独家优惠奖金 100% 高达 1 BTC + 180 免费旋转

Of What Remains

The old man will later be dead.

I know because it was written. It was justice waiting to manifest in a way that I cannot comprehend. The world is twisted, and so am I.

“What do you want?” I asked while staring at the sunlight refracted by the stained glass of the church. Bits of dust are dancing in this shower of light. It is strangely comforting, as if the world is trying to calm us down amidst the fuck fest happening right outside the Perimeter.

At that time, the church is strangely quiet. Too different from the sound I heard last night. Drips of dried blood are still evident in some of the pews. And yet, the church managed to retain its holiness. The blanket of silence is disrupted by whispers originating from the door where the old man lies. They are whispers of prayers to a god that resembles the one stuck in the stained glass.

The cold steel of death feels heavier now in my pocket. I looked outside. From here, I can see a multitude of dead eyes waiting to feast on these caged people. We are fucking rats. Sooner or later, their numbers would be strong enough to break that barricade.

“A hot bowl of champorado would be nice,” the old man said. The voice is scratchy yet gentle. Is he truly mad?

I stand up. It is 6:47 AM. I can feel my stomach turning. I wasn’t able to eat last night because of the shouts that filled the Perimeter. The shouts were burning with fear. “Nothing to worry about, kasama,” Bishop Gonzaga said among the inhabitants of Tent 203. I know that they were lying. They always do.

“Mister, why do you prefer to be stuck in here?” I shouted, genuinely curious.

After a brief moment, I stopped walking when I heard the door creaked. I turned and the only thing I saw was a black mass of nothingness.

“Why not?” the shadow answered back.

“This place is too quiet.”

I heard scratching before he finally said, “What about it?”

“Why would you want to be where there is no people? Do you not feel disconcerted? Silence in this place does not feel right.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Silence changes here. One moment, I feel secure with the way things are. The next thing I knew, I am filled with incredible hopelessness.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” the shadow proclaimed.

“I don’t get you, mister,” I said while attempting to sit in one of the pews. “I don’t get you.”

The shadow laughed and in its place emerged a man with a silver hair.

“I am here to declare my sadness.”

“You’re a poet, it seems.”

He laughed and now I can see his mouth twisting and his shoulders shaking. It was a very pleasant sight.

“Why are you here?” I repeated. “You asked the authorities to be confined in a place that is strictly your own. You chose this. Why?”

The old man looked at me for a while before sitting in one of the pews with blood on it. Someone might enter the door and mistake us to be praying.

“The tents are nothing but a sham,” he began. “A facade. An attempt to delay what is sure to come. They were built to make people feel secured.”

He breathed and continued, “But security in this world is useless! Have you seen the tragedy that occurred here last night? It was a child. A fucking child! The priests were scared shitless when they found a breach in one of the steel barricades. It was so small that only a child could pass through.”

“And then?”

“The alarm sounded. They followed the steps. It ended here. They shot the child multiple times without even wincing. In the head. Right beside where I’m sitting.”

I thought about it and asked,“What’s wrong? The undead only think with their gut. It was the most appropriate response.”

“But the child is not dead! She was only praying. The priests were blinded with fear. The same priests who preach about faith and trust. The monsters! And they even had the audacity to tell people that it was nothing. An accident. A misfire. It was a fucking lie. I saw it. The child. Oh, the child,” the man said. His cries are suppressed and he is in pieces.

I waited. The whole church is now bathed with intense light. Yet everything is superficial. How can something so beautiful appear dead at the same time?

“I’m here because I am alone with my silence,” the man started. “Its form may change but at least I am in control of it. Being with people is tiresome. And being with people who believe that redemption is still possible in this world and still manage to believe the lies that they are fed… it is infuriating. They feel secured within their own bubbles, their fabrications, their tents, their lies. The bubble will burst and they will choke on their tears. It is written.”

“You cannot blame the people for hoping. It is the only thing keeping them alive.”

“By refusing to see the truth in its entirety?”

“Believing in redemption is not facing the truth? Mister, they are being optimistic!”

“And their optimism is selfish!”

“Why?”

“They only believe in something that serves them. Not the people around them. Not the remaining people who are lost in the wilderness of undead outside. It was self-serving! We live, the others die. We are perpetuating a system of selfishness.”

“But that’s the essence of survival.”

Now, the man stood up and slowly walked towards my direction.

“Fuck you and your essence of survival. Fuck you with your pretentious redemption. Why are you even here? Why bother? Why not let this man die on his own?”

“Mister, you killed your wife. You are on trial for committing that crime. I’m just here to bring you what you need before your judgment day. Nothing more!”

“She was dead, for fuck’s sake! I am fucking terrified of doing it to my own wife of 26 years yet I did it. I did it to protect the people. I did it for the sake of the people in the Perimeter!”

“She begged for her life.”

“It was the parasite that ate her brain talking. She was dead! Why do you presume I would want my wife dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because you are all idiots. That’s what you are.”

At this point, he is standing a few feet away from where I’m sitting. His lips are now curled, his brows are knives and his breathing is a ticking bomb.

“You were praying earlier,” I stated.

“And?”

“I thought you don’t believe in redemption.”

“I don’t. I was talking.”

“To whom?”

“To her.”

Was it her wife or the child?

“Can I see her?” I asked. The question rolled off my tongue. I don’t know why but I can feel the strange tug of the partially opened door. In that nothingness lies a body.

The stare of the man is acid. It is so strong and dangerous.

“I want to see her,” I reiterated.

“Go on.”

I stood up. I walked past him, slowly at first. And then I ran. The burning curiosity of knowing the identity of what is lying beyond that door pumped my veins with a ton of adrenaline. It was a revelation. Enlightenment. A glimpse of redemption.

When I found myself standing in front of the door, I looked back. The man is still staring but he’s now holding something. It flickered as he swung it towards his temple.

I reached for my pocket. The heavy feeling was gone. No, no, no, I shouted as I tried to stop what he’s planning. He was smiling. He was fucking smiling. Everything went full circle and I’m now the It. And then came the shot. The blood. The shouts. The doors of the church swung open and in came the priests. They were throwing profanities while every one of them was holding a gun. It’s funny, I know. They reached for my arms and dragged me outside. I did not resist.

And yet the door remained open, criminal to the truth.

Add a comment

What is your view?

Send

Related posts:

How to be Serious

Be serious in the love you give. Be serious in finding the value you have to offer for that is your gold. Be serious in your pursuit of inner peace. Be serious in your personal growth. Be serious in…