Category: writing

Video Game the Storyteller: The Last of Us Part 2 (The Leaks & The Release)

~ Aramiru ~ 1 Comment

There will be no leaks in this post

To not waste anyone’s time, this is not a review. That’ll probably come along next week.

This is a subject I’ve been wanting to talk about for a while and it was meant to be released in a different medium… but due to all that’s happening, I couldn’t get the other medium running in time to cover this topic as I wanted it.

But as most people reading this may already know, The Last of Us: Part 2, the highly anticipated sequel to the widely acclaimed PlayStation 3 title, The Last of Us, was extensively leaked last month.

Following the leak there were lawsuits filed, quarantined fans pickling in their homes going into panic mode, and the creators of the game engaging in full damage control.

If you missed it, you missed a great little internet fiesta full of unreasonably vitriolic rage by those who hated what they saw and painstaking shielding by emotionally distressed die-hard fans who did their darnedest to cover their ears and eyes from the leaks.

Memes were everywhere but this is only one of the few I can share without spoilers.

I ended up basically seeing the leaks thanks to the magic of YouTube algorithm recommending it to me… because I had searched for The Last of Us: Part 2 in the past.

But you know what?

I didn’t really care. And this post, which isn’t going to be very long, is going to try to explain why.

A video game as a storytelling device differentiates itself from other devices by having incorporating game play as part of how it tells its stories.

Obviously, some games do it better than others, but with how video games have developed through the years it’s becoming more and more of a common place to see what players do is integral part of the video game’s story telling experience.

That’s why, The Last of Us, the original game impressed me so much and I still consider it one of the best video game storytelling experiences I’ve ever had.

Having to scrape for scarce resources made me feel the desperation of the characters and the world I was in. Making the choice to either take the violent path or the more pacifistic path made me feel like I had some control over the morality of the circumstances I was given. The brutality of some killings I had to do made me feel the weight of the choices I’ve made. And, most importantly to the plot, having to guide and protect my teen compatriot, Ellie, not only made me feel more attached to the character but at times made those brutal killings feel completely guilt-free and justified.

I was just protecting a young girl from an insane world.

When a game is done right, it’s gameplay doesn’t tell you how the gameplay is telling you the story but makes you feel it, control it⁠—directly experience it. That’s something movies and books cannot do.

NaughtyDog, the company behind, The Last of Us, proved to me that they were masters in utilizing video games to tell a story.

Did it have its flaws? Of course.

But was it the closest I felt to feeling like a game using its identity to the fullest to tell a story? Absolutely.

So what did the leaks do exactly?

Far as I’m concerned, it told me only the half of the story. Maybe even less than that of experiencing the story. And given the achievement NaughtyDog has made with the previous title, I’m willing to pay the ticket of admission to see the other half.

I want to see how the story goes from A to B to C and how I’ll experience it getting to those junctures.

Lets see the rest of the story. Let me experience it the way it was supposed to be experienced.

Not watched via YouTube.

Not read on an internet forum.

But played. With the choices made by me, as a player.

But at the end of the day, it’s tough times. It’s your money. Do what feels right for you. I just wanted to point out I don’t think the leaks discredited The Last of Us: Part 2‘s entire experience nor even its storytelling.

I do have some reservations about The Last of Us: Part 2 but it’s the same reservations I had since I saw the first trailers for it.

It feels like the theme and the tone of the game will be much darker and much more violent than before.

And given the current climate, I’m not sure if that’s how I want to spend my free time.

(And I hope if they did go that route, the story and experience will justify all of it. Otherwise, that kind of direction tend to come off teenage-y at worst and distasteful at its best)

I’ve recently got a Nintendo Switch and played a Pokemon game for the first time in many, many years.

It was simple, childish, clean, and a lot of fun.

There was that ever-so-nice romanticized brightness to life found in kids-oriented-media in the game where everything ends up working out and no matter how dark things get, there’s still some sort of warmth to the world because it’s coded with the idea that “it’ll never get that bad“.

And you know what? That was nice. It was a nice break. Sue me.

This idiot actually became quite endearing and ended up demonstrating some complex growth and human experience without having had to resort putting the idiot through mature themed circumstances. That should probably be a topic for discussion sometime. Mature themes isn’t a qualification or necessity to discuss mature topics. Often, mature themes are used out of banality and/or laziness.

By the time this goes live, I’ll probably be on my way to pick up my iced Americano, a sandwich, and The Last of Us: Part 2 from my local game store.

I hope NaughtyDog won’t let me down but I don’t think I’ll regret having given them a shot. They’ve earned it.

…Did… did you guys think this would end with Pokemon? Because I sure as hell didn’t.

ARAMIRU OUT

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a Quick Movie Review : Joker

~ Aramiru ~ Leave a comment

Alright. Here we go. Just saw the film and going to jot some thoughts down (note: though I’m finally posting this about a month after writing this).

No editor.

One time viewing.

Yes SPOILER ALERT

3

2

1

There’s a dance to the film, Joker.

Get it? Those of you who’ve seen the film?

A dance?

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Was that parallel a bit obnoxious?

That ultimately, even though you “get it”, the decisions made still feel a bit derivative and slightly awkward?

It’s as if I’m self-aware but not self-aware enough to see the big picture of what I’m doing.  Not able to see truly outside of myself.

And, obviously, that’s essentially what the movie felt like to me.

It reminded me of that ice cream shop in town.

They had weird flavors like pickle and jalapeno.

The idea was that they had goofy flavors.

The result was that they closed in a year.

So the question becomes clear:

What flavor did JOKER want to be?

As an acting piece for Joaquin Phoenix, it’s wonderful.

As a character piece as a film, it’s alright. But because it’s still ultimately tied to a comic book character, it ends up feeling forced and cheesy because it’s inevitably trying to explain and establish a well-known character.

There was an elegant dance that Christopher Nolan’s adaptation of the Joker character did that this film couldn’t. There was an understanding of give-and-take in Nolan’s vision and also an understanding of the film he was creating (and also a better understanding of the character and the appeals of the character. But that’s for another time).  There was a sense of relief to the breath of fresh air that Nolan’s writing brought that this film did quite the opposite of.

It shoved down my throat it’s own “cleverness” behind the “purposefully” blatant imagery and narrative until I chocked on it and died.

It believed that it exculpated itself by being self-evident that it’s the audience’s job to get the film.

We got it just fine. But it’s as if you imagined your highly promoted rated R rating was going to only be viewed by a bunch of ninth graders.

That Looney Tunes like ending was just the kick in my liver even though the film was, with all intent and purpose, going for my nuts. And as I’m groaning in pain on the ground—puking—the film didn’t even know why that kick worked. And it doesn’t care. It’s just happy that it did. It has faith that my nuts are right around my ribcage.

The thing is, even if we understand why we’re given every explanation for every quirk this famous comic book character has, that doesn’t mean it’s any less cliche or felt any less lazy and ridiculous.

Oh, he has a mental condition so he’s forced to laugh. I got it. 

Oh, he had a terrible parent and childhood. Of course, what self-respecting villain doesn’t. Check.

Oh, everything went wrong for him with his life choices until he became the villain. Right. Manifest that destiny, my friend. Check.

Ah, the whole plot seeming almost comically tragic is the point. How clever. That’s the joke. As if the tone of the film was any different, it’d be a black comedy.

WE GOT IT. HA.

But dare I say that the actual joke is that the film might have been cleverer, braver, and just better had it just gone strictly that route of being a comedy instead? Turn the whole film into a Wes Anderson-esque film or a Coen Brothers-esque film as if we’re experiencing the world as this mad man is experiencing it.

Just let us actually laugh and feel terrible about it.

When the tone of the film expects us to take it seriously, it forces us to observe it and take it in with a lens and stomach fitting that tone. So the at times beyond non-sensical and lazy plot points feel less justified and feel more half-assed.

And that feeling has a poignant exclamation near the end of the film when Joker, the character, himself doesn’t seem to know what the hell he is.

Is he a tragic man haunted by the demons beyond his control?

Or is he suddenly a political representation of an oppressed economic class in our society?

Why did that become a thing? Why was that necessary?

You were doing so well of carrying on your various plot points with some consistency. That was one decent thing you were doing in your writing.

Sure. The whole economic inequality and social turbulence serve as a backdrop but the whole character of Joker felt like he was developing into someone who was a victim of it but not really part of its evolution nor revolution—at least not by choice.

He was developing as someone whose madness and downfall into darkness was a machination of his own inner chaos. That the poverty was just one of many items on the long, screwed up list of what made his life go wrong. Especially by the way he seems to see it until that point in the film. Unaware of the greater effect he had on the Gotham’s economic revolt and generally uncaring of the revolution beyond the fact that it put him on the news.

Keeping that would have kept the character of Joker as a self-absorbed mad men who was like a sponge to his own psychosis and that ultimately led to his downfall. Which is what the movie was setting up the whole time.

His rise to becoming the leader of the disgruntled parts of society seemed like it should have been purely coincidental, accidental, and tragically—and unintentionally—opportunistic.

As if he was Forrest Gump who had different kinds of mental problems.

But that gets all thrown out the window in his surprisingly lucid rant about social inequality during his meltdown.

Fine. In some sense, the film could be trying to show us that as the “Joker”, Arthur (Joaquin Phoenix) finally got the courage to speak his mind and stand up to/for society. That as the “Joker” he actually sees things clearer.

But that still feels like an injustice to what the narrative was building towards.

And why is anyone in this universe taking Joker/Arthur seriously? How did the film justify that? Y’all were just laughing at this failed comedian days ago, brought him onto a talk show to mock him, and now after he commits a few murders on TV after going on a middle-schooler rant about societal injustice he suddenly inspires enough people to become the defacto figurehead and spark a revolt?

We’re just supposed to go, “yeah that’s how screwed up Gotham is”?

The pill is just too damn big, Morpheus. At least lubricate it first or give us a glass of water.

Again, this is probably due to the tone the film sets for itself that it’s asking for a higher standard from its audience than it’s ready to take on.

At this point, I should mention that I sound like I hated the film but I actually enjoyed a lot of it. The film is not without its merits.

I actually appreciated the poetic nature of Batman being born on the same day as the Joker. They built that up surprisingly well even when Bruce was a very minor character. To those who don’t know what Batman’s origin story is, the scene might have even been more poignant as they could see it as a boy losing his parents instead of seeing it as a famous comic book hero being born.

It was impressive that we got to see the full arc to the story of Thomas Wayne and those who are unfamiliar with the Batman lore could still appreciate the character for what he was in the film.

The way they balanced all the story arcs felt generally quite organic. That part of the writing was generally solid.

Not to mention, as I’m sure everyone has heard by now, there are breathtaking and captivating scenes and cinematography.

And Joaquin Phoenix did what Jared Leto wanted to do. Joaquin’s Joker felt so right as a version of the Joker and yet also added such meaningful flair of his own that his performance was as memorable as Heath Ledger’s performance in Christopher Nolan’s film. Unlike Jared Leto’s performance that felt like a teenager trying to do what he thinks makes the Joker cool and neat.

Leto’s performance felt like a parody of Ledger’s performance.

Phoenix’s performance felt like theater. It just felt like we were witnessing some good-ass acting and we were absorbed by it.

It’s unfortunate that this is another DC film that gets bogged down by not understanding its own tone and by trying to do too much without the finesse to pull it off.

