Satire is your best friend.

I was foolish. Believing that a child like me, who had no vision, no pursuit of dreams, chasing a reality of make believes, would find meself to write a light novel for adult kids. I was never a writer to begin with. Seeing your pals in college graduating and moving on to higher learning, pursuing a career making into the world, or starting a family, one really does feel left behind. Anything would do in order not to drift into the pit.

Life moves on to survive the world’s madness. My mind, verily, hear me, legally in a maze of creativity, that I would proceed to make ends meet. Did I fall short that there was no motivation after five years of hard work. Vacations and sick days were never my idea as a stress reliever for the daily living. I was not a robot constrict to the world’s view and needed more. An escape. A truly plan of freedom that has made me an odd duck in front of other NPCs.

This desire. It started from birth; I have dabble in a curse; the pendulum spins both way so I had to sell the worst. Instant karma proceed against the conceded first. I’ll take what is mine. No more patience for the liches. My cancel paces will leave no cases, but dead broke with fun joke, a victim of greatness. Happy contagious speeches will reach weebs. So hear me.

It was the day before sabbath that I had a strange dream concerning the paranormal, subjugated by an unspoken thought to find the whereabouts of strange things. Ghost investigation was never aligned with my vision because the library hold more information. So I enter the public domain searching out random books concerning the paranormal. Of things in relation from history texts, to ritual bowls, down to obscure human keepsakes, where I found an old magazine that quoted Robert Louis Stevenson out from curiosity.

“If buccaneers and buried gold and all the old romance retold exactly in the ancient way can please, as me they pleased of old, the wiser youngster of today. So be it!”

Yea, romance retold indeed from the history texts, and from all that was researched, my works. A twist to satire and old, under the brand of light novels ever so is learned, where pleasing souls yearn as one seeketh in tundra; fantasy, modern-fantasy and isekai genre. So shall I, who will tale, benevolently praise the works which I present, unto that which who is in need of.

If I can sucker the populace by the hearts of old, so be it.

Two days past since my inquisition at the library. Little of my exploration was a reminiscence of college drama. Since then, I had a hard time fixing the jig saw I had left incomplete. Running into old friends where we never did see eye-to-eyes. Kinda wish I haven’t partake in communion of our exciting talk. A friendship that was ruin long ago after the death of one member that split the club apart.

I may be a loner now but that doesn’t mean I am lonely and depress. I have always been a loner since the young years. Unbreakable and unspoiled unlike the new recruits from the land of extrovert, who’ll probably break down in two months of military isolation.

Now, I did made a friend on the job whose name is Sandou. The only person that sought to befriended me after he mysteriously discovered who I were. A read of my short story I posted on a writer’s blog two years previous was the culprit. Never did question if the boy is a stalker, or perhaps he is indeed working for a government agency until tonight. It really begs the question if I should be indirect.

It has always occur to me that a friend who acted more like an acquaintance would want to be a god. Always he fixed on the idea that one day, if his imaginative magics were real, he would want to destroy the world. He was most profoundly edgy. The master of edgelords I presume. Middle school complex that reeks strong in finding unique love. Though the boy fit not the pictures given.

It was a child’s dream. We all have better dreams that had been thrown away. Many cling unto them. Others follow and had kicked the bucket. And many fallen under obscurity.

Of course, magic is one aspect that never dies. Maybe magic is real but we people as a whole killed it from our disbelieves. Why world domination? I say, it’s stupid. Stupid Sandou. He couldn’t even fight a bully if one was thrown at him. Navertheless, that boy is committed to learn the secret arts. I pity him that he would seek the hidden in terms on getting revenge.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Realizing the true edgyness in his nature, the question was change again in this workaholic night, “What do you want to be in seven years?” I questioned him, dismiss the fact that he is a government agent. Because no agent would reply the second time as the first more insanely. It will only discredit them of their own mental exam in the field.

“A god.” replied the boy. Typical. Rephrase my statement to this, “What hast thou done in seven years?”

