“My life wasn't fancy to begin with, and neither was my death. I had no family or friends to speak of; I was raised in an orphanage. And for some charm within me, the more I get to bond with someone, the more they drift away from me. Either they found new homes —in the case of my friends— or they abandoned me for no reason —for my adopters— as my parents did.”
“Later, when I was looking for my birthparents, I learned from the director that I was found in a trash container… well, you could say that I lived a trash life from its beginning.”
“And what do you think I did after that?”
“…”
“Hell no. I stopped looking for them, and started looking for my life.”
“I was nearing adulthood and soon to be kicked out of the orphanage, so I held onto the desperate hope that my birth parents might be loaded and will help me, or I would at least coerce them if they didn’t. But as I told you, the trash was too much of a start, and my hopes were busted.”
“Did I hate them?... Now that I think about it, I did have times when I felt anger and rage towards all of them, but those feelings eventually subsided.I began to think that maybe it had something to do with me. I blamed myself a lot, and blah blah blah...”
“Shit, that can’t do it. I'm not good at these emotional talks, and you're not even responding. Can't you do anything but stare? Even shrinks ask questions now and then, how did things even come to this!”
I was sitting on my back like any normal dude would have done when visiting a therapist. The little difference is that I’m sitting on a very comfortable cushion as a cat, not a human, closing my eyes and having a weird chat with what seemed to be the spirit of the cat, within its inner mind.
Many things happened to me that I couldn’t fully absorb. Thus, I tried sharing my burden with the first being I’ve met, and it did not go well as it was a one-sided talk. I’ve made sure to revisualize what I’ve been through, getting a better understanding of my situation, and more importantly ensuring it was not a dream.
For the latter, all keys —from pain sense, to olfaction and touch— make it clear that I’m not waking up...soon at least…or forever from this new reality. Well, I didn’t have much to do in life aside from studying and being alone. I should at least thank those who freed me from that prison, or not. Which brings us to who and what are those things I saw?
I can assume the voice I’ve heard was emerging from the one-ear cat, and the gift it talked about was probably the astral form I turned to. So, can I assume he’s something like me; possessing another life form, and that “last gift” was something like magic? more precisely black magic since he can play with the dead? Or no.
I wasn’t dead at that moment, I was at death bed. There is a large difference so I will call it spiritism, which sounds great and pure as his last gift.
I’m getting swapped from the main question, why did he call it “last”? Does that mean he knows me? No matter how much I grind my memory over it, there is no instance in my life where I ever met a third-rate fortune teller, let alone a spiritualist. He definitely was bluffing, something like those pre-mortem liners before they kill an enemy…
Unless it was the times when I tried ending my misery, where I thought even death didn’t accept me, and this time I was about to die too.
S.O.B. I'm still feeling the pain after those failed attempts, and he said I will meet him on the other side. I will be very delighted to meet you since you will be paying tenfold what you made me suffer. I’m not yearning for death now so this matter would wait a little bit.
Still, they are but a conjecture that doesn’t answer why and how I was killed. When I levitated from my body back then, no traces of blood or harm were seen, nonetheless I felt my heart ripping apart. If I was a third party, assuming a heart attack as a death cause is the most plausible, but I’m not. My health record remained clean from critical cases, which brings me to believe those whispers I’ve heard right after falling on the ground weren’t some post-concussion hallucinations, and the speakers were the perpetrators, or else I would say my soul was been carried around, and happened to caught a verse of chat between two farmers at my way to be reborn, but the S.O.B. started an epic speech and brought me back. If that was what happened then I was an inch from escaping that curse, hahaha there is no way, who is he, a Go-… no, no, no there is no way he is a God or else I’m f*c*ed.
Yeah, let’s refrain from these ideas first. Why would they —a supreme being— show in front of a mere me? Moreover, that Mister was in the form of a defected being, he didn’t have that majestic aura attached to him, he must be a spiritualist nothing more. What was I even thinking, all corroborations support the first idea. Case closed.
-Yaaaawn-
Thinking is making me less and less energetic, and my heart is growing weak with every finding. Since yesterday I was able to move freely with the new body, and I learned how to give and take control of it in accordance to Benny’s will. Basically I’m a tenant or something like a room-mate, and whatever happens to him will affect me the moment we switch.
While it sounds like I’m safe inside, we still on the same boat, and the end result will reach me eventually as I’m not able to disassociate from the body yet. But remembering what I’ve been through last time, that idea still dreads me.
Whatever might happen, I need knowledge to understand my situation, and to keep my head in this dark path they threw me in. The old me will rule, as I should be prepared to leave for my goals at any point, and throw my bonds again.
I only hope again, my future holds prizes for enduring my misery. Until then, I forbid my heart to fall, my body to ill and my mind to dream. Until the time comes; when I’ll be able to keep what I love close, and what might harm them in tombs.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Hoy, take your body. I’m going to sleep, and wake me when something happens”
“…”
Last time I fell asleep, it took me four weeks to wake up. Hopefully it won't happen again since that will hinder my research schedule. I was quickly drenched of energy, and soon overwhelmed by sweet sleep.