But it’s also the second DC film that felt like a proper film experience (the other being Wonder Woman). However, I realized as I was watching it that I had a different opinion of the film if I was thinking of it as a Batman fan instead of just being a filmgoer. That review will be coming in the near future.

Thanks for reading you beautiful monsters.

Remember to eat your vegetables and Epstein didn’t kill himself.

jokersmile.gif

7.2 / 10

ARAMIRU OUT

Chronicles of the Otherworld: Season 1 Audiobook is still available! (Why would it not be)

Purchase it HERE

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10 Quests to Write and then to Publish / General Steps from Writing to Publishing

~ Aramiru ~ Leave a comment

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Quest 1: Decide if you’re Pantsing or Plotting

Have an idea.

Then choose:

Want to just start writing and figure out as you go? Pantsing!

Want to plan out every detail and then write? Plotting!

Quest complete.

 

Quest 2: Finish First Draft.

Figure out a writing schedule.

Stick to your writing schedule.

??? (usually sweat, tears, and self-hate)

Quest complete.

 

Quest 3: Don’t share your first draft.

Thinking about giving these out to beta readers? NO.

Thinking about querying agents? NO.

Thinking about having your dying grandmother read this? NO.

Quest complete.

 

Quest 4: Start your second draft.

Optional Sub-Quest: Give yourself some distance between you and your manuscript.

Read through your first draft.

Make the necessary corrections and changes.

Quest complete.

 

Quest 5: Repeat Quest 4 until you feel it’s ready.

Repeat Quest 4 until you feel it’s ready.

Quest complete.

 

Quest 6: Beta Readers

Find other heroes to join your quest.

Hopefully, they are those who you can trust to be honest with you and give you a variety of insights.

Tip: If they’re people you know, they should be people who are comfortable enough to call you a moron if the need arises and have strong enough bond with you to tell you to not waste any more time on your manuscript if it’s horseshit.

Listen to their judgments and insights.

Quest complete.

 

Quest 7: Another day, Another draft.

Compile all the notes you’ve gathered from your beta readers.

Make a new draft of your manuscript based on the notes.

Quest complete.

 

Quest 8: Choose your class.

Self-Publishing or Traditional

Class descriptions:

Self-Publishing:

High risk, high reward.

With all the freedom comes with it the burden of fugue

Even the risks are up to the players to decide depending on their goals and investment.

While it’s true that this can be a low-investment, non-pay-2-win class, most experienced players would say otherwise.

Or as Michael J. Sullivan, a notable self-published player, said recently to the question what if you don’t have a day job that you can balance to support this class,

“Marry rich.”

A personal note from the scribe of this quest is that he wished he had around 3500 USD to invest in his first book before starting out. 1500 USD minimum.

The general rules of thumbs are:

  1. Don’t expect to make much money.
  2. No one will find your book until you shove it into their hands.
  3. Write at least three before expecting a profit.

Traditional:

Relatively low risk but still grind-heavy.

The well-established, longest enduring class. That being the case, the progression for this class is clearly mapped out for those who want to go down this path.

Finish manuscript -> Get an Agent -> Get a Publisher.

While the steps seem simple, it can be a grueling and even a life-long task for many to complete the second step of this journey.

As in the name of this class, this is still what the most of the public traditionally consider as a writer and hence comes with it the prestige and network that most self-published authors will not be able to enjoy.

Even the upfront payment by the publisher is probably more money than most self-published authors will ever see with their work.

However, while it is a bragging-right of sorts, often the writers themselves will realize that the payoff of the class is more-or-less may be the same as most of their self-published authors in the long run—if not worse.

Not to mention that more often than not, most writers with publishers will not enjoy a lot of the luxuries that writers assume that they’d receive.

The general rules of thumb are:

  1. Don’t expect to make much money.
  2. No one will find your book until you shove it into their hands.
  3. Your manuscript should be at a point of you not being embarrassed if that gets leaked to the public before you start querying agents.

Quest Complete?

 

HERE COMES A NEW CHALLENGER!

 

“Hybrid Author”

Self-Pub, Trad, they do it all. Their success entirely in their hands.

No balance patch will be applied.

Tip: The author mentioned previously, Michael J. Sullivan, always shares his wealth of knowledge having experienced all three classes. 

Check out his Reddit Page here: /u/MichaelJSullivan

If that link is there, that means I got his permission to do so.

Quest 9: Do your class quests.

Self-Pub

  • Figure out your budget.
  • Figure out editing.
  • Figure out the cover art.
  • Figure out blurb.
  • Figure out marketing.
  • Figure out networking.
  • Figure out where to publish.
  • Figure out how to publish.
  • Figure out the circumstances of the publishing.
  • Figure out any legal matters that need to be resolved before publishing.
  • Publish?

Trad

  • Find your potential agents.
  • Query, Query, Query.
  • Sit.
  • Wait.
  • Found an agent!
  • Celebrate!
  • Sit.
  • Wait.

Quest Complete.

 

Quest 10: Do it all again.

Do it all again.

Do it all again.

Do it all again.

 

 

In my next blog post, I’ll probably go into what my experiences were like.

What I wish I’d have done differently.

And what I want to do in the future.

I’ve done something like that already in the past but given the years it has passed since then, I think it might offer a new insight.

ARAMIRU OUT

Chronicles of the Otherworld: Season 1 Audiobook is available now!

Check it out HERE

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The Secret of NaNoWriMo, Writing, and Such

~ Aramiru ~ Leave a comment

What?

What time is it?

Yeah, I’m sleeping out of my car! It’s great! Why? You want to fight about it?

You can shower in the rain.

You can eat with the pigeons.

And you can really feel the heart of the city when you sleep in their Wal-Mart’s parking lot.

What? No, I don’t know what date it is.

That’s literally the only downside of living out of my car.

No calendars.

NaNoWriMo?

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Dealing with this handsome schmuck and his stupid events to promote literacy and the arts in the world again. Yeah, I know I’ve used this pic before.

Oh. Oh.

‘Tis the season!

‘Tis the season when all of us and our granddaddies are writing about mundane and over juiced writing tips, tricks, and unwarranted life advice for that sweet, sweet Internet traffic.

Because we are all successful, professional, knowledgeable writers who care about the youth and the other budding talents in the field.

STOP WRITING J. K. ROWLING.

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The Nefarious British witch who caused your book to not be picked up, for that movie deal to not be given to you, and why you’re now living as a struggling writer after your poor life choices. She’s the source of all of your problems.

WHY ARE THERE STILL HARRY POTTER MOVIES COMING OUT.

I DON’T CARE IF HARUMYONEE IS BLACK, LAOTIAN, OR GENDER CONFUSED.

DON’T YOU KNOW WE HAVE OUR OWN CHILDREN TO FEED? YES, I DON’T HAVE KIDS YET BUT I MIGHT IN THE FUTURE.

What?

That’s dated and unnecessarily socially charged references?

Hold on. Let me get in my best sweatpants and rain jacket to get to a McDonald’s for their free Wi-Fi.

Come on daddy’s gotta sparkle. Daddy’s gotta make a buck!

eh-hem!

Hi, I’m A. S. Aramiru and you may know me from my previous works such as:

and the latest hit:

As you can see, I’m a successful, professional, knowledgeable writer who’s qualified to give you some tips and tricks for this upcoming writing adventure. Something you can carry with you for the rest of your life.

Because I care about all of you fellow writers out there and especially you writers who’re just starting to create their first baby.

So, get your hot cup of water, tomato ketchup, the free pepper packet ready for a nice little soup for your writing soul.

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They wouldn’t give me pepper packets. I was already getting weird looks for asking for these and taking a bunch of pictures.

There’s a lot of tips that circulate amongst writers.

And to be honest you’ve probably heard them all already because they’re regurgitated and recycled over and over.

  • Just write.
  • Make a plot line.
  • Don’t get too attached to your first draft.
  • Take criticisms.
  • Etc.

And those are great tips. That’s why they’re regurgitated and recycled over and over. They derive from universal truth that can only improve your life:

  • Do your tasks.
  • Strategize your tasks.
  • Hone your skills.
  • Take in other perspectives.
  • Etcetera.

But there’s a great concern I’ve had lately when I see a lot of other want-to-be creators.

You see, my fellow thespians, scribes, and charlatans, it’s far too easy to see other people’s talent and work these days with Google, Youtube, Instagram, and etc.

And usually we only seee the end result.

But it’s rare to see the process. Especially, the honest portrayal of the process.

The most important part.

The ugliest part.

The part we all need to appreciate a lot more.

Because you hear about it, you imagine it, but it’ll always be a little romanticized in a lot of people’s minds even if they’ve struggled elsewhere before.

We assume it’ll be so much easier than it actually is. We have the confidence in our minds because we’ve seen others do it.

Why not me?

I bet it wasn’t that hard.

He’s just talented so I bet it was easy for him.

999,999 / 1,000,000 of the times, it wasn’t.

It was a fight. It was a personal war. It feels like an exaggeration but it’s not. The struggle will consume you.

But that’s what makes it awesome.

You see the sexy pic on Instagram.

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Fun note: I was naive and Googled “sexy animals”.

But what you didn’t see is the once skinny, fat, regular guy/gal, working their ass off in the gym, thinking about giving up more than once, sacrificing a lot of for-pleasure meals, paying for a lot of cycles, and taking a lot of pics until they got that perfect one to post.

You listen to that awesome song.

But what you don’t hear is the countless combination of notes that weren’t good enough to make the cut even though no one else would know the difference.

You read that next best seller novel.

But what you didn’t read is another one of these offensively cheesy parallel examples of what I’ve just reiterated twice already above.

Everyone wants to reach the summit but no one wants to do the climb.

No one wants to risk the time, the effort, and their lives. No one wants to feel that lack of oxygen, the burning muscles, and the sense of desperation that you may never make it to the top and maybe you won’t make it back home. I’m talking about writing still.

But there’s nothing more beautiful and important than the struggle.

When you make it, that’ll be the most powerful memory that you have of your journey. The pillars of what made the achievement memorable.

When you make it, it’d have been the most important part. The only part that you can really pass on to others for their benefit.

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From Vagabond by Takeshi Inoue. Chapter 109.

That’s the secret of NaNoWriMo. It gives you a way to appreciate the process and not just the end. I appreciate the event for making the goal the struggle. And I totally got the title of this blog off the SEO generator again but found this kickass way of just tying it all off in that #trending bow.

That’s why I make the big bucks.

Writing will suck at times.

You’ll get stuck.

You’ll hate what you’ve written.

You’ll regret the time and the effort you’ve spent.

And you’ll feel like you’ll never make it.

But as long as there’s a breath left in you, you can make it if you actually want it.

If you don’t want it, just move on.

Time’s finite. Do something worthwhile for you.

But at least start something. Start the struggle.

And then learn to embrace the struggle.

There’s really nothing else more worthwhile in life. Because it’s the crucial, and the not so secret, ingredient of what is worthwhile.

*sip*

I wonder if honey mustard packets will make good soup

*sip*

Did you guys like the clickbait title? It worked last time. The irony.

Haha, what kind of desperate scumbag would sell out like that, right? Just randomly insert things to boost visibility?

Brett-Kavanaugh-Is-the-Supreme-Courts-Republican-Justice-GQ-2018-100518
I don’t like getting political in these blogs but I really have to say this. JFK did not deserve to be shot.

