We ate silently; my parents glanced at me repeatedly throughout the eternal meal. I knew they were waiting for me to say something, but I didn't know what. I had forgotten. And there I'd thought nothing was left, but then again, maybe this was it. Maybe this is what was stolen from me, or maybe they just wanted me to tell them what I was busted for that time.

Once I had finished I rinsed out my bowl in the sink, it took an eternity of a few seconds for the water to heat. I carefully placed my china bowl in the dishwasher afterwards even though I knew it wouldn't do any good. My mom always had those hand-washed. But she would never be caught doing it herself, our maid, Briana, would take care of it.

CHAPTER TWO: Fear

Fear. Another aspect of the life we live with. One more thing we can't live without, yet seek to be rid of. There are those who seek it out, searching for the rush surging through our bodies when faced with it. They roam the world, free, unknowing what will come next, but looking forward to it all the same. Then there are the rest of us. We hide in our safe little corners, careful to avoid anything that could cause us harm, not realizing that life could cause us that harm.

Fear ties in with death. We fear death, and death fears us. It's everywhere, suffocating us, threatening to pull us under, to throw us into a different world, a world where nothing makes sense, where everything makes sense. A world called, insanity.

What is it that makes us fear something? Why is it we cannot escape whatever it is? Even now, as I am I can feel fear, though not to its true extent. Not the choking fear that could easily smother my senses were I still clutched within the grasp of humanity. Not the fear of life. Not the fear of death. I live with only one fear. A fear of myself.

CHAPTER THREE: Goodbye

I quickly pushed all my doubts about my memory to the back of my simple human mind. It wasn't long before I was back to my old self. School was easy; my grades were great, even better than before. I never tried any harder though. The thought that this was strange never even occurred to me.

One night, however, it did. I heard my parents talking, and, being the snoopy teen that I was, stopped to listen.

"Andrew, we can't ignore this! He's completely forgotten, and yet, he still shows signs of it starting to happen. This is completely unheard of!" My mom sounded frantic, but somehow managed to keep control of her voice.

"It's nothing, Jewel, nothing. You know how he is; that boy is probably just trying to get back at us for letting him stay in that cell for three hours. He's a very simple child at heart, darling. He'll slip."

"But what if he's not faking it? What if someone…….wha-what if someone knew how to…….steal it?"

"That's impossible, don't think such silly thoughts."

"I'm sorry, I guess I'm just not as accustomed to the idea as you. After all, I didn't find out until I had reached twenty."

"I know, honey, and it's going to be okay. Isn't that right, Zoltan?" He turned to me, and I found myself in the air. Then, I was suddenly flung against the wall with such force, that I was ground into it.

I didn't know what happened, I was too confused to even know that it had to have been done by one of my parents.

"Andrew! Don't hurt him!" My mom cried out, tears streaming down her face. She collapsed onto the sofa, and holding her face in her hands.

"He'll be fine, don't worry." He was so calm, so in control. And when it finally registered in my brain what must have happened, I was furious. But there was nothing I could do. My father continued to throw me around, to inflict pain upon me without moving a finger. It was too much; I was bruised and battered, tired and beaten, but still enraged. "Come on, boy, what's wrong with you? Can't you take a little pain?" His eyes held a malice and hatred I had never seen before. They seemed to glow with it as he grinned in pure pleasure. He slammed me into the floor.

Seeing the evil look on his face, I couldn't take it any more. Something deep within me snapped, something I probably would have been better off with intact. I didn't know it at the time, but my eyes burned red, glowing even more evilly than my fathers. I cried out in rage and pain as the ground beneath my feet began the crumble. I hurled myself at the man I called father, everything around me being demolished as I came upon it. My mother screamed. I would have to pass her to get to my dad.

I smashed headfirst into the man before me. He was hurl backwards, and nearly every bone in his body was broken with the impact. With his last breath of life he spoke. "He really has forgotten, Jewel. Please help him to-"

I fell to the ground, sobered by my father's dead body. I looked back to the fully intact sofa where my mom lay crying. "Mom, what the hell just happened?" I spoke clearly, my voice sounding nothing more than confused, as if I hadn't just killed my own father.

