Becoming Something Else

I love old things. Things from your time. I managed to send these messages through a complex system based on constant black holes and scrambled information shot at just the right angle. It was a science developed in an attempt to rewrite fate, but it isn't possible to do that. You cannot erase the original reason that you wrote the message because it creates too much of a paradox. But I can send various messages through as long as they cannot affect my own future. It won't.

But like I said, I love old things. I love the old movies like Star Trek, the Princess Bride, Star Wars, and the A-Team. I love the TV shows like Stargate SG-1, 3rd Rock from the Sun, Castle, Bones, and Firefly. I'm rejected in my time. The humans show so little interest in the things of the past, facing the future with the 3800th version of the Ipod, and little tablets that fold into a compact, clear box about the width of your thumb. There's a great deal of soul in the entertainment from so long ago; the books, the movies, the television and the elegance of design put into technology and fashion. All that is left now is the half-finished story lines and the plainly colored bodysuits that self clean every day. So boring. I like a diverse wardrobe, so I do the practical, cheap thing... I make my own clothes.

I recently was upgraded from conventional school to the Golden Arch School of Interactive Sciences and Arts (GASISA). Although that was what the school was originally designed for, the Golden Arch School had become a military base. You go in seven shifts -- not unlike my old school, but this was more efficient -- and each shift you are moved to a different site, and ideally we are supposed to be disciplined for success. It was a training school, promoting your own skills to advance against the Nameless in different ways. A better community is better defended. It was supposed to prepare you for the "real world".

Supposed to.

There I felt rather obscure, despite the fact that a third of the school's population were Ancients. I could not find anyone who cared about the old things in the way that I did, there was no one to relate to. I made friends with a small group of obnoxiously loud humans, and even went through a small relationship with one. But I never loved him, though he claimed to love me. So I huddled in the corner with people who vaguely cared about my existence. Which was more than I could say for most of the school.

The very essence of being an Ancient is to have faith in our religion, but it's is difficult when your religious instructors begin to contradict each other. My disciplinarian for the year made quite a few statements that completely disregarded the allegations of my teacher the year before. I spent hours pouring over the books in my possession, and I found how they could get confused because it confused me too.

Considering how much I missed my friends, how much I missed having a father in my life, how confused and dismayed I was at the idea that I may not be able to turn to a loving God...I turned my back on my faith. I stopped believing. I became angry, one of the forces that binds the darkness together. Weeks went by and a dark cloud hung over my head, a cloud of dismay and fear.

The humans I called "friends" were terrible warriors. Their determination to do anything with their lives was nonexistent. No ambition. No progression. It had been a long day, I wanted to go home, but one of the humans insisted that I visit one of their houses. I reluctantly agreed, not really wanting to spend more time with them than I had to. I went inside, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a bowl of sliced, raw beef. I thought nothing of it at first, but then I knew what they did. They used the meat to fed the Nameless like pigeons at a park. I wanted to tell them to get it away. To stop letting such demons into their home. But I was a guest... And if I didn't have them, then who did I have? So I swallowed my belief and shoved it somewhere deep inside where I didn't have to look it in the eye. I stuffed my guilt with lies so I could live with myself.

Weeks passed, and the weeks slowed into months. With every passing moment I was easing my way into some sort of pot, and I couldn't help but feel that the water was going to boil. I knew I didnt care enough to jump out. I helped my "friends" feed the demons. When night fell, I even danced with them like we were intimate allies. I was becoming the person I vowed I would never be.

One morning I awoke to a harsh burning sensation in my thigh. I gasped at the pain, rolling out of the thin sheets and onto the floor. My leg could not hold me up, and in my surprise I slipped -- hurtling towards the floor. Beads of sweat were climbing out of my pours as I withstood the pain, making the agonizing trio to fully see myself in the mirror. I blinked away drowsiness, rubbing my eyes to focus the picture and managed a clear look at the inside of my thigh. It was dark, growing into a deep ash color. I choked on my thoughts before they could come to my lips. I was turning into a monster. That's how it happened. That is how the Nameless were created. I stared at the blemish with wandering thoughts... They turned into the dark ones because their minds were so submerged in faithlessness, fear, and anger. They once were Ancients. Struggling to take deep breaths, I leaned on my leg. The pain was bearable now, as most pains are bearable once you accept their existence. It was a part of me, now. I pulled my hair back and stared into my own eyes.

I was a monster.

I walked to school that day, with my gunblade on my hip and my coat wrapped tightly around me. The chill in the air and the wound on my leg began to play a toll on me that I was not prepared for, and the usually simple walk to school became a rather painful trek. I paused near an alleyway, positive that I had heard something shuffle around in the group of clustered trash. I removed my gunblade from its holster. The weapon made a satisfying click as it's small hinges worked it into the blade position. I was right, there WAS something moving in the dark. The Nameless are rarely seen outside their legions, and if you witness the legions you rarely live to tell the tale. A small group is normal, especially when invited. But one by itself? Practically unheard of. The magic. Their aura. I could smell her already, and the odd thing was... She smelled lovely. The figure stood, and I was aware of her perfectly curvy figure and her deep red eyes and her long, silky white hair. She was quite beautiful, and I paused. She eyed me, her pointed ears twitching and her lips shivering in anger. She was hate, she was temptation, she was loathing, but she also knew that she'd be dead if she attacked me.
There was a moment of silence between us. She was obviously lost, or abandoned. Either way, she didn't want to be here. Oh, she wanted to kill me, I was sure of it, I could see it in her eyes. That restlessness... I recognized it from the mirror this morning. I lowered my blade. She looked suspicious for a moment, but took her leave nonetheless. I watched her scamper away because I knew... That could be me.