#bitcoin #CristianoRonaldo #Grindelwald #JohnGreen

Did I mention I have an audiobook coming out of the BOOK I’ve written so many years ago that I should have really written another one out by now?
Haha, I mean it’s not like selling out and calling himself out on it in a roundabout way makes anything better. So who would do that?

#ASAramiru #TaylorSwift #NaNoWriMo #SEO

Ok, I have to go now. McDonald employees say I have to at least buy something if I want to keep using their Wi-Fi.

*sip*

Time to put on my cardboard sign and get back to my imaginary car.

The sign reads:

“You think I’m joking, but most writers would live like this if they lived only off of their writing earnings”

Seriously. Don’t write for the money. Don’t plan on it to be your income. Unless you’re copywriting.

“Why can’t you just take a helicopter up to the summit?” – Editor

“Shut up.” – Me

ARAMIRU OUT (3, 2, 1, カモーン!)

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The Devil & Me (Finale)

~ Aramiru ~ 2 Comments

Previous Episodes:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

21 Years and 2 months

 

There’s no such thing as a dull love story to those who are in it.

They had met in an ethics class at their university.

The first date was at a Thai restaurant close to campus.

It was a rocky tumble into love. Neither of them was what they imagined their spouses would be.

Their first kiss was in the car after their second date.

They married on a spring about two years after and had a child by the winter.

A girl.

The girl grew up in the reverie of her childhood where she dreamed many dreams.

A dream of an occupation that she saw as her fairy tale.

A dream about a husband that’d be her prince.

And a dream about a family that’d be her happily ever after.

The tomorrows came slow, but the yesterdays piled on quick. Before she knew it, the child had already realized many things she had imagined and dreamed. And she had long forgotten or abandoned many that she didn’t.

But all of these were the threads that made her no longer a child.

Perhaps the child-her wouldn’t approve of the venue for the moment she once dreamed of.

She may also not approve of the soon-to-be husband that was supposed to be her prince.

But what does a child know?

This was better than anything that the little girl could have imagined because all of this was real. And she and her soon-to-be-husband had traveled their own journeys to get to this moment, right here and now.

A small, unspectacular room with a TV and a bed. There surrounding Suzie and Jay were their closest friends, parents, and a minister.

The silky sunlight seeped through the curtained windows.

Flower petals blanketed the room. They’ll have to be cleaned up sooner than later.

There were tears. There were waves of laughter. It was humble but a heartfelt ceremony to celebrate the union of the young lovers. A story no one else would know. No one else would care. But no one else needed to know. And no one else needed to care.

“Beautiful,” Satan muttered to Beelzebub. “Absolutely stunning.”

The two devils stood outside the room and peeked through the small rectangle window on the door.

Beelzebub watched as Suzie’s father helped her stand next to her soon-to-be husband. Her shaven head covered with a snow-white gown.

Surrounding the devils were a few nurses who were oblivious to the otherworldly beings. The nurses sniffled and held back tears as they stood by just-in-case or until they would be needed.

“You should be happy,” Satan remarked. “This is all because of you”

Beelzebub had no response. No emotions. He simply peered with a dead gaze.

“I feel you don’t have the heart for this anymore,” Satan went on. “I don’t think you believe in what we do anymore.”

A bait of sorts, Beelzebub figured. He stared at Satan in his form of an aging man who’ve relaxed a bit too much on his landbound boat. A shrine of beer bottles piling somewhere.

“Remind me. What are we doing again? Specifically, why are you here?” Beelzebub sharply asked. “Are you out of work? Do you need a temp job? Shoo. You’re classing the place up.”

“I’m here to make sure you bring her home. To finish what you started. Keep your special child with us and away from Him,” Satan spoke gently with a soft smile.

Beelzebub chuckled.

“What do you think that I started? What do you think happened here?” Beelzebub looked deeply into the dead eyes of the devil.

Satan searched for his words a bit.

Suzie kissed her now husband. There were cheers. And as if the moment was already due to be faded into the past, the nurses scurried in and with the attendants cleaned the room.

“That. You made that happen,” Satan remarked. “Just a merry-go-round from one moment to the other. But you gave her a moment that’ll define her eternity. No matter what your intentions were you decided that moment for her.”

The door opened. With the nurses, the attendants begin to leave one by one.

A man stopped in his tracks and buried his face into his hands.

“Why,” the man broke into tears. “Why our girl?”

“Stop. Hold it together,” A woman tugged on his arm. “Don’t let her see you cry. Let our daughter have this.”

An almost eerie silence engulfed the hallway as the room emptied. Only the newly married couple remained. The husband sat on the bed next to his wife and held her hand. They whispered to one another. Hugged. Kissed. Whispered some more. Their faces lit with a special smile saved only for the moments of true peace. The couple embraced again until the husband stood to leave. She stared at him as he headed for the door. He held the door open and stood there for a moment to stare back at his wife. She nodded to let him know that it’s okay. He closed the door behind him. He waved on the other side of the door window. She waved back and then stared even long after the husband had disappeared from sight.

Her world began to spin. Nausea. Fatigue. She crumbled into her bed.

After retching, Suzie couldn’t help but laugh.

How ludicrous. She thought.

How selfish. She chided herself.

Marrying someone in this condition.

She was happy and yet gutted.

“You’re the one who will take credit for this. But allow me to show you the grace of finishing the work,” Satan gently placed his hand on Beelzebub’s shoulder. “You can be there to greet her when she comes home.”

Suzie ran to the bathroom. The little she had for breakfast gone with a flush. She clung onto the toilet bowl with barely enough strength to keep her head from dunking into the water. A small regret came over her that she asked to be left alone so that her husband could see the family off and grab a small meal for the two of them. But even in these worst moments, there was a comfort that she was alone through it for once. No one else’s sorrow, pity, and well-being weighing over her.

As she managed to take the few steps back to her bed, Suzie saw him. The devils were and are still angels. Divine beings had a comforting presence even as a surprise. Satan had shed himself of the old man from Burbank retiring to Florida look. He was now somewhere between the ideal image Suzie had of her husband and a father figure.

Something she may have imagined from her childhood.

“Hello,” He spoke calmly with a soft smile.

“Hi,” Suzie crawled into bed. “You’re not him are you?”

“Who?” Satan pointed up. “Him?”

“Of course not,” Suzie laughed. She coughed. Then laughed some more. Satan laughed with her. “I’ve given up on Him doing a damn thing about anything a long time ago. Then again, maybe it says a lot more about me that I’m getting visits from the devil.”

“You’re not Beelzebub,” Suzie said as she pulled up her blanket. “He’s too chicken shit to come see me I think.”

“Perhaps,” the man graciously smiled. “Or perhaps he would be in too much pain to see you like this.”

“So, chicken shit. And so who are you, good sir?”

“I won’t insult your intelligence. I am his brother—”

“And you want my soul or something right? Then I can live? Be happy?”

“You’re sharp.”

“Uh huh. Beelzebub! Get in here!”

Startled only for a moment, Satan gave a defeated smile.

“Beelzebub! You chickenshit! Beelzebub! If some asshole’s going to take my soul it should you, you piece of shi—”

“Boo.”

Beelzebub appeared beside Suzie.

“I’m dying! You stupid ass—” Suzie yelled before succumbing to violent coughs.

“Hey. I’ve been well. Y’know,” Beelzebub drabbled on. “Work’s work. Life’s fine. How are you? Yes. How’s cancer? You don’t look so good. Must not be so good, huh? Yeah, that cancer thing. Kind of a doozy.”

Suzie dug deep and found the energy to give Beelzebub the finger.

“I think you can go now,” Beelzebub shooed the other devil with his hand. “I got my girl.”

“And I had a whole speech prepared,” Satan shrugged.

“Fuck you too, mister,” Suzie said after catching her breath.

Satan chuckled and gave a knowing look to Beelzebub.

“Do whatever you want. Find your happiness. Isn’t that the point?” He whispered into Beelzebub’s ear before disappearing.

A silence as the other devil disappeared.

Beelzebub sat beside Suzie.

Another pause. They sat in silence. A tear trailed down Suzie’s eye. She quickly wiped it away.

“Fuck you. Where were you?” Suzie broke the silence. “If I were to give you my soul, would you be able to save me?”

“Have you ever seen a firework at Paris? All that preparation. All that anticipation. Boom! All of that magnificent gunpowder glory,” Beelzebub fluttered his fingers in the air. “Then gone in a flash into the void.”

“What? What are you talking about? Is that supposed to be a metaphor or something? I’m trying to sell you my soul, dumbass. Mr. Devil. Asshole.”

“What’s it—”

“Fuck you, man! Seriously!” Suzie succumbed to her coughs again.

“You, seriously, got to stop that. Look, I’m sorry I’ve been gone. I’m here now.”

“Do you even know what I did today?”

“Yes, I saw the whole thing. It was… it was nice,” Beelzebub answered with a smile.

“You did?!” Suzie didn’t seem to know how she felt about that fact. Beelzebub didn’t seem like he knew how Suzie felt about it either.

“So, I was about to ask. What’s it worth? I’d like to know what living is worth to you. What does it mean to you?”

“What? Living… living… means that I’d get to live. I’d get to be there for him. Have a life together…” Suzie took a moment to compose herself. “…start a family together. What are you talking about, Beelzebub? I don’t understand.”

“That sounds like it would have been marvelous. But who knows, maybe you two would have gotten divorced and grew to hate one another. Fight over the kids. Fight with the kids. Wish the kids were never born. All that nonsense.”

“But I’m not even going to have the chance to find that out myself. I don’t even have a choice in the matter. What is wrong with you Beelzebub? Do you not want my soul anymore? Isn’t that what you guys do? Oh shit…” Suzie’s eyes widened with her realization.

“I’ll always welcome your soul,” the devil smiled.

“Did you know?”

“Do you remember that day at the lake when you wanted to kill yourself? Or how many more times after that?”

“So what? Why are you bringing this up now? Are you trying to say I’m a hypocrite? Or that I’m just going to want to die again so it doesn’t matter when and how I die? The point is that I’d like to have a choice! Did you know?!”

“Do you have a choice right now?”

“Shut the fuck up and answer me!”

The two stared at one another. Suzie’s eyes were moist from her tears and yet boiled with anger. Anger from the unwanted inquisition. Her pride had already been swallowed. Anger from the sense of betrayal. From that one friend who knew her at her worst. At her moments that not even her husband knew about.

“Did you know? Did you know this would happen to me when you convinced me to go chase after him?”

Beelzebub didn’t answer. He pondered for a moment. But that was enough of an answer for Suzie.

“You win,” Suzie tried to grab the devil but had to pause to catch her breath. “…You win. Why do that to him though, Beelzebub?”

“I’ll let you figure that one out,” the Devil finally spoke after seconds that felt like an eternity.

“Fuck you, Beelzebub.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can you save me or not?”

“I can,” the Devil gave a warm smile.

“Then do it! Just take it! I’m giving it to you!” Suzie couldn’t help the tears from flowing down. “Just let me be there for him. Let me live.”

“You sure? This is one and done type of thing, sweetheart. You’re either on one side or the other.”

“Yes,” Suzie tried and tried to wipe away her tears. “Yes, please. Oh, God. Just do it. Don’t let me leave him alone.”

The door opened.

 

***

 

Michael waited for Beelzebub at The Center. Other patrons had long cleared out and Binkle had given up if the archangel wanted anything else than the single juice box he had ordered hours ago.

Beelzebub entered and only gave a slight glance at the angel before heading to the bartender.

