Warner Papadopoulos
As the night drew on, Malachi’s question rang in his ear. It was insidious how the thought wouldn’t fade away. Just played over and over, dredging up the past. Old decisions rose to be reflected upon and ancient judgments were cast in a new light. Nothing more harrowing than being self-haunted by memories. Especially ones that felt embarrassing in retrospect. Enjoying the party became not just a struggle, but an all-consuming goal.
Warner drank, danced, and struck up conversations all in the pursuit of silencing that murmur. Or at least hid it in the turbulence. By the closing of the night, his bed was a welcome coffin. A place of absolute peace and escape. Sleep embraced him immediately upon closing his eyes. The question chased him into the depths. Falling quickly behind as consciousness slipped away. Victory.
The smell of earth.
He opened his eyes to a dream. It was the old schoolyard. The playground was to right and the grass fields were to the left. Warner stood on the packed dirt that was just around the corner from where the adults would monitor. A blindspot everyone knew, but was essentially ignored for so many petty reasons. The wind blew, dust swirled into a dust devil that died on his feet.
It wasn’t abnormal to find himself here. Warner often dreamed of this place, where his heart was forged. Reexperiencing those emotions if not exactly reliving the memories. More amalgamations of past and present that were structured for his evaluation. The key part being it was always a fight when he came here. A return to the struggle that had defined his world. The very values by which he lived. Had lived by. Yet, now he stood in the center of the packed dirt, alone. Unbothered and alone.
The pugilist looked around, seeking anyone. Anything. There was only the wind scattering dust and bending grass. Everywhere was empty. It was eerily quiet, not even the sounds of the surrounding roads and homes added to the noise. Just the wind.
The worst was how real this dream felt. There was no delirious edge to the world. No foggy edges or world half unmade. It was just the schoolyard on a beautiful sunny day. Late spring with the end of school so close every kid could taste it. The perfect weather to enjoy.
Too perfect. Too real.
Warner muttered, “Alright, what the fuck is this? Definitely, not a hallucination, but ain’t quite a dream. Some weird ass spirit quest bullshit.”
He felt for his Mana. It was there, though distant and vague. Trying to pull for some had an odd backlash. There was a reverberation as if his body was far away. For a moment Warner felt like he was in two places. Standing in one and laying in another. Any more effort and the pugilist felt certain that the world of the schoolyard would shatter.
“At least, there’s a way out of this bizarro setup,” he decided. “Now, the question is why am I here and what is it exactly? This feels… special? Important? Maybe just rare. A warning would have been fuckin’ nice…”
The dirt of the schoolyard shifted under his eyes. Beat into the dust was the scruff and dips of previous fights. He could read the dance that was laid there like a fossil. A remnant of some forgotten struggle. As if ghosts were battling right this moment the disturbed dirt altered in dreamy blinks. No one impression was the same.
It was mesmerizing to watch. Comforting to read the signs. Warner smiled as he played out the recreated fights in his mind. Hundreds of them blended together, a chaos of combat. The dust undulated with the memory of them all. His chest swelled with the joy of battle. The only thing older than that lust was the sense of justice that was the seed of his soul.
“In some ways, The Pit fits me,” admitted the pugilist. “Black and white always appealed to me too much. When you're in a fight, right and wrong are easy to determine. You’re right, so you gotta win. Doesn’t really work that way in real life. Being too self-righteous blinds ya. That’s why The Pit ‘s kinda nice. You always know where the real fight should be.”
“That sounds like the sorta soft-hearted shit that’s addled your goddamn brain,” growled a voice all too familiar and yet, as always, off. “You’ve been around too many optimists lately. Or maybe just that madman Harken.”
They spoke to him with his own voice.
Warner looked up and blinked. Standing on the edge of the dirt was his doppelganger. They were a perfect rendition of how he used to dress. From the politician’s gray suit to the perfectly styled hair, a gorilla in a suit that smiled like a wolf. The pugilist recognized himself, but something nagged at him. This was exactly as he was before The Pit… he felt a sense of disappointment at the whole presentation. It looked fake, hollow. A waste.
“Now, what the fuck is this shit?” He sighed. No one liked the idea of their past selves. Only the ignorant, the tragic could look at that part of the past, and then smile. Reminders of once being foolish, or selfish, or stupid, or some reminder of your failings. Warner stared at his past, it was with shame and a terrible revelation that came upon him. There was little to feel prideful about anymore. The victories claimed back then had rotted through.
A grin from the other, “What this is, is a wake-up call from the nonsense you've been playing at. Where’s your spine asshole? You should be at the top of this jungle gym. Top fuckin’ ape!”
“I guess being on the Council and being a party leader isn’t enough for you?” Warner asked mildly. “Only Malachi stands higher.”
“I thought I said to stop playing games.”
“You didn’t say anything that broad.”
“Well, fucking stop that bullshit then. Grrr, as if Malachi was a real reason to stop climbing. We, we should be on top. We’re the only ones we know aren't corrupt.”
