cdiesta

Wrath writes an essay from the underworld:

I’ve been wondering why I have so much hatred in me

Life coaches and motivational speakers will probably tell you that hatred is unhealthy and it will destroy you as a person, but for me, it's as healthy as it gets.

Of course, I’ve been working on my self awareness and my thoughts are this stems from a bunch of unappealing childhood experiences. I’m not trying to justify how I function, mind you, I’m just trying to make sense of it so that you, the reader, understand just why I think hatred is a good fuel.

Now I can’t really delve into the details of my childhood without revealing who I am, but, just so you have a picture–it had some bullying, a few fuck ups, and a lot of disappointment–usually coming from the grown-ups.

As a child, your initial reaction, like how a horse will kick when startled, is to try to live up to everyone’s expectations, and satisfy everyone’s image of you. The thing is, this is the first destructive drug a child can get introduced to, and destructive drugs can cause, well, destruction.

You will work and chase that image of you that everybody wants, but it always seems out of reach. You work harder, chase with more gusto, but no bueno. Why does that image seem to be close but you don’t seem to get closer? You wonder this and you think of solutions but you get nothing. Eventually, while thinking, you realize you’re no longer a child. Along with this realization, you see your legs are still going. You’re still chasing and just a sniff of approval is enough to keep you going for one more lap, one more day, one more lifetime.

And I hate that cycle. I hate that I’m stuck. I have so much hatred for the system that I do my best to go against it. I do things that please me, not the masses. I write things that make me happy, I create, and I’m happy then. I’m happy because I started to hate. Therefore, I’m happy because I hate.

It even works with relationships. You have so much hatred to give to people that in one unsatisfactory sweep of their hands, you’re ready to kick them out. One wrong comment on one correct moment is enough for you not to give a damn about them for the remainder of your interactions. You’re not going to try to “make it work” or “make amends.” You sniff the wrong scent and they are out of it. Hating people usually go hand in hand with loving people. Love and hate are distant cousins, so they say. They are made up of the same passion and while it doesn’t at all mean that “the more you love, the more you hate,” they are very similar in terms of feeling.

The most loving people can be the most hateful, for we already know that they are capable of that level of intensity. When you love, you can do anything for that person. Similarly, when you hate, you can go out of your way just to express that hatred. Making an effort to make someone happy takes just about the same energy as going out of your way so someone ends up miserable.

In my opinion, this is what makes it easier for a human being to be in the same group with people they love and people they hate, and for the observer on the outside, they see no difference. This is because humans in normal day-to-day interactions are usually set on neutral. Talking to a person you love, neutral. Talking to a person you hate? Neutral. It is when you express your feelings that it becomes more difficult to seclude. Difficult…but possible, nonetheless.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, cultivate that hatred and anger and use it to your advantage. The Catholic see it as a sin to nurture Wrath, but Wrath will help you filter the bullshit in your life. Wrath will help you see why you hate your life and Wrath will make you do your best so you can remove yourself from the unhappy. Wrath will help you identify when it’s right to talk to someone about a disagreement, or when it is just better for you to burn their bridge.

Wrath isn’t always destroying, bursting to flames, or inflicting hurt. Wrath, like the other Deadly Sins, can be an occasional friend who will nudge you in the correct direction so you do not hate yourself.

It's Saturday and I missed my train

Maybe it was the flowers dancing to the wind for the sun

Or the music that played through the old headphones you gave me when were nine

But when I looked ahead, the doors were closing,

And I couldn't go in and

So much things I've missed by

Being a leaf in a downstream

Unable to stop the world

Around me from spinning

I am a leaf and

I am unable to go against it

I am a leaf and

I am unable to go back to my tree

The railroad tracks were wet, covered in rain that we loved to play in

I somehow catch a glimpse of you

in the falling raindrops from the

train station's waiting shed

I did not know that rain could smile

Until you did it

The train stopped

You went in

But you looked like you weren’t ready

I was going to ask

if you wanted to wait for the next train instead

But a leaf in a downstream Couldn’t speak if the downstream did not deem it so

It's Saturday and I missed my train

Maybe it was the flowers dancing to the wind for the sun

Or the music that played through the old headphones you gave me when were nine

But when I looked ahead, the doors were closing,

And I couldn't go in and.

It was almost 9am and George was running out of time. He was driving his car like a borderline madman.

He needed to get to the meeting as early as possible. It was his big break after all.

One of the big shots will be in that meeting and he is the one who’ll be conducting it. Impress him and he may just get bumped up the corporate ladder. Even a little nudge will make all his hard work worth it.

Thinking of how much money he’ll make and how he’ll be finally able to fix his marriage, he did not notice a dark figure in the middle of the road until the very last second.

Jesus! He thought, for a fraction of a second.

However, that fraction of a second was enough for him to have a whole other batch of thoughts.

There’s roadkill everyday. It’s probably a stray.

I only have ten minutes to get to the meeting. I can’t stop and check some mutt who doesn’t have that long of a lifespan anyway.

Alright, whatever.

He floored it. However, much to his surprise, his car stopped completely and the engine died.

Great.

With a giant sigh, he turned the key and stepped out his car. He checked his watch as well.

8:48

This road he takes was always empty around this time, so he is at least fortunate that no one was there to see him and his deed.