“A Salty Dog. Make sure its neat. If it’s not, then I’ll have you serving a sorority house because apparently, those are the only types of drink you know how to make,” Beelzebub ordered.

“…rough day, boss?” Binkle started the cocktail right away.

“Why did you do it if it was going to make you so miserable?” Michael asked. “Why Beelzebub? Even when I warned you not to see her. Even when I’ve asked you to stay away. What had she done to deserve this?”

“The same thing that any of us had done apparently; the sin of being born,” Beelzebub gave Michael a wink.

“It’s a gift.”

“Uh-huh, tell that to the kids getting flayed alive somewhere as we speak. Are you going to go save them, Mr. Archangel? I’m sure they’re screaming for even some ass in a spandex to come to save them right now. Three. Two. One. They’re dead. Tell them it was a gift,” Beelzebub sipped on his drink.

“At least Binkle gets to keep his job,” Beelzebub raised his glass to compliment the bartender.

“You know that’s not how it works,” Michael remained stoic.

“No, that’s exactly how it works. My bar. My rules. Got a problem? Get out of my bar. Oh you mean how it works in the cosmos created by the All-Mighty Dad,” Beelzebub downed his drink and motioned Binkle for another.

“And why shouldn’t that be how it works? Why shouldn’t we just help one another be better?” Beelzebub questioned.

“They can. We shouldn’t,” Michael answered.

Beelzebub chuckled as he sipped on his new drink.

“Dejavu, eh? O’brother mine?” Beelzebub stared at his murky drink. “How many times have we had this conversation? For how many millennia? We can’t even figure that one out. What’s the point of us?”

“That’s for us to figure out. Their lives are for them to figure out.”

“You’ve been fed so much horeshit that it’s starting to come out of your mouth, Michael. In fact, I would say that’s all been coming out of your mouth for a long while now. Let’s wash that out. Have you ever tried a White Russian? They’re fantastic. And I mean that both ways if you know what I’m saying,” Beelzebub winked again at Michael. It was not, surprisingly, the record amount of how many times Beelzebub winked at Michael in one meeting.

“That is the way it is. You ask for more of something that simply isn’t there,” Michael sipped on his juice box.

“And yet, we were designed to ask for more,” The Devil retorted.

“Maybe we were created to see if we can be more,” The Archangel dissented.

“You’re miserable to talk to you know that? Did anyone ever tell you that, Michael? You’re a terrible person to talk to. What kind of ass-backwards, circular logic is that?”

Michael sipped on his juice box.

The final slurps of a dying juice box echoed through the bar.

“She believes she understands why you did what you did. I’m sure he’s thankful as well to have had the chance to be with her. To be by her side until the end,” Michael told Beelzebub.

Beelzebub mumbled under his breath and ignored his brother’s existence.

“I can see that you need some time alone,” Michael walked over and placed his empty juice box on the counter. “But I came because…'”

“Are you still here?” The Devil snapped.

“Asshole,” a familiar voice cut through as a patron walked into the tavern.

Beelzebub spun his head toward the voice and then snapped back to Michael.

“Seriously?! You didn’t let her in? Or was that HIS decision?”

“I just came to say goodbye. Michael was nice enough to let me come here,” Suzie gave the angel a smile. “He just wanted a chance to speak to you privately first.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. That’s very un-Michael of you,” Beelzebub told his brother.

Michael shrugged.

“I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t take too long,” Michael told Suzie as he grabbed another juice box left on the counter for him by Binkle. He headed out and gently closed the door behind him.

“So this is the bar,” Suzie said as she sat next to Beelzebub.

“And you’re the girl,” Binkle said as he carefully studied his boss’s ticks and demeanor.

“This is the bar,” Beelzebub rested his face on his hand as he observed Suzie. “You decided to go to the other place?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?” Suzie shook her head at Binkle who held up a juice box and a wine bottle for her to choose from.

“I didn’t want you to do anything,” Beelzebub answered.

“Something sweet and tangy perhaps? Sangria? Lemon Drop?” Binkle asked Suzie.

“Do you know that they put your taste buds in your anus? Did he tell you? As a person coming from up there I feel like it’s my civic duty to let you know,” Suzie pointed out.

“Look at this girl. She’s been dead for minutes and she’s already playing the heaven card,” Beelzebub spoke with disdain.

“Yes,” Binkle answered. “…And I’ve grown to change my diet to fit my new changes. I didn’t find it funny then and I don’t find it funny now. I don’t think anyone will. Who knows why that was done. Let’s now drop it and never speak of it again and if we can turn back time and change the past maybe we can make sure it’s never been done. Because everytime something touches my tongue I just have intense and intimate fear of what it would taste in the afterlife of its natural journey. In some sense, it’s been a fascinating and life-changing experience that has oddly made me a better human. What about a whiskey-neat then?”

“Seems a bit unoriginal and cliche for this moment,” Suzie thought for a moment. “Moscow mule?”

“Moscow mule,” Beelzebub nodded.

“Moscow mule,” Binkle agreed.

The three shared the cocktail that was made from three different businessmen with three different failing products who by fate combined them all and gave it a random name. It was a hard drink, with a pinch of tartness, a little sweetness, all tied together with a little kick served in a copper mug that could become toxic from the acidity of the drink itself.

They talked of many nothings and nothing of pertinence regarding Suzie’s death.

Like friends that met just for a reunion and knowing they’ll never see one another again when they each leave through the doors and leave their old lives behind in that room, the three just wanted to have a moment of where everything was good and nothing of consequence would occur.

Crafting a moment that’d be a perfect memory.

Like a photograph of smiling faces. Forgetting all that’s before and after.

When Michael came back into the bar, Suzie knew it was time for her to go and left without any complaint. Neither the bartender nor the devil tried to hold her for any longer either.

The girl, the woman, gave the devil, the friend, a hug.

She whispered a word or two into the devil’s ear.

The devil said nothing back.

She looked back one last time with a soft smile on her face before the door closed behind her.

Soon, only the gibberish from the TV and a small clatter from Binkle doing his daily chores for the bar remained.

“You, alright boss?” Binkle finally asked.

“I had a weird dream,” Beelzebub answered solemnly.

“Okay.”

“What’s with that tone?”

“What? I said ‘okay.'”

“Yeah, but your tone. Don’t—don’t try to pretend that you didn’t have an odd tone.”

“I mean… it’s just… you’re the devil and first…”

“Yeah?”

“You guys dream? And second…”

“Uh huh.”

“Like what the hell, man? We talk about dreams now? Isn’t that a bit…” Binkle held his tongue.

“A bit what?”

“Nothing boss. Just a little gay. Just go on.”

“I dreamed of a horse…”

Binkle snorted.

“If you laugh dipshit, I swear I’m going to put a pimple right in the lip of your tiny dick. May I continue? Is that alright with you?”

Binkle saluted and begin wiping down the cups.

“Where was I. Yeah. The horse. It was lost in a forest. Scared. Tired. And knew that death was imminent.”

“Uh huh,” Binkle raised a wine glass up to the light for a quick inspection before wiping it a bit more.

“After wandering about for a while, it suddenly stood still. Just still in the fog of dusk. I knew right away it had reached the point of no return. It was exhausted. The horse was deciding whether to keep on or just give up. Rest. Just lay down and die peacefully.”

“And what did it choose?” Binkle placed the rag on the table and looked at Beelzebub.

“I don’t know. I was watching the horse from the sky or something. And I could see what it couldn’t see. I could see that there was such a simple way it could have went to be free.”

“So did you help the horse?” Binkle asked.

“No, I woke up.”

“What do you think happened to it?” Binkle picked up his rag again.

“Who cares,” Beelzebub finished his cocktail.

“I bet the horse does,” Binkle took the empty cup.

“But what does the horse know?”

 

End of The Devil and Me

 

 

Aftermath Ramble

12:49 AM

About 21 Chrome Tabs Open

1 Cup of Diet Mountain Dew and 2 Empty Bottles of Water on the Desk.

Wow.

I feel a bit bleh about the ending. And it’s not something I can change without changing the whole nature of this project I think.

Do you guys remember how and why I began this project?

It was supposed to be an unplanned, just-go-with-it, warm-up, sort of story that just spun out of a dumb chatter I was having with a friend.

But it sort of took over my writing life. And then my life, as it seems to in recent years, kind of fell into chaos with a lot of fire I needed to put out.

What you see is basically what I had written months ago. It was a quick write. I just wasn’t very happy with it. It sat there staring at me asking me why I had created it. A little mutant wondering why it was born.

Then I spent my writing time working on Chronicles of the Otherworld and my next novel.

Distance can be the cure sometimes.

But the short story nagged and nagged to be finished (which obviously should have been finished earlier than this) and I felt way more pressure for the finale than I ever should have. Who really cares but me?

But that’s the thing. I care. I’ve learned that I at least have to be happy with it.

I’ve always had an idea where the story would go, how it’d end, since the first episode. But I just felt so off about the ending when I actually wound up writing it.

Part of it was due to how much the story had changed and evolved and morphed in my mind as I kept working on it.

And part of it was due to how much of this could have benefitted from having a proper preplanning stage and an editing phase.

There were a lot of issues I had with the lore that I developed. Minor stuff none of the audience would care about.

With Satan’s character.

And how, most interesting for me as the writer, what I thought would work in my mind just didn’t work in execution. At the end of the day, that’s going to be my biggest lesson and homework out of this.

Not that I haven’t experienced that before.

But trying to understand exactly why it didn’t work here.

I wanted each episode to have their own individual vibe to reflect that specific point of Suzie’s age and life. That kind of stuff just works a lot better when it’s planned. At least for someone like me.

But I suppose all that was part of this writing experiment and exercise.

It was grueling.

It was annoying.

It was a little disappointing for me personally for a few reasons.

But I enjoyed it.

That’s writing. That’s this craft’s equivalent of taking a couple of hits and learning from them.

If I were to ever go back and really flesh out this thing, I’d probably consider redoing certain arcs of Suzie’s character and adding a few more chapters in.  There were few storylines that I cut that I wonder how it’d have been to add.

And definitely keep the numbers, lore, and whatnot details more consistent.

I really wanted to just let this project fly the way it wanted to fly and had an odd battle in my mind of not wanting to comb through it.

Weird.

Also, to be clear, I’ll probably never flesh this story out. It is what it is and it is what it was intended to be.

Okay. Enough rambling.

ARAMIRU OUT!

Oh yeah.

In the end, the biggest change I’ve made to the ending is that Suzie ends up meeting Beelzebub in hell. Originally, Beelzebub simply hears about what happened to Suzie via Michael. I was essentially against the idea. But experimenting with that little change eventually made the ending feel right for me. It ended up being what I needed to start the domino effect of finally releasing this finale.  Sometimes cheese is the right ingredient.

I’ll let the audience chew on that and decide which would have been better.

To those of you who’ve stuck with it till the end, thank you very much.

Sorry for the delay.

See y’all next time.

ARAMIRU OUT!

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Twitter: @ASAramiru
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5 Hacks for Writing: A Cheat Sheet for Beginners

~ Aramiru ~ 1 Comment

Power-of-words-by-antonio-litterio-creative-commons-attribution-share-alike-3-0.jpg
Let us all appreciate this very topic appropriate stock image I found by Googling ‘writing’

  1. Find the time.

  2. Just write.

  3. Find the time again.

  4. Just write.

  5. Repeat 1-4 consistently.

“OH HARDY-HAR-HAR. A. S. ARAMIRU. WE’VE ALL SEEN THAT BEFORE. BY THE WAY, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO ‘JUST WRITE‘ YOUR FINAL CHAPTER TO YOUR SHORT STORY THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE ENDED 2 MONTHS AGO?”