“O’ what the fuck man. Malachi is squeaky clean, that’s just our paranoia talking and I need to wake up from that. Grow up, throw off that baggage. Plus, I’m not clean.”
“We’ve only ever done what was necessary. The system is the dirty one.”
He couldn’t help laughing at that. Warner had thought of that argument too many times. Remembered stating it over and over. Almost like a chant. Taking comfort from it, saying it with conviction, but mostly, trying to cover up the guilt of crossing a line. “That doesn’t make anything ok. It has been made clear to me that I lost my way. That maybe… the schoolyard mentality made me stupid. Too ready to see everything as a fight.”
“Now I know you’ve lost your mind,” sneered his suited self. “Life is a fight, especially when you're fighting for what’s right.”
“That was always my intention, but how far did I stray? Looking at you… I see every horrible thing I did to grab power. The means I became willing to use… remember when blackmail made me ill? Remember when it didn’t? I remember now. Can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”
“That’s just what we had to do. The rules of the game.”
“I thought we weren’t playing games anymore?”
“Shut the fuck up, you know what I mean. Politics is dirty. We had to get dirty too. The means were ugly, but we did good in the end.”
“At first, maybe. Since… I’ve been thinking, and how much good did I really do after a while. Eventually moving up, gaining more power overwhelmed the effort of doing good in the moment. I became power-hungry. A monster like the rest, just took me a while to catch up.”
His suited self aggressively sighed and stomped in a circle. They looked up with a glare. “What’s this pansy shit? Knew you were getting soft, but now you’re sabotaging everything we got done? Yeah, we climbed the ladder, that’s where the most good can be done. Gotta be powerful to make a difference.”
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“I don’t disagree with that statement. Not at all. The issue is that I lost the meaning, because I forgot the reason for my fight. The act of climbing took over everything else.”
“Because no one above us was or is good enough.”
“Malachi is.”
A snort. “Now that’s the main nonsense for why I’m here. Why are we bending a knee to some no nothing? That guy barely has confidence, hell he admitted to us that being a leader terrifies him. How can we… allow this?”
“To paraphrase, “those who deserve power do not want it.” Wanting power corrupts you and I am living proof of that. My ego and ambition betrayed me.”
“Don’t bring that wishy-washy shit into this. Stepping up to lead means you want power. No matter the reason or how forced someone feels. On some level, they wanted to make the decisions.”
“I’m not sure that’s true. Liking and accepting power is a broader divide than I expected.”
“Semantics, a distraction. Here’s what we do know, what we fuckin’ learned on this dusty field. Might makes right, horrible but true. We know this and we accepted that rule here. It took bleeding to seal it true, but we did learn that. The fantasy of pure intentions started dying here. We know no one else can be trusted with power. That’s why everything we do to climb is valid. The game is dirty and we’ll play it better than anyone else. Whatever it takes so that we have the might to make the world a better place. Which comes to the reason for our meeting. Why aren’t we in charge of the Sixty? What is wrong with you?”
“Dear god, the arrogance,” smirked Warner. He rubbed at his face, feeling the turmoil in his mind. Stared at this apparition of the past, the symbol of his sins. An interference with the new order of his world. A reminder of the blood oath made in the dust.
“Yes, because we are. For good reason. Now answer the damn question.”
“Why do you want me to answer it?”
“So you will face your own idiocy and wake up.”
“I’m not in charge because the others rightly saw I wasn’t worthy.”
An eye roll from his other self before they poo-pooed that. “What does that matter? We know we’re the better leader. You failed. This is on you, not them. You should have made them see that we are the best choice. The only one.”
“Except we’re not. We aren’t the best choice. Ugh, such conceit for a damn fool!”
“Hah, look at you… you really did lose the faith. Wake up! He’ll fail! This Malachi is weak, he’ll see you all to your doom. Shake off this doubt, this stupid self-loathing and take the throne. They’ll all be better for it. We have the might and the strength to see everyone through this.”
“That isn’t enough. Just because might can get things done doesn’t mean it's ok to live like that. To make tyranny sacred so as to paint ourselves good. You represent my delusion… on so many things. I welcome this discussion to silence the doubts you represent. Underserved pride lingering... I am where I should be and Malachi is where he should be.”
“Do you even understand the implications of what the wizard wants from us? What it means to lead these people? What it means to be the leader when you escape this place? We would be king of a whole new society. From the ground up! This is no time for doubt! We will be able to lay down a foundation without so many of the nuisances. No religion, no cultures, no old violences to taint the future. We can’t afford to be so passive.”
“I’m not being passive. I’ve chosen my place.”
“Where did your confidence go!?”
“Left when Molly did. When she knew I betrayed her. Lied and broke what might have been there. I saw that light die in her eyes. I did that… because of my arrogance.”