She crawled over and wrapped her arms around me. "I'm sorry, Zolty, this is all my fault. They warned me, told me this would happen if your father and I had a son, but…but I wouldn't listen…." She trailed off, sobbing into my shoulder.

"What would happen…. who's they…. is that really dad? What happened to him? And to our house?"

"You don't remember?" She didn't move her face from my shoulder.

"No….. what happened mom?"

"You did."

"wha-"

"YOU KILLED YOUR OWN FATHER!!!!" She looked at me, hatred in her gaze, and slapped me. "HOW DARE YOU, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!"

I didn't say anything; I was in too much shock to speak. My jumbled thoughts slowed, stopped, and as I sat, unable to think, my mom resumed crying into my shoulder. I placed my hand on the back of her head. A tear fell down my cheek, the first tear I had ever shed.

It hit my mother's shoulder when it fell from my face. "Goodbye, Dad." I whispered into my mother's ear.

CHAPTER FOUR: Insanity

Insanity. Is there a single word, a simple way for me to explain this? No. Most of us sit around thinking this is simply a mental case, something that could never touch us. Most of us have never felt it. The pure bliss, the burning hatred, the unbearable agony, the intoxication of completely losing yourself within the confines of your own mind.

I felt it. So many times I was overcome by it. Shoved within myself with the door locked. My mind would go everywhere, everywhere except reality, while my body committed horrible deeds. Killing, destroying, bringing me to be known as a terror. Taking everything away. Giving me only pain in return. Returning to my body was painful; it took every ounce of strength within me not to be driven truly insane.

Insane in a way that would twist the pathways, burn the reasons, and drive out the light. No more nice neat rows, no more pleasure, no more pain, just a world of untruth, where nothing is, and everything is. A twisted turning life, matching that of the mind. A feeling of having lost something, yet never knowing what it is…. Maybe someday, I'll forget……

CHAPTER FIVE: Interview

We almost allowed ourselves to hope life would return to normal. To hope that the reporters would leave, that the inspectors would cease questioning us, and that we could live again. For years that followed I died every day…my mom was lucky, she only died once.

"Zoltan Archer! Please, just a word!"

"We need to speak to you"

"What happened that night?"

"Do you remember anything?"

I ignored the numerous reporters surrounding me as I walked calmly towards the front door of my house after school. Why I still bothered to go was a mystery to me. I didn't need to, not anymore.

It had been decided by a court that my mom had been my father's murderer. She was placed on death row, and killed only a week later. I was my only living family member, and I was never really sure if I counted.

Afterwards I continued my life as though everything was fine. They way I acted; you would've thought my parents were simply away on one of their business trips. My friends were no longer that, they had turned their back on me upon seeing the coldness with which I faced my parents' deaths.

Everyone besides the news reporters did the same. Shied away from me, feared me, avoided me. What they didn't see were my red eyes late at night. My wet cheeks. The puffiness around my eyes, and the harsh sob racked breaths escaping my lungs.

I told myself nightly not to cry. I tried with all my might to stop, to feel better, to be as cool and collected as I let the world think I was. Instead, I bought two flowers. A pair of red roses, beautiful, delicate, perfect. And then, I ripped them to shreds with my bare hands. Cutting myself, letting the blood drip down to the floor.

The next day I went to school with cuts all over my hands. One of my teachers, Mrs. Mason, tried to help. "Zoltan, are you okay?"

"Yea….. I'm fine…."

"You need help. Let me help you, okay?"

"I told you, I'm fine." I spoke with no emotion; nothing touched my voice or my face.

"Zoltan, if you don't accept help willingly, you'll eventually be forced into it…who's taking care of you? At home, that is."

"No one…"

"You poor thing, why are they letting you live alone?"

"Because everyone's afraid of me." Still nothing.

"What? Well that's just ridiculous," She laughed.

"No it's not…. they think the judge was wrong. They think I killed my dad." This time my voice was twisted, as was the smile on my face.

I could tell she was frightened by me at that moment, but she hid it well, very well. "Come on, why would you do that? You've been losing weight recently, Zoltan. How about you come over to my house tonight, I'll get you some real food, okay?"