Hardy-har-har?

What are you Jackie Gleason?

sfl-jackie-gleason-centennial-sofla-20160222
I definitely knew a lot about Jackie Gleason and who he was and of his works before making this reference. Because I’m a cultured writer who is qualified to write about these topics.

Listen here you little turd. You little—

“Mr. Aramiru, remember you’re trying to promote yourself.” – My PR Team

—shit.

Do you know how I got the title for this blog?

I used an SEO blog title generator.

Hiiiilarious. I thought. And probably highly effective.

Who knows. Maybe there are even SEO keywords that are completely unnecessary to this topic embedded somewhere in this post.

Or as the people in the biz call it, “black hat SEO”.

Bitcoins. Cryptocurrency. Trump.

Like the most boring kind of wizard. But probably a wizard that knows how to make money with his gibberish.

Look, I know.

It’s a bit annoying when people say, “just write.”

But they’re not wrong. Which is the best kind of right.

It’s not wrong and you feel annoyed because your brain knows that they’re right even though you haven’t realized it yet.

Just putting pen on paper, that finger on that keyboard, those thumbs on the touchscreen are the first essential step get started with this craft. It is the only step. And it is also the only step to continue honing the craft. You can research all you want. You can read all you want. But you’ll never be a writer without actually writing.

When I say it like that, it almost feels stupid that you had to read that right?

If you want to be a swimmer, you have to first get in the water. Start with the shallow end, eventually jump into the deep end.

If you want to be someone who’s despised by his friends and family, you have to first borrow money. Don’t pay it back. Then join Amway and sell their toilet paper to the said friends and family.

f3f96c06ddc73aa35cfa616f67008abe
I’m not saying or implying anything. This is just one of my favorite scenes from the hit show The Office that I wanted to share.

I’ve been legally advised to say that I’m only speaking anecdotally from my personal experience and of my personal opinion about Amway and they should definitely not go suck on some–

“Keep it politically correct” – My editor.

—nuts.

Does saying “suck on some nuts” offend my male audience for demeaning their genitalia as an insult? If you’re offended, go suck on some—

“Come on, dude!”  – My editor.

—nuts.

Anyways.

We have to understand what it means to “just write” to not let the advice actually divest itself of any of its nutrients to help writers do their occupation.

It’s not a good advice if it offers no course of direction to the solution.

The quintessential significance of the advice “just write” actually can be found in its first word, “just.”

It implies that there’s no fuss, no grand scheme, and no grandiosity to the act itself.

You don’t need to have everything figured out.

You don’t need to have the latest program or the gadget.

You just need to write.

What do you write?

Whatever you feel like.

Not what you think will sell.

That’ll come later. Because everyone’s feeding each other bullshit that not making money can somehow be your occupation because you’re an artist and absolutely ignoring the fact that there are successful authors who chase after trends and write great stuff…. is just silly and irresponsible.

There’s nothing cool about being a hungry artist.

Those dinguses.

That’s right. I said dingus.

There’s always a better way.

Where was I?

Whatever you feel like.

Right.

Write—

—not what you think will sell.

Not what you think would make sense to others.

Just start with something.

Build from there.

The rest is discipline. How much do you want to be a writer? How much can you ignore the immediate pleasures and rewards of what you can see and do right in front of you and instead do something for the sake of just doing it.

Because you said you would.

Because this is something you want to do with your life.

Where’s your short story, Mr. Aramiru?

Prick. I’m talkin’ here.

If we all had the courage and the patience of the first farmer who decided to plant that seed, culture it, and hope for the best, the world would be filled with better humans.

“There’s actually a lot of discussion about how developing agriculture setback the society a lot.” – My Editor

*groan*

Just.

*sigh*

Can I… Can I finish?

Batman-Slaps-Robin-Meme.jpg
I’d never do this to my editor physically. But I’m not above doing it metaphysically.

So just write. And keep doing it.

Oh.

And learn to take criticisms and just eat it when someone is kind enough to let you know that you wouldn’t even be able to donate your work to Goodwill because they don’t accept trash.

Just learn from it.

Then just write again. And just keep doing it.

Good luck. Be better than me.

Then, be better than someone better than you.

#bitcoins #SEO #AmazonScandal #Lifehacks #Cryptocurrency #writing

Now, where’s my paycheck?

 

 

Currently, I’m working on the post-production for the audiobook version of my novella, Chronicles of the Otherworld: Season 1.

Check the novella out HERE at Goodreads.

I’m also working on finishing up…

The Devil & Me

Catch up here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Sorry for the delay with the finale. I’m working out some kinks even though the idea of the project was no edits and just letting it fly + dealing with some life emergencies.

Best regards,

ARAMIRU OUT

 

“This feels like a filler blog post” – My Editor

 

IT IS A FILLER BLOG POST.

THERE HAVE BEEN SOME GREAT FILLER EPISODES IN ANIME.

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Twitter: @ASAramiru
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Short Story: The Devil & Me (Part 4)

~ Aramiru ~ 2 Comments

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

19 Years and 7 months

 

Beelzebub.

Isn’t it funny?

The idea of love fascinates humans.

Love redefines joy.

Its end redefines pain.

…Isn’t it marvelous?

Maybe that’s why it fascinates you as well.

This inexplicable phenomenon they try to explain as a byproduct of their need to procreate.

But somehow they accept that we, the divine, must be able to love as well.

They have faith—faith—that even He loves them.

When was the last time that He put his loins into anyone?

Some of them say it’s more of a mystical occurrence of their human experience.

A little spark of magic and beyond in their minuscule presence in the endless time and space.

But why invite such vulnerability to their already fragile existence?

I find it all very amusing, Beelzebub.

And I find it very potent.

There is truly a before and an after to humans when it comes to their first true love and the first heartbreak.

Something they wish they’d never experience, and yet, something so profound that those who haven’t experienced it are at a sincere loss of what it means to be human.

Even their foulest have a moment of innocence when it comes to their first heartbreak.

And it is there—yes, there—where all of them can truly realize that life is unfair. 

A reality check.

There. Is. No. Magic.

‘Irreversible’ is real.

‘Impossible’ is real.

Something so beautiful is fleetingly ephemeral and yet its damages so eternal.

Not everyone will be involved in heinous violence like rape, murder, or war.

Not everyone will experience detrimental deprivations of neglect, starvation, or incapacity.

All of the other devastating, palpable consequences of free will.

But nearly all of them will experience their fellow human’s freedom to give their hearts and take it away.

∗∗∗

“Am I wrong, Beezebub?” Suzie softly asked with a moist voice.

∗∗∗

To walk away from the road the two had paved together.

The betrayal.

Falling into the pit of desperate denial that everything they had wasn’t meaningless.

∗∗∗

“I should just let him go, right?”

∗∗∗

But how could the road have meant anything if the destination itself disappeared?

Everything they’ve been working towards.

All they’ve been through.

Poof. Gone.

∗∗∗

Beelzebub stared out the window of Suzie’s apartment. Neglecting to acknowledge his brother’s words from beyond. Suzie’s roommates were out for the night. As if in a scene of a movie, it was pouring rain.

“Beelzebub,” Suzie sobbed sitting on her bed. “I wish… I wish… I never met him.”

He had seen her cry before. But never like this. Thick droplets of tears poured out of her eyes. Each droplets draining her.

There are mothers who’ve watched their children die.

Men who stared at their friends as they were drawing their last breaths.

A young woman experiencing heartbreak wasn’t something even close to being comparable.

“I…” Suzie choked on her words.

But the voice of his brother had a point. It was all too common. All too relatable. Palpable.

Never like this.

She’s never been like this.

Beelzebub let out a deep sigh.

Don’t deny of me this Beelzebub.

She’s mine as much as she is yours.

“…I love him,” Suzie confessed. “But I’m scared”

Don’t deny yourself of this.

“He messed up and I… I fucked up too. I feel like if I don’t stop him now… We won’t ever be okay. But… but… what if I lay it all out after what he’s done and he’s not worth it? What if we fight to make this work and it’s all just meaningless? Like, mom and dad?”

I know what you’re thinking you want to tell her.

She’s too young to know what real love is in the real world.

And she’s young enough to find someone else.

Someone she doesn’t have this kind of history with.

This kind of tarnish.

Something fresh.

“You’re worried that you’ll end up like your mom and dad?” Beelzebub asked without turning away from the window.

But let her pursue.

“I’m worried that I’m ripping my own heart apart over something I can just move on from!”

She’ll fail like most of them do.

And then we can show her the path. The right path.

“I can move on right?” Suzie asked. “This’ll just be another thing that happened in my life in a month. Maybe a year.”

Don’t. Let. This. Opportunity. Go.

“You’re right. You’re young,” Beelzebub told Suzie. “Your life hasn’t even begun yet. You’ll probably get over  this.”

…Beelzebub…

“Yeah,” Suzie seemed to understand what Beelzebub wanted to say. “Yeah.”

“There’ll probably be other guys. Other loves. Plenty of time for all that,” Beelzebub turned around and faced Suzie.

“So what’s there to lose?” Beelzebub smiled.

Instantaneously, Suzie darted out of her room. Ran down the stairs of her apartment. Like the movies, it was raining. And like the movies, she saw him standing in the rain unable to leave for the same reasons she was now standing behind him.

“Jay,” Suzie carefully called out his name.

She worried that perhaps the rain drowned out her voice and he’d walk away.

“Suzie,” He turned around in surprise. She was there getting more drenched by the second. His mind and emotions in too much of a chaos to express how happy and surprised he was to see her.

Suzie searched for words. Anger and doubt still lingered for a moment that felt like it was made of thin glass.

“I—”

“I love you,” He interrupted her. “I love you. And I… I want to make this work. I’m sorry. And I… I don’t want to be without you.”

The devil watched from Suzie’s room as she ran towards the young man to embrace him. They held each other in the rain under the street lamps. The world around them had stopped existing a long ago.

It was too much like the movies.

But sometimes.

People were allowed to have their movie moment.

A magical moment they’ll cherish. A near fantasy others may not believe. But the magic they’ll always have them believing in something beyond what’s there.

Because they were witnesses to it.

They’re the evidence of it.

And because it makes life just a little more than what it is.

The devil had disappeared by the time the two young lovers returned.

 

∗∗∗

 

“You did that?” Binkle asked Beelzebub in surprise as he handed Satan his bottle of dark lager.

“Why?” Satan questioned Beelzebub.

Satan decided to visit Beelzebub at The Center, Beelzebub’s bar in Hell, after their incident earlier with Suzie. He took the form of what a scotch whiskey and a dark lager would look like as a man from the 80s. The gruff man gave a piercing stare as he analyzed his brother.

“Why? Why? I did what I wanted and it happened to also be what you wanted. You know what you get when you complain even after getting what you want?” Beelzebub took a sip of his drink. Today was a drink that’s equal parts vodka, triple sec, and lime juice. It had a name that was perhaps a bit too on the nose for today’s occasion.

“You get to be Daddy’s least favorite. He’s always hated you.”

“Whatever the case,” Satan stood and raised his bottle. “Here’s to the young lovers. For its blossoming spring and its eventual winter.”