There was shame in the eyes of his suited self. Finally, the rabid arrogance dimmed as they looked taken back. Not quite meeting eye to eye anymore as they tried to keep arguing. Their voice faltered without the usual confidence in their words. “She… her loss of loyalty was… a setback, but we’ve always been alone. Making the world a better place is a lonely road.”
“I’m tired of being alone. I don’t have to be alone anymore. Not here, not unless I choose to be. Which will happen if I continue down your self-destructive path.”
“You would throw away your conviction for a woman? Discard a lifetime of struggle because of Molly? Someone, you only hope could mean something to you?”
“I would discard it so I will never again be the person that made her walk away.”
Silence.
His other self frowned. Thoughts were racing behind those delirious eyes. A determined will getting stuck on a problem, a dead end. The shadow of the past was seeking a solution. Some argument to win. To win like always, in any way possible. They opened their mouth.
“No,” declared Warner. The word seemed to still the dusty wind. “Whatever you think you’ve thought of. No. I’m not changing my mind.”
“So, this is it then. You’re throwing everything we’ve accomplished away and spitting on it. Are we a villain in your new glorious vision?”
Warner laughed, it was friendly, but the other scowled all the same. “I think in the end, I did more good than evil. That’s something I can take pride in, I guess. We were losing perspective, but the goal never wavered. Our soul was never in question. That is a good thing”
“What now then?” growled his other self, but there was an honest need to know in those words.
“What’s our favorite response to a dead end? Reflect, review, renew. I’m going to settle for my current place, happily, and then try to be good at being the support. I found someone to believe in, several of them actually. It’ll work out.”
“I suppose you did… it’s hard to believe when so many fall or are selfish. Maybe because you were right there beside them, but how did you do it? How did you find faith in people again?”
“Between Malachi scolding me and Molly leaving… yeah they shattered my world and then I saw it.”
“What do I do? Nothing’s changed here… Am I a lost cause too?”
Warner blinked. Is this guy… not just me? Who is this? No, I just need to finish soothing my old self. Put him to rest.
“Well, in your shoes, I’d look around at those below me. Stick around and cultivate those people. Have good people to replace us in our climb. Otherwise isn’t it just a power grab rather than a revolution? You might need to reach out to the public, find those actually worth our time. Gotta roll dice to get lucky.”
“Huh, create a support structure…” muttered his suited self. “Alright, that’s a pretty fuckin’ good idea. Obvious in hindsight, but that's what happens when you're ragin’ ahead.”
“Yeah, let’s take a breath and look around a bit more.”
“Not quite how I thought this was gonna go, but good talk! Good luck asshole!”
“Same to you, jackass!”
The other him faded first, but the world followed after. From the edges, the sky went black and the distant lines faded to gray mist until there was only the dusty schoolyard. Warner thought it was poetic. This patch of dirt narrowed his world, defined it for so long. Might makes right; there was always a fight. Now, he would finally walk off it. Life was more than a struggle for power.
Warner left the schoolyard and entered the mist.
He awoke to the silence of their assumed night. By the clock beside the bed, it was on the hinge of late night and early morning. Wide awake, the pugilist considered his options. Sometimes the chance to fall back to sleep was deceptive. A few minutes from now it could be possible, but only if he didn’t move enough. Sleep however wasn’t very appealing at the moment. Warner wanted some distance from that strange dream.
“I think Phelian mentioned something like it once,” croaked Warner as he rose from the oversized bed. “Maybe we should compare, it was pretty lucid.”
His feet padded against the stone floor as the pugilist decided on a little exercise to clear his mind. Out in the hall though, Warner hesitated. Molly was in his thoughts. How could she not after that dream? The urge to do something was there. To talk and search for those perfect words to unfreeze the air between them. He wasn’t really aware of his own feet until her door was before him.
“Fuck, why am I here?” he whispered in the empty hall. A late night wake up call wouldn’t help anything. In his eyes, daring to knock, even a soft “hey are you awake in the middle of the night?” knock would tank any goodwill scourged back. Warner tapped his head to the door and sighed. With an effort, the pugilist turned to leave.
The door opened.
Molly looked at him blandly. Their eyes met and held there for the first time in a long time. It was like water in the desert for Warner. She was seeing him, not looking away to ignore his existence. It was warm despite the stony lines, but then her face softened. His heart caught in his throat.
“I thought I heard something out here,” said Molly, maybe to him, maybe not. “Couldn’t sleep either? Want some tea? I acquired everything needed for nights like these.”
“I would love to have some tea with you,” grinned Warner. He couldn’t help but beam at her.
The cool-eyed woman shook her head with a laugh, a smirk, and an incredulous tilt to her eyes. “I offer you leaf water and you act like I offered ambrosia.”
“With you, Molly. That makes all the difference.”
“Sigh, I must be delirious from the lack of sleep. Come in, come in. I have not forgiven you, but let us enjoy the silence of the night. Company is good in the dead hours is it not?”
“Sure, I’m just here for you.”
“Stop it! I want sugar in my tea, not honey on your lips.”
“As you wish, Molly.”