"Yea…whatever…." I walked away from the only reason English class wasn't a living hell.

That night, around six I walked out of my house, only to be bombarded once again by news reporters. Honestly, didn't those people have anything else to do? Anyone else to annoy the shit out of?

Whatever.

I ran the whole way to Mrs. Mason's house, easily escaping the news reporters. I knocked on the door, nervous, afraid she might send me away, or that her husband, whoever he was, would. The officer from the night my dad died, Harvey Mason, answered the door.

"Elma, the kid's here!" He called behind him, holding the door open for me.

I saw her walk to the door wearing a frilly pink apron. It didn't suit her well; she was more of a green person. Not her skin, just it looked better on her. She led me into her dining room where the table was set beautifully. The best part being the food, of course. Mrs. Mason had brought homemade brownies for her classes at school a few times, so I already knew she was a great cook. Either that or 'homemade' wasn't the right word for them.

We ate silently, Mr. Mason occasionally sending me suspicious looks. Mrs. Mason would glare at him each time she caught him, but she usually didn't, being distracted by the delicious food she must have spent forever making.

I finished first. "It was great Mrs. Mason, thank you, but I should probably go now."

"'Bout time," Mr. Mason grumbled, barely audibly. His wife didn't hear, but I did.

"Well, I'll show you to the door." She said cheerfully, smiling at me.

Mrs. Mason rose to her feet, and let me out of her house. Luckily the reporters hadn't figured out where I was. Unfortunately, they had gone back to my house to wait for me. They blocked the doorway, keeping me out. I was told I would be allowed in if I were to speak to them. They would even interview me only once, every one of them using the same thing for their stories. I agreed.

"What happened on the night your father died?" I was asked by a blonde reporter who appeared to be only a few years older than myself.

"He didn't die. He was murdered."

"Yes, but what happened?" He spoke as though I were a child, not understanding what it was he wanted me to say.

"I just told you." I showed no expression, but I knew very well that I was annoying him.

"Detail is what I want Mr. Archer. Could you please give us a few details on what happened?

"I'm sorry; I have no details with which to entertain the media with." A smirk decorated my face.

He would have continued to pester me, the persistent bastard that he was, but a red headed woman in a blue suit shoved him aside, wanting to get her question in. "Was your mother really the murderer?"

"No." Amazing how such a short and simple answer could create such a great amount of confusion.

"Then who?" Confusion warped her already imperfect face.

"I'm sorry, you only get one question each."

She moved aside only after another reporter had taken her place.

"I repeat the last question." He spoke clearly, his green eyes sparkling with intelligence.

I smirked. "Before I answer, who do you think it was?"

He looked almost taken aback for a second. Then…. he smiled. "Well, there were no sighs of a forced entry, but the living room was, honestly it was destroyed. That's something a scrawny boy like you could not be capable of." His smile widened, grew painful to look at. "But, there are reports of strange incidents from both sides of your family. Incidents where a child held strength beyond their apparent physical capabilities."

"Meaning?" My voice was lined with impatience.

"Meaning, I think you did it." *His eyes showed malice not even hinted at before.

I scowled at him. "You realize you pretty much assured my going to court, right?" I spoke angrily.

"And here I thought I was the reporter."

"The answer to your question…. I don't know. I didn't see my father being murdered."

He walked away, not at all disappointed.

Then next few reporters were much more discrete. I think they were actually afraid of me; afraid of a scrawny teenage boy who they weren't even sure was capable of anything at all.

It took only an eternity to complete the interview and retreat into my house. Briana no longer worked as the maid. I didn't make any money with which to pay her, after all who would want to hire the boy who showed no remorse at the death of his parents?

I trudged up the stairs to my room not bothering to turn on any of the lights. Falling onto me bed, I stared at the ceiling, unseeing. For me I was no longer within my room, no longer held by the confines of my physical body, rather, I was a wandering, aimless strain of thought. In short, I fell asleep.

CHAPTER SIX: Thought

A winding path, skipping, swirling, dancing, circling back upon it self, and even hopping ahead. Thought can confuse even the most intelligent of persons. There is often no clear reason for the existence of a thought; it is simply there, trapping your mind within its confines, holding you, detaching you from all other thoughts. But only for an instant, and then it is gone.