“Seriously. He’s always hated you,” Beelzebub raised his glass. “Y’know, for being a creep.”

Satan finished his bottle in one quick chug.

“And I’ve always found you painfully weak,” Satan placed the empty bottle on the table and the money to pay for it. “Painfully weak and unpleasurable. I’m sure you saw as I did what will happen. You did what’s coming to her as much as I. But don’t fret. It’ll all be for the best. Though I suppose I’m a bit confounded on exactly why you’re being more… nettlesome… than usual.”

“Oh, is it not obvious?” Beelzebub looked surprised. “It’s because of you. Hearing your voice makes me want to pray. Seeing you makes me want to get on my knees and tell Pops that I’m sorry. You’re welcome to free me of this misery at any time.”

Satan smiled. He gave a nod to Binkle, put on his hat, and whistled as he exited the bar.

“I’m surprised you let Satan have his way,” Binkle spoke soon as the door closed behind Satan.

“Love is a beautiful thing while it lasts,” Beelzebub answered as he continued to sip on his drink.

“I’m certain Satan foresaw something in the girl’s future where having this boy in her life will hurt her. Did you see otherwise?”

Beelzebub shook his head.

A person’s future was an uncertain thing. It’s a messy grid full of knots and every direction that only became more of a disarray as the person grew older. But certain choices have fewer detours and pathways than others. And some lead to dead ends.

“Oh,” Binkle froze for a moment. Caught by a surprise to his boss’s response though he was uncertain why. His boss was simply doing his duty.

“Alright then. I guess I should be expecting to see her here sometime,” Binkle smiled as he went on to make drinks for his other customers.

“Perhaps,” Beelzebub finished his cocktail. He stared at his empty glass. He remembered the rain. Not even all the raindrops he had seen this evening would amount to the souls he had seen come and go.

Who could possibly care for them all?

 

 

It took a long time to post this.

As always, I apologize for the delay.

The greatest concern with this chapter was regarding if it did appropriate enough job building momentum for the next chapter–the final chapter.

And I guess it’s there, in the final chapter, where I’ll actually discuss my thoughts on finishing this little what-was-supposed-to-be-a-simple-fun-side-project and what the actual process ended up being like.

Thank you always for reading.

See you all next time.

It’ll be sooner than later.

I know I always say that.

ARAMIRU OUT

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Quick Review: Rampage

~ Aramiru ~ 2 Comments

Rampage

Look.

It’s a summer flick that came out in spring.

There’s the Rock making jokes about his muscle, a giant monkey, a giant flying wolf, and a giant crocodile.

I hope I don’t need a spoiler warning for this one.

What could I possibly spoil?

Not only has it been *insert number of months/weeks/days since movie release here* since I’m a lazy writer, but also it’s a movie based on a 1980s arcade game that didn’t have a plot other than basically those three above causing a ra—… havoc across America.

That’s basically the entire plot.

Animals got big and they decided to go smash, smash, smash. And the American treasure, The Rock, has to save the day.

3630750300_f1cd14cdc3_b.jpg
You can smile like this too if you had his work ethic.

Trying to go any deeper or even explaining the plot of this film is doing it a disservice.

And why are you going to go see Rampage for some clever plot? You need to accept that if you go watch this film with an analytical mindset, trying to break down all of its components to judge its merits by some aristocratic standards of cinema, you’ll come out of the theaters dumber.

You boob. 

There’s a monkey giving the middle finger, more blood and gore than I expected from a PG-13 movie, and surprisingly fun jump scares.

The jokes are low brow and predictable but I still found them amusing (and pleasantly surprised there wasn’t a poop throwing scene. I fully expected it from this film).

Negan (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) is playing a token-Texan Negan.

There’s the guy (Jake Lacy) who was in the last few seasons of The Office and it seems like he’s just not giving a damn about being part of this film. Actually, no one seems like they’re giving even half of an effort except the American treasure, The Rock.

Dwayne_Johnson_2,_2013.jpg

Respect.

Seriously. He seems like an awesome guy.

Anyways.

In short, it’s a dumb film with some really well-done moments that if you were to see those moments by themselves in isolation, you might be tricked to believing that its a better quality movie than it actually is.

In some sense, I guess it’s respectable effort given the source material…

rampage-1
Source Material

…and probably the best film adaptation of a video game I’ve ever seen…

…Wow. I just depressed myself a little.

Umm.

Yeah.

Go see this film for a mindless fun. Just sit back, sip on your soda, and enjoy. It’ll be as worthwhile as spending that 25 cents back in the day to play the arcade game at the bowling alley.

Except this time you’ve spent 20 dollars and 2 hours of your life.

I’m going to go look through the list of film adaptations of video games to see if I can cure myself of this depression.

 

Expected: 2 / 10

Got: 4 / 10

 

 

4dx
No. No, you’re not. You’re in a cheap imitation of an amusement park ride that’s imitating an experience in a movie. You’re in a derivative of a derivative. Might as well spin around in your office chair and say you’re in a tornado. Have your office friends throw stuff at you for a more authentic experience than 4DX. You’re welcome.

Wait.

I’m not done yet.

Just don’t do the 4DX.

Just why? Why does this exist as the means to save the theaters?

Do kids really enjoy this?

The 4DX experience preview was better than the actual experience watching the film.

Water spray smelled funny.

Air blow was annoying.

The seat shook and tilted too much that it turned from fun to a road trip across the Rockies on a Daewoo Tico.

AND I KNOW. I’m sure there are a lot of you out there who enjoy it very much and I seem like a guy who finds shaking canes at dead cats and being charmingly anachronistically racist as my idea for fun.

a. s. aramiru.jpg
Hi. A. S. Aramiru revealed.

But as it is now, 4DX is a gimmick and films haven’t found a way to properly incorporate this technology to actually enhance the experience.

It’s just distracting.

I felt like I was sitting on a lap of a Russian circus strongman as he rocked me and shook me around while watching the film.

I see potential with the technology purely based on its preview experience but have doubts any studio will invest the effort and money necessary to synchronize film experience with the 4DX experience.

Prove me wrong, Hollywood. Or Bollywood.

 

Expected: Nothing

Got: F***ed

 

ARAMIRU CAN’T SMELL NOTHIN’ CAUSE OF ALLERGIES!

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Short Story: The Devil & Me (Part 3)

~ Aramiru ~ 4 Comments

Part 1

Part 2

14 Years and 10 months

 

There are days that are more memorable than most. The kind of days that people relive in their minds through their entire lives. Sometimes we know it before those kinds of days happen but, more often than not, they tend to be a surprise gift. A happy accident.

But for some, even those serendipitous days are marked by something constant. A constant that refuses to wane or be forgotten. The blot on each page of their lives. Nothing short of a real-life curse. An imp sitting over their heads who nested somewhere deep within their minds and hearts.

Bleeding into their senses. Their wisdom. And their beings.

It’s there when they laugh. There when they love. And even there when they cry. Even as their tears roll down their cheeks, it’s the voice that tells them it’s not enough and yet they should be ashamed for giving into it.

For Suzie Lee the week on the lake with her friends and their chaperones would remain one of her happiest and the most adventurous moments of her childhood. It was her days that were more memorable than most.

They canoed through the wakes of the wild waters. They hiked through the creaking trees and where the wildlife cooed and watched. There was even an encounter with a bear and what was the most frightening moment of these young girls lives, in the end, became just another chapter of their adventure.

The fourth evening of their seven-day trip would be the most memorable moment for Suzie. But it would exist as almost a pocket memory of its own. Not because of the Devil but because it was another blot on an otherwise a perfect memory.

A more painful blot because it would have been, otherwise, a perfect childhood memory.

Suzie sat on the dock. Their red and yellow canoes were beached off on the side. The setting sun painted the lake with a blue and purple hue. The few islands they’ve visited filled the horizon like black domes, slowly losing their details to the fading light.

Blanketed by the grandiose nature and its twilight lit visage, Suzie wondered how difficult it’d be for her to drown herself in the lake.

If she pencil dived, no one might notice.

Pockets full of rocks.

A steely determination.

And then… fade away.

Into the cold.

Into the darkness.

No. Be real. Suzie told herself.

Pencil dive.

Pockets full of rocks.

A violent struggle.

Water pouring in through every crevice of her body.

Filling her lungs and stomach.

Possible last minute of regret.

Then… fade away.

Dangling in the cold. In the darkness. Her corpse gently being pushed one way or the other by the current.

Friends would cry. The family would cry. They’d blame themselves without realizing that the person who should be blamed the most was already gone.

And at that moment, Beelzebub appeared before Suzie in the most unnerving way that’d he would ever appear before her in her life.

From the distance, a familiar head slowly poked above the surface of the calm lake.

Beelzebub slowly ascended until he stood on the surface of the lake and stared at Suzie from afar.

He then took his steps towards her and for the first time, Suzie found herself being startled and nervous to see the Devil. She looked behind her at her friends and chaperone in a gregarious clamor. They had no idea that the Lord of the Flies had appeared. She knew they’d be of no help.

By the time she looked back, Beelzebub already stood before her with a stern look that she had never seen him with. But the dock was higher than the surface of the lake, so the Devil glared upwards at the young teen.

“Well, this just isn’t that menacing is it?” Beelzebub said. He climbed up to the dock and stood over Suzie.

“That’s better,” the Devil remarked.

“Hey,” the teen greeted her visitor.

“Hey,” the Devil replied.

“I didn’t call for you, y’know?” Suzie remarked.

“Your precious heart that wants to kill itself did,” the Devil didn’t sound much concerned.

“My heart, huh?” Suzie didn’t seem too impressed neither. “I have to be some special kind of a fuck-up if my crying, bleeding heart calls out to you instead of the other guy.”

“Well, gee, sorry for being a good friend and being there for you in your time of need. You were a lot cuter and more appreciative when you were younger.”

The Devil looked over to the campsite. Girls and women laughing. Telling stories. Eating snacks.

“Why can’t you just go there and enjoy yourself?” The Devil asked.

The girl did not answer.

“You were so happy… during this trip. Weren’t ya?” The Devil looked at Suzie who was still staring off to the lake with disinterest.

“I was,” Suzie finally replied. “And I think I am. Happy.”

“But?”

“But what? I can breathe. I’m healthy. I’m with friends. My mom and pop have their issues but I know others have it worse. I should be goddamn happy. I’d be an ungrateful bitch not to be happy. I know that, okay? I know that. I’m so fucking happy.”

“…But?”

“….It’s as if… as if…” Suzie grew more and more agitated. These questions. Her feelings. Her lack of a better answer. The shame of admitting these answers. The embarrassment. “None of this is real? It’s all fading? And I’m just… never going to be able to hold on to anything. And I don’t… I don’t want tomorrow to come because it has to all start over again… and no matter what happens I’ll feel the same. Like something’s broken. Like I’m not good enough for anything. And I can’t get better. I want to be better but I can’t. And I’m so tired of it. I can’t even appreciate… appreciate that I’m out here. I’m just going to mess it all up somehow. I am messing it up.”

Suzie held her tongue. She was rambling. She felt silly. She felt trivial. She didn’t deserve to complain or feel bad.

Beelzebub to let silence come over them. Let them soak in what was said and what they were feeling.

“You thought about getting a shrink?” The Devil carefully asked.

“No. I just feel weird talking to some stranger about my problems. Like shit, you only care because I’m paying you.”

“Well there’s another way,” The Devil smirked.