.
.
.
“Hey aren’t you going to help me a little more? this one is too difficult to manifest”
“Do you want me to assist every single time? struggle a little bit, and figure it out.”
I left whatever I was doing and turned around facing the one that was speaking. A man with a young face that looks a day past his thirties and with long gray hair, was leaning against a tree and scribbling on a leather parchment. Without stopping he said:
“Kid, not everyone you meet will be willing to offer help, nothing is given, everything is exchanged. You need to give in order to receive, and knowledge is priceless, if you aren’t able to pay the right amount, you will pay eventually”
What an enigmatic man I thought, before realizing my mouth started to speak on its own.
“Stop writing while you talk. It's like speaking gibberish and makes no sense to me! If you have decided to be my mentor, you need to honor your word.”
I had this feeling since the start but couldn't put it into words. Not being able to control my body or recognize my whereabouts, while having a casual chat with a stranger that somehow feels I’m acquainted with. It's like I'm living someone's life, sharing what they see, and what they know.
The young man that I was referring to as a mentor stopped writing and looked into my eyes. His face now clear as the fringes covering his forehead receded, revealing otherworldly features.
“And that’s what I've been doing for the past two months, and if you don’t like it, try looking for another teacher. Some beasts here are proficient, they will surely accept you if you sate their hunger. Remember the gibberish?”
It wasn’t the way he speaks, nor the two stump-like protrusions on his forehead that caught me off guard. But the blazing eyes, that seemed to absorb the light within horizontal pupils, made me remember the creatures I saw at home and whatever thing unfolded after.
“Don’t think of shaping it, just feels the structure while speaking the hymn”
A dream I thought, and a vivid one. For the first time being able to see past the mind's imaginations, I couldn’t hide my stupefaction.
I turned to the clearing in the wood I was facing first, raised my left hand midway palm facing the sky, while bluffing some nonsense. At the same instant, inches above my palm the air started to bleed water, from what looked like a laceration.
What looked like a laminar flow, started to slow down as the bleeding stopped, forming a nearly oval shape as it congregate and losing its transparency to a reflecting rippled surface. The form maintained shape for barely seconds, trying to gain more volume before falling to the ground.
However, I was able to see my reflection crystal clear. But, is it natural to not be yourself in your own dream? Seems like being exposed to supernatural events affected my subconscious too.
“I'm dead tired, and need to rest. Can I call it a day?”
“That is up to your mana pool, after all i’m not the one trying to make his way home”
Hearing those dialogues started to tire me too, wasn’t dreams supposed to be about a couple seconds before waking up. This feels like I’m in a story mode game, is there no way to skip to the end.
“Maybe, if I use the right hand I’ll make it in no time. I’m dextral to begin with”
“Don’t! Training should be practiced as I instructed you. Otherwise I’ll end it here”
Somehow I felt the heat surging to my head, which I recognized as a forgotten sensation I knew, rage. Even though I can't overthink a dream, there is a tickling at the back of my mind I still can’t identify.
“I JUST WANT TO GO HOME! I SHOULD NEVER HAVE APPROACHED THAT CAVERN. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO COMPLICATE THINGS FOR ME? LEFT HAND, YES. RIGHT HAND, NO. WHO CARES ABOUT INSTRUCTIONS? I'VE ALREADY BROKEN THEM BY BEING HERE...”
Quickly as the tantrum was spouted, giving no more room for reflection, I lifted both hands and repeated the same hymn. I sensed the space in between ripping before a strong hand squeezed my arm, jerking me from what I was doing
I raised my head, locking eyes with the mentor expecting disapproval or anger in return. Yet, only sympathy was. My vision blurred as tears rolled down my face uncontrollably. I no longer know how to discern dreams from reality, as my emotions broke free and I began to cry.
The young man dragged me to his embrace, only for choked sobs to overtake my breaths.
“There, there. Your master will shares your burdens, so take it all in me”
“I will make sure you reach home, they won’t even know you were far away”
The shared feeling brightened little by little, lighting my mood, although not knowing what all of this was about. The tickling that I felt before was now unmistakable. It was pure longing for something or someone I lived and lost, long before.
“Will you really do that for me?”
My voice, similar to that of a young child, made me question who that boy was.
“Of course, who do you take me for? It might be difficult for you to understand, but our worlds have different timelines, and that means you can return to the same moment you came from. You just need to have passion, and always keep your anger in check so it won’t cloud your judgment. Do you understand?”
“Yeah I understand”
‘No you absolutely don’t’ I perceived. My face was yet to move from the warmth of his chest, embarrassed of what I —The host— did, before the mentor pushed me gently while kneeling down to my level. Still, my eyes on the ground wouldn't meet his.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
I felt the hesitance within, as I knew what I’m about to say. But the intertwined feeling began to disentangle as my surroundings started to melt down.
“I-I ap-ap-ologize”
“That’s my pupil; I accepted your apology. Now it’s about time, let’s move”
“Master, you haven't told me yet?”
“hmm?”
“The reason we use the left hand…”