If one were to look within the mind of a being capable of thought one would find endless, aimless passages, dead ends, bottomless craters, swirls, leaps, and confusion many may associate with insanity. What does that say?

All thinking beings hold within their minds an insanity inescapable even to the most crafty of plotters, planners, hiders, seekers, etc.

Yet, despite all the weaknesses of thought, it is the very source of absolute power. With a thought, I could easily wash the existence of a being, of millions of beings, from the face of the universe.

CHAPTER SEVEN: Vision

The path before me stretched out, winding an impossible, inconceivable distance before me, yet, I still walked. I had to, I could not find within me the ability, or the will, to turn, to go back to where I understood. Then, the ground beneath my feet twisted, turned, flowing as though it had become water. Unlike water, it still supported my weight, though it threw me to my knees, pulled my feet out from under me with it's vicious twisting.

When the path had once again grown still, I saw before me, a forking. I could go right, which would lead into a world unknown, or I could go left, go where I knew what awaited me, where I could at least ensure some safety.

I went left, all the while screaming at myself to go right. I didn't like left.

Crimson eyes glowing with evil hatred, rage, and an unquenchable thirst for blood loomed before me. They glanced around, obliterating everything their terrifying gaze touched. A man, my father, was struck down by their gaze, torn to shreds with no more than an offhand glance. My mother, shoved into a vortex of danger, just by the mere thought of seeing them, of seeing the red eyes. Millions…billions…trillions…an infinite number of people all destroyed by no more than a thoughtless noticing of them.

Blood soaked hands, lifted them, raised them to the sky, as a mouth of fangs, dripping red, chanted, calling out to them to live as they were killed by the same being.

A red world, the crimson rain staining all it touched, flooding streets and washing over houses to chase its prey, to chase life, living, humanity.

A boy, dark hair plastered to his face by the raining of blood, eyes red with it, black clothing glowing with the same crimson shade as his eyes. He stood, in the midst of it all, unharmed. I stood, realizing, I had turned back. I had gone…. right.

Suddenly, left seemed very inviting.

Then, a light, blinding, purifying, destructive in it's own way, shone upon me, tearing my limbs from my body. Restoring me, killing me. Blinding me and giving me sight. Taking my hearing, and gifting me with sound. Stealing away my voice, only to hand it over. Capturing my mind, twisting it to untwist it, failing, and keeping it.

A hand, my hand, it reached out to the light, drawn on without a though, without a mind to guide it. My foot…dragging along the ground, bringing me one step closer to grasping that which I mindlessly craved so terribly.

Contact. I touched something, felt it flow within me, returning to its rightful place.

With my new self, I turned to the light, took it, and recreated it into my own darkness. Then, clawed with newly bloodied hands at the Earth, stealing it away from itself. Making it as well, into my own. I took air, fire, wind, water, and earth, and made them mine, made them… me.

No longer human, rather the embodiment of the world in a humanoid form, I conquered, taking it all as mine, telling my self to go back, to turn left, all the time moving right. Strange… right felt so… wrong.

No longer the world, rather the embodiment of existence in a humanoid form, I move more and more to the wrong, in the direction of right. A black soul, and a crimson thirst, flowed within me, smothering a purely glowing orb that had endured my path, always trying with all it's strength to guide me left. Then they flowed over me, suffocating, intoxicating. I knew not what was going on, how I could possibly be harmed. It pulled me down so far within myself I could never hope to return.

Glowing eyes faded to dull. Crimson rain faded to blue. Power faded to nothing. Intelligence faded to nonsense. Light faded to darkness. Darkness faded to light. Life faded to Death. I faded away, finally in death.

Then, I awoke from my dream, shooting up find myself sitting in bed, no path, no right or left. No right that is left and wrong that is right.

Sweat glistened, covering my body. I shivered, stood, went downstairs to get myself a glass of water from the kitchen. I fell, stumbled, and crawled my way there, unable to stand as one should, unable to think clearly. I found all my thoughts swirling back into the dream, the nightmare, the vision.

My death.