“Dreaming of becoming a god.” replied the boy instantly.

Shouldn’t have even asked. My face was mentally stabbed with the moody looks of Persian cats. There were no true answers to the question. When the world runs you down to the blackest, muddiest, bottomless pit, I may contempt to say the same. To damn them to damnation. So does everybody else who walked the path. Even those who hate those victims.

But dare I not saith the God. Oh no, indeed not. To think that in the latter shift, Sandou has the guts to ask me those very statements. I couldn’t dodge the bullet. Then I quoth to him like the humble fool I am, “A creator.”

Speak I on terms that I am an artist who rake in the dough not. Practicing multiple crafts and clearly not honing in one or two subjects sure dost take a toll, as your skills in other medias degrade over a set period of years. Am I a mooncalf? Who knows.

Sandou have misunderstood me that we have ride the same boat. And with all eyes of our co-workers looking at us, gleaming with the looks of hostile laughs, grown man that converse like children is what they believe to be true. No different when a fifty year-old playing Pocket Monster cards at a card shop out in front of everyone, with the speech of a youngster in the heat battle against a ten year-old. It was that kind of situation. Was I embarrass? Maybe. With my attitude, I couldn’t tell it myself as the devils run amok and ride my tail to consolidate misery.

Here am I a hobo. Trying my best to help the poor boy but I too have my own worries. To have a blessed periapt for protection would be nice. Knowing this world for how nasty it really is, a realm of three faces, even many houses of worship are contaminated, making one will suit me best. I would call it, the Mask of Unfortunate Blessings. A fandangle mask to the trendies and the wailing secrets below the host.

Before long, Sandou brought up a striking multitude of conversation that would bore me to death. Secretly have he inserting topics of his interests once I lay low of my remark.

“Aren’t we both conceited fools, eh Seneth? Look at us, our handsome feats. The world will grovel at our thumbs that holds all the power, standing grand with our breast hang high. And the last digit in the most highest command. How I like it.” A childish smirk ping on the boy’s face. A glimp of his interest in the occult. Oh it didn’t stop there. Our argument last for the moment.

And another, “These dreams of ours are actually the same thing. Why not just admit the truth that you too want to be a god. Seneth, my friend, we are literally two peas of the same pod.” and another, “How is it any different from me? Surely you jest. Aren’t thou not their lord? Give and take are in your hands by one swing of the mighty pen. Accept it.”

I was quite surprise Sandou had some insights. Knew truly of my selective words as a forsaken artist. To also be curtly about some sentences from time to time. Who knew he would respect his own senpai. Our lecture of opinions base on facts must end. Them piercing gazes surrounded us was nerve wrecking. To waste the hours was clearly not achievable once the grannies started gossiping near my station. Hunchback grandmas from a local family business with kerchiefs and aprons.

The topic is amusing to the ladies. Adults will talk about sports and their favorite tools. The comments made by us weirdos was childish but with a one-hundred percent maturity rate. I can see why. My complaints is underestimated.

“We are lords of lords within our dreams. A wish is a wish. Nothing more and nothing less.” I sighed.

“Aren’t we all escapist? Unfortunately, how many deserves it?” said Sandou.

“. . . . .” Wow. To hear from Sandou’s mouth that ended the conversation. Flip my thoughts right back at me from his edgy pose. I couldn’t bring myself to speak that faithful work night. What a mid-age crisis.

The assembly factory is oily. The machines are filled with greases. The pay is low. The worker’s union is no more than a communist regiment, benefiting to only those that had started it. I should focus on these matters more than talk to the boy.

The twenty-two year-old supervisor walk into our dirty cell. It wasn’t a daily routine for the boss to check-up on us three hours before the shift end, making me wonder greatly if we were spotted partially slacking off.

“Meet me in the office.” with a stern look, the boss return to his holy sanctuary. Sandou already high tail out from the scene without the notice. I am confuse.