“…My soul for the cure?”

“…Yeah,” The Devil seemed a bit embarrassed that Suzie stole his punchline.

“Does it work?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t think it was some sort of a solution.”

Suzie stared at the Devil for a little while and turned back towards the lake.

“Look, I know this beast better than you’ll ever know. It’ll only get worse,” Beelzebub began to make his case. “You’ll feel like you’re always running from your own shadow. And when you stand still it’ll be larger than you remember. You’ll have moments when you forget but those are the moments you’ll realize later just how sick you really are. Hopelessness.”

Suzie buried her face into her arms.

“You’re going to live your life feeling like you’re always just head above water. I’m the guy on the boat. But for me to give you my hand. To throw you the life jacket, I need something from you. I can’t help you without that.”

“…I believe you,” Suzie replied without looking up.

“But?”

“But.”

“You know,” Beelzebub felt flustered. What couldn’t she understand?

“At the end of the day who’s been there for you? When you felt like no one could hear those screams inside, when no one could tell that you were messed up. When you’ve felt alone, rejected, and unheard. Who was there for you?”

“You”

“But?!”

“But, you’re you. You’re the devil. You want my soul. That’s what you do.”

“Because I want you to be with me. I want you to be part of what I’m building.”

“And I don’t want to give it,” Suzie finally looked up. “Isn’t this fine the way it is?”

“And what is this, exactly? You don’t think I’m like a shrink? Just coming for your soul? Except I can actually help you.”

“Do you love me?” Suzie stared into the Devil’s eyes.

“What?”

They stared in silence.

“Let’s not get gross, kiddo, alright?” This isn’t… that. Don’t get full of yourself.”

Suzie still stared in silence.

I wasn’t. She mouthed.

“I’m just asking. Do you love me?” She spoke.

“I love more of you than any of you will ever realize,” Beelzebub answered.

“You’re not my shrink. Far as I know our sessions have been free,” Suzie smiled. “I’ve already said no. Or maybe I’m fucking pathetic. I don’t know. But I like you as a friend. Friends tied by odd circumstances. You’ll always want my soul and I’ll always say no. Though the temptations there somewhere. Because this sucks.”

“Life?”

“Knowing that there’s something wrong with me and not being able to do anything about it. That I am the way I am.”

It was a question Beelzebub often pondered. She was the way she was. He was the way he was. But why?

“Is there a God?” Suzie asked.

“Who knows,” Beelzebub answered. It was not a question he could answer. Some of his brothers would tell her “no” or “yes”. Whichever they determined would help the case. But Beelzebub, without truly understanding why, believed his answer to be the correct one.

“If you’re real, He must be as well, right? I hope? For humanity’s sake?”

“That is being hopeful,” Beelzebub gave a sly smile. “Believing that there must be another side to this coin. What if this is it? What if I’m all you get? What’s worse?”

“Must be lonely for you,” Suzie said empathetically.

“What?”

“At least, we get to believe. Hope. But you already know. Whether there is or isn’t. Either way, I’d feel like that’d be more lonely. More hopeless. Helpless. I don’t know. Maybe that’s why you come to see me.”

“You really were a better company when you were younger,” Beelzebub chuckled as he pulled out a cigar from thin air. Already cut and lit.

“Then stop coming to see me then.”

Beelzebub took a drag of his cigar and released the smoke into the twilight horizon.

“…can I try?” Suzie asked.

“You’re too poor for this,” Beelzebub answered.

“Suzie?”

“Yeah?” Suzie darted her head around to see her friend.

“We’re making s’mores and we were getting worried. Come join us?”

“Yeah! Sorry!” Suzie quickly looked around to see that the Devil was already gone.

Suzie and her friend chattered and walked back towards the camp as if nothing had happened. As if she had felt nothing. And when she looked back, all there was the empty dock and the beautiful scenery.

No Devil.

She won’t ask him to come back soon or that she’ll miss him.

They were what they were.

∗∗∗

 

Usually, when Beelzebub entered his bar in Hell, it tended to be a bit more cheery. Nods from patrons here and there, some hellos, some flirtations, and sometimes even cheers on more festive nights.

But only choking stillness awaited him this evening.

The bar was full but silent.

Patrons spoke only in sparse whispers.

Obviously uncomfortable, but none willing to be the first to leave. Or at least, none willing to seem like they were eager to leave.

They all glanced at Beelzebub with a spark of hope in their eyes. Pleading eyes that cried,

‘Help.’

And then they quickly turned their heads to their own crowds. Afraid that they would offend that one patron in the bar.

That one patron sat alone by the barside. Eating his order of liver and pomegranate with few flatbreads on the side. He had brought his own bottle of wine and offered some to the barkeep, Binkle, who graciously took the drink.

Beelzebub knew it wasn’t Michael. He knew soon as he opened the doors that there were only two beings that could unnerve the denizens of Hell to such extent and make the Lord of the Flies so tense.

“Brother,” Beelzebub carefully called out as he walked over to the patron.

The Brother once had a name.

A beautiful name bestowed upon him by his father.

But it was a name that’s been long forsaken. Only used to recite the Brother’s wrath.

“It’s gotten better,” the Brother spoke of his meal without looking up. “New cook?”

“No,” Beelzebub answered. “Same cook. He’s just gotten better.”

“Always better for the people you already have to improve than to hire new,” Brother cut and ate a generous bite of the liver. He then took a bite of the flatbread. Then took a sip of his wine.

“The bread could be the next thing to improve,” the Brother commented.

“Is that why you’re here? To be Hell’s Duncan Hines?” Beelzebub was irked by Brother’s presence but was careful to not let his emotions slip. And even more careful in choosing his words and attitude. He always thought it was better to not treat his brother with not an overt reverence that may be perceived as sycophancy, rather, simply seem respectful with gentle show hostility.

The Brother smiled.

 

“You’ve been going to the mortal realm,” Brother still didn’t bother to look at Beelzebub. Still focused solely on his meal.

“Yeah.”

“To see a girl?”

“Yep.”

“Is it love? Lust?” The Brother said the latter with subtle, but violent disdain.

“Neither.”

“Good.”

The Brother didn’t question Beelzebub. He knew that Beelzebub and his other brothers were far too wise to lie to him.

There the two sat, along with the rest of the patrons, in uncomfortable silence. Beelzebub declined a drink from Binkle. Only the Brother’s knife clanking against the plate as he cut the liver disturbed the silence.

“What is eternity without purpose?” The Brother finally spoke as he finished the last morsel of food on his plate. “What is eternity without passion?”

Beelzebub knew better than to answer one of these sorts of questions by Brother. The question was simply an invitation for a dramatic silence. A theatrical imposition rather than a thinking exercise.

“An eternity without purpose is being lost,” The Brother carefully placed the utensils onto the near immaculate plate. Neatly folded his napkin, placed it on the table, and then poured himself another glass of his wine.

“And an eternity without passion is being just a function. A perpetual, endless function.”

“And what are we trying to get at here?” Beelzebub asked with a slight snap.

“It’s embarrassing but I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole thing. For a long, long time. Why we are the way we are. Why they are the way they are. We’re at least made with purpose but what are they? And why were all of us made to be able to question our purpose? He trusted all of us so much. And yet I, his favorite, rebelled. I wanted to prove him wrong.”

“I thought it was to show him that we’re fine without his rules. His demands. That we can make a world for ourselves,” Beelzebub waved Binkle over as a way of ensuring of safe passage to pick up the plates and the utensils.

“That’s part of it. That in and of itself, I thought, made Him obsolete.  I wanted to show him that he had made a mistake. The power to choose was unnecessary and perverse. I wanted to show him, ‘I am what you made of me. Happy now?’ In fact, I even had a chance to ask him that exact question before… all this.”

“What did he say to that?” Beelzebub remembered the fall. The war. It was imagined by humans to be of some sort of an actual war. In reality, they all simply left His presence. There was no bloodshed but only grievance by their brothers and sisters.

“He said, ‘You’re what you chose to be and you’ll be what you choose to be’,” the Brother scoffed. “I wonder what he thinks by what they choose to be. Rapists. Murderers. Incestuous perverts. And of those who despise Him with all of their hearts. That’s what they choose to be, father. Who is He to judge them when He’s the one who set them free? So I decided to give them a place. Here. They don’t have to live under a tyranny they can’t understand, governed by a being they don’t want to understand. Let them be, who they choose to be. What He always wanted. Everyone just doing whatever they want. Trying to make sense of choices. Trying to figure out their purpose. Trying to find their passion. Doing. Whatever. They. Want.”

“Even kill themselves,” Beelzebub chuckled.

“Or save them. Look at you. I’ve always meant us to show the ugliness of the humans to let them relish in it… but you…  you don’t want any of the humans to actually understand suffering. The absence of God. The cruel reality of having choices. To understand why they need to come here. To be free. You didn’t want that girl to kill herself.”

“There are better ways to spend a life. Better ways she can get here. The suicide bunch tends to regret and leave if they ever find that things could have been different. They’re not understanding anything. They just want the things to end. They don’t like it the way it is. So they just want it to end. They’re just trapped and they want out.”

The Brother leaned in closer than Beelzebub was comfortable with.

“But what if I wanted her dead right then and there? Get her here and then sort it out.”

Beelzebub took a moment to search for his answer. But there was only one answer.

“I’d imagine you have the power to make any of us here do whatever you want,” the Lord of the Flies spoke frankly. “We’re mere insects compared to you.”

“And what would be the point of having any of you around if I were to do that,” the Lightbringer answered as he snickered.

Beelzebub gave the Brother a look.

“I know. I know. But I’m not Him. I’m not all-powerful, all-knowing being,” the Broher let out a big sigh. “Who gives a shit. Now… now… I’m so tired. I don’t know how He can keep this up. Or maybe He just doesn’t give a shit either. And I don’t give a shit what you’re doing Beelzebub. I just wanted you to know that. That’s why I came today. You don’t have my blessings with whatever you’re doing, but I frankly don’t care. I just want to have a nice meal. A nice drink or two. And maybe drive out somewhere to stare at the full moon as my dessert. That’s what’s on my mind.”

The Brother looked deeply into Beelzebub’s eyes.

“You know your purpose. Maybe you’ve found your passion. Who am I to get in your way? But looking at you. I admit I do feel lost about myself,” the Brother didn’t take his eyes off of Beelzebub. “So you have my blessings to do whatever the fuck you want.”

Beelzebub waved Binkle over. An odd sense of liberation washed through him.

“You want your drink?” Binkle asked.

“Vodka—” Beelzebub answered.

“Why?” the Brother interjected. “Is my drink not good enough for you?”

“Just bring me a wine glass.”

 

 

The overdue Part 3.

I think this is the part that had the most correct… soul *ba-dum-tss* and tone of the story.

There’s a lot of ideas here that could use some incubation time to properly develop and hatch. If I were to go through the editing and the rewrite process for this short story, this is the part that’d I’d look over first.

It was always planned to make the story mature as Suzie matures. To make the ideas, the odd philosophies, and the tone fit Suzie’s age. But there still has to be some sort of a deft and recognizable uniformity that carriers from section to section of the story.

I think the contrast is clear when comparing this part with Part 1. The story originally began as sort of a comedic short from a goofy idea I had while working other projects. The first part is really clear of that. But as the idea developed, it became something else.

And this is why editing and rewrites are important to a story. Because sometimes it’s hard to predict or plan how a story may develop or what new ideas, insights, and outlook you may get for your story.

Anyways. Sorry for the delay & thanks for reading!

ARAMIRU OUT!

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Short Story: The Devil & Me (Part 2)

~ Aramiru ~ 4 Comments

10 Years & 7 months Old

O’ Where art thou, my lord?

My king. My savior. My hope.

I’ve asked and received not.

I’ve sought and found not.

And I’ve knocked and still find myself trapped in this rot.

Or was the fly the answer for what I’ve been asking.

The savior that I’ve been seeking.

The angel that you’ve sent to hark my knocking.

Am I supposed to know my lord of your words in silence?

Or am I supposed to find faith in his words that answered?

It was a little something written by Suzie Lee and it was meant to be for her eyes only. But Beelzebub decided to take it off her hands and read it as Suzie watched from her bed.

“I know it’s a mish-mash of Shakespeare and something you probably heard somewhere on TV and church—but not bad. Not bad for a ten-year-old” Beelzebub remarked. “But ‘Hark‘? Is that word being used correctly here?”

Suzie shrugged.

It had been a long while since she had seen Beelzebub. To the devil’s surprise, the girl only seemed a bit startled when he appeared from the corner of her room.

Beelzebub thought the room was quite an ordinary room for a ten-year-old girl who summoned the devil. Books, dolls, a desk, and a bed. The walls were painted pink.

“How you doing, kid? Been a while.” Beelzebub sat by Suzie on the bed. “That’s mean. I know you’re not all sunshines right now, otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

From the living room below, there was a gentle rumble of noise that’d come and go as if it was the palpitations of the house. Every once in a while either a male or a female voice would shred through the rumble and you’d be able to make out a word or two. And sometimes, both would scream and stomp and Suzie would get embarrassed that perhaps she wasn’t alone as she felt and others would find out. Or maybe they already knew.

“Why didn’t you come back since then? People didn’t believe me,” Suzie asked with a little trace of sorrow.

“Are you mad?” Beelzebub asked playfully. “You know people would literally kill to have me show up. And look at you. Not a drop of blood on you. No goats. No lambs. No virgins. Nada. I should be the one that’s mad!”

“No, I’m not mad,” Suzie answered with a smile. The devil smiled back.

“I figured you were probably busy. Probably doing some important stuff.”

“And I was,” Beelzebub walked by the room’s door.

Suzie’s mom raised her voice. Then the dad raised his even higher.

“Do they ever just go at it?” Beelzebub asked.

“You… are not an angel are you?” Suzie carefully asked. “What’s your name?”

“I’m an angel,” Beelzebub answered. Suzie’s eyes widened. “Though not the kind that you may mean. Name’s Beelzebub.”

“They do. They used to hide it before,” Suzie decided to answer the devil’s after all though she seemed a little confused by what Beelzebub meant. “Can I call you Beezy?”

“No. No you may not,” Beelzebub replied.

“Why?” Suzie asked.

Beelzebub chose not to answer.

An awkward silence wafted across the room.

“I feel like I started it,” Suzie finally confessed.

“Why?”

“I said something. They started arguing. And then mom said something about this is why I lie about you. And I said you were real. Then they started fighting.”

“Ah,” Beelzebub made his way back to Suzie’s bed and sat next to her once again.

“I didn’t even get to finish my lasagna,” Suzie buried her face into her knees.

“So, that’s why you called for me?” Beelzebub’s eyes lit up a bit. “Not the lasagna but because of your parents?”

The child didn’t answer.

“Well, I’m flattered that you’ve thought of me but just so we’re clear. I’m not working for Him,” Beelzebub pointed up. “Whatever you and I decide to do—it’ll be between just you and I.”

“I see,” Suzie’s eyes were moist and left spots on her pants.

“Promise your soul and I’ll make sure your parents stay together,” Beelzebub stood and offered his hand with a grin.

Suzie stared at the devil in silence. Contemplating his offer. The moment lasted long enough for Beelzebub to feel a bit awkward.

“No,” the girl finally answered.

“No?”

“No. I think it’ll be better for them if they just got divorced,” Suzie wiped away her tears. “It’ll make me sad and I’ll miss having them both very much but it’s what’s best. That’s not why I called you anyway.”

“So what did you call me for then?” Beelzebub sat back down again.

“I just wanted to see again that you were real,” Suzie paused. “And…”

“And?”

“And I didn’t want to be alone.”

Tears begin to flow down Suzie’s face again. There was a period of time after her infancy where Suzie refused to cry. Even as a child she felt embarrassed and, without being able to form the words for it, Suzie felt like it was a sign of weakness.

Even when she had sand kicked in her face.

Even when she saw her little crush hold hands with another girl.

Or even when her mom and dad said something mean—Suzie refused to cry.

But as she grew older, Suzie found crying easier and more natural. There were more things to cry about than when she was younger. Reasons that she’d never have imagined as a child and types of pain that life can dish out that a young child couldn’t have known.

Life became more complicated and painful as she learned to interpret it. A baby mumbles. A child speaks. An adult expresses. All came at a cost.

But to her credit, crying would be a rare and private affair for Suzie for the rest of her life.

“Is that going to cost me my soul?” Suzie asked.

“Not today,” Beelzebub conceded.

“Well,” Beelzebub thought for a moment. “Unless you want to give me your soul for the lasagna?”

“No,” Suzie giggled. “Why do you want my soul anyway?”

“More the merrier at my kingdom.”

“At Hell?”

“Hell’s got a pretty bad PR but it’s not what you think,” Beelzebub rubbed Suzie’s head.

“Uh huh,” Suzie brushed away the devil’s hand.

“Why don’t I just tell you a bedtime story so you can fall asleep and I can be on my way.”

“Okay,” Suzie made her way underneath her blanket.

“I’m going to tell you about…” Beelzebub thought carefully about what would be a good bedtime story for a young girl. “…Ghengis Khan. He was fun. Wait till I tell you about what he did with babies.”

“Okay,” Suzie seemed gleeful.

“Hey, Beelzebub?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s a PR?”

∗∗∗

 

About three years ago, Michael the Archangel visited Beelzebub’s bar in Hell called The Center after the devil visited the mortal realm to meet Suzie for the first time.

“Brother,” Michael spoke with heavenly grace and paternal stern. “We need to talk.”

“No,” Beelzebub sipped on his drink. “No, we really don’t.”

Other patrons of the bar slowly excused themselves as the gold-haired archangel stared down Beelzebub.

“You know the rules, brother mine,” A seat next to Beelzebub was open but Michael chose to stand. “And you’ve broken them. Why?”

“You see,” Beelzebub clicked his tongue. “You see, Mikey, I don’t relly need to tell you a goddamn thing.”

Michael cringed at Beelzebub taking the Father’s name in vain.

“You have a problem? He has a problem?” Beelzebub walked over to Michael. The devil took a moment to take in the archangel’s anachronistic white robe before grabbing Michael’s hand and folding the archangel’s fingers into a fist.

“Kill me,” Beelzebub said as he placed his forehead on the archangel’s knuckles. “Do it.”

“Don’t be childish, brother,” Archangel lowered his hand.

Beelzebub chuckled. He gave nervous Binkle a look and sat back down. He sipped on his drink and stared at the TV.

The archangel stood and waited for the devil.

“Y’know,” Beelzebub remained focused on the TV. “Your brothers down here and I often wonder why you and Father let us live. Do you even know?”

“I follow His will. I trust that He knows best,” Michael answered.

“So you want to kill us?”

“No, brother. I have no malice in my heart for you and the others. Only pity.”

“Pity,” Beelzebub scoffed and downed his drink. He waved Binkle at for another who glanced at the archangel as he served his master a vodka tonic.

“Get him a juice box or something,” Beelzebub told Binkle.

“You…” Binkle cleared his throat. “…You want a juice box?”

Michael stared Binkle for a moment. Binkle wasn’t sure if his heart had stopped for a moment because of the sheer beauty of the archangel or the fearsome power he posed.

“Yes,” Michael answered. “Do you have the Berry Blast?”

“…Do you have money?” Binkle asked.

“Do you think he has money?” Beelzebub snapped. “Does that robe look like it has pockets? Just put it on my tab.”

Binkle came around the bar and gave the archangel his juice box with the bendy straw. The archangel still refused to sit.

“What is it that you want to do for the girl, Beelzebub? For the humans?” Michael asked after a sip.

“I ANSWER THEM,” Beelzebub finally turned away from the TV. “I. Answer. Their. Prayers. What do you do? When was the last time you were there for them, Michael?”

“It’s not our position to interfere,” Michael placed the juice box on the bar table. “It is against what’s best for them.”

“What’s best for them? Okay,” Beelzebub stood and faced the archangel again. “What do you know what’s best for them? Whatever He told you was best for them? Where were you when a kid prayed for his mother to be saved as he watched her being beaten, raped and then chopped off limb by limb? Where were you when the parents are crying for His grace as their baby dies? Where–”

“Do NOT question my love for them brother!” Michael interrupted the devil. “DO NOT THINK FOR A SECOND THAT I DO NOT FEEL THE PAIN FOR THEIR SUFFERING!”

“THEN TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG WITH THEM BEING HAPPY!”

By now, the bar was empty. There was only Binkle, Beelzebub, and Michael. Binkle slowly descended below the bar table and held his knees tight and hoped that he’d make it through the day.

“Why can’t they just live happy lives? Why can’t we just help them have happy lives? What’s the point? Why all this? Isn’t being happy enough? Suffering will happen anyway so why not let them be as happy as they can be?” Beelzebub asked after what Binkle thought was too long of a silence.

“The meaning of their lives isn’t happiness,” Michael answered. “Life isn’t about being happy. You’ve never understood that Beelzebub.”

“Or I understand fine and you and Him are just wrong,” After a short staring contest, Beelzebub sat backdown.

“Humans,” Beelzebub grabbed a nacho that Binkle had prepared for him earlier. “I don’t think even he knows what he has spawned.”

“Hold your tongue brother.”

“I AM THE PROOF OF HIS FLAWS,” Beelzebub threw the basket of nachos. “Otherwise, why am I the way I am?”

“Or you’re part of his plans,” Michael calmly replied.

“Jesus,” Beelzebub spat and switched his attention back to the TV. “We are the ones who can provide salvation to His slaves. All of us here are proof that something was wrong with His plans. We’re here because we want to show Him that we don’t need someone like Him. We choose to be free. Even if the cost is losing Him.”

There was no point in talking to the devil. Their conversations were echoes from the many similar conversations of the past.

“Answer me, Beelzebub,” Michael said as he headed for the exit. “What is love to you?”

“What is love?” Beelzebub didn’t turn to look at his angelic brother even as he left. “You tell me.”

“Something beyond happiness. Something beyond the present.”

The door closed behind the archangel.

The devil sipped on his drink as he turned up the volume of the TV.

His bartender placed in front of him some olives

There would be no other customers that evening.

Last drinks were served.

The TV turned off.

And the two retired quietly into the night.

 

Re-reading Part 2 to post on the blog reminded me why I ultimately didn’t push forward with this project when I was working on it.

While I’ll save all of my comments until the end for those who may be enjoying it so far, a short answer is a sort of a writer’s block that I got distracted away from when I had other projects come up.

And just for the record, these are un-edited so it might be rough in some parts and probably would have benefited quite a bit from going through the refinery i.e. an editor as all writing stuff tends to do.

Thanks for reading!

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