Checking under his hood, he could not find anything wrong. His hand was on the way to scratch his head of dumbfoundedness when he thought of checking whatever he hit.

There was the lifeless body of a black dog just meters away from where his car went full-stop. The blood was fresh and his tires had blood tracks from where the dog lay.

This was a street that did have a lot of establishments, and although it was mentioned before that this was usually empty during this hour, people also usually come out and check when hearing a ruckus.

The photo shop, the variety store, the barber’s—all appeared to be open and yet not a soul stepped out to check. This would strike as odd to anyone, but I guess our protagonist was too preoccupied with having to go to his important meeting with important people that he did not think of it as a big deal. If anything, he felt relief that he was not being looked upon with inquisitive eyes.

“Hey!” A voice said.

George jumped. Where did that come from!? He thought. He looked around. Nothing.

“Down here, bud!”

George looked around, nervous. There was no-one around him. Did the voice say down?

“In the road, doofus. I’m right here!”

His eyes scanned the road and in a perfect distance of “in the middle” of his car and the body of the dog, was a white piece of….thing?

George was not sure what it was. He walked toward it and looked at it. It looked like some kind of paw from some kind of animal. It was white and fluffy, so definitely not the dog?

George thought he was going crazy. He checked his watch again.

8:48

He was running out of time! Wait. Wasn’t that the same time as earlier? That’s a little bit slow, isn’t it?

“Stop checking your watch! You are not getting out of here without my help. Pick me up!”

Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the situation that led him to do it, or maybe the hopelessness that he wasn’t going to make it to the meeting anyway so what the hell, but George picked up the paw and asked out loud,

“What are you?”

He instantly felt stupid when the words came out of his mouth.

“What am I?” The voice said. Okay, maybe not as stupid. He was either talking to himself or he was dead and this was the afterlife. “I’m a rabbit’s foot, dummy!”

Aha, so that’s what it was. “What do you want me to do? I’m sorry I killed your friend!”

He said, glancing at the dead dog across him.

“My friend!? That dog was no friend of mine. He was about to eat me when you saved my life!”

George thought of asking how a rabbit’s foot is “alive” but stopped himself as he thought that if this was a hallucination, he was just making himself look more delirious.

“Anyway,” The rabbit foot continued, “As the rules go, whoever saves me gets three wishes, so make it quick and we’ll all go on with our lives.”

George instantly knew that this was a dream. Perhaps he was still in his bed right now, having a good night’s sleep. This is when he decides to go along with, what he calls, his first lucid dream.

“Alright,” He said. It felt less ridiculous talking to a rabbit’s foot now that he knows he’s dreaming. “I want to get to my meeting.”

“Done.” The foot immediately replied. “Once I snap time back up, you’ll be there in your fancy office building.”

“You stopped time?” George instinctively asked. He was used to asking questions when he did not understand things, and it looked like that carried on to his dream.

“Of course. Its part of the rules. I can’t just give wishes while everything around you is going on, can I?”

That made sense. Wow, he’s good at dreaming. This is all so elaborate.

“Your next wish? I want to be free already, bub” the rabbit foot said. George could hear the impatience of the voice.

“I want to be rich! Fill my pockets with loads and loads of bills!” He thought it was ridiculous, but it was just a dream after all! He wanted to experience swimming in dollar bills, like the music videos, even just in a dream.

Immediately after finishing his sentence, he felt his pocket fill with paper and not a second later, it was overflowing to the road. It was just like he imagined!

It was like his pockets were straight up printing money. He marveled at them and in his excitedness, he deliberately fell on his back and in his mind, the money will be enough to catch him, like the scenes in the cartoons. He was in a dream after all. What’s the worst that could happen? Wake up?

“FUCK!” shouted George.

Extreme pain was coming from the back of his head. What the hell was this dream!?

“This isn’t a dream, you know. You should’ve asked.” Said the Rabbit Foot.

“You can—“ George said, between breaths. This hurt. A lot. He felt like his skull cracked. It was painful.

“You should have expected this to happen. You hurt a creature, you get hurt.” Whispered the voice. It felt malicious while saying this. “Your last wish?”

George figured it out in his head, and solved the problem. In his dream, he was being punished because he hit a dog with his car. He knew exactly what the Foot wanted him to wish for.

“I want the black dog I hit to be okay.”

“That’s three.”

Darkness.

It was around 9am when in the middle of the reception of Building 4210 in Business Street, office workers were stopped in their tracks.

A man was in the middle of the lobby, with his face disfigured, his crushed bones exposed, and his blood dripping to the inexpensive carpet.

He sounded like he was saying something, but they couldn’t tell. His mouth was nowhere to be found and in its place was just red, bleeding flesh, so all they heard were noises. He looked like he was ran over by a car.

Why they couldn’t just walk along, though, is because around this disfigured man was money.

A whole pool of dollar bills.

The first office worker to get a handful was looked down upon, but in no time, everyone was picking up the cash. Where else can you get free money? The disfigured man, unaware of the chaos around him, screamed and screamed but no one could hear him once the clamor for the paper drowned him.

Meanwhile, in a street just a couple of blocks away from the building, a black dog wagged his tail happily at strangers who petted him.

One of the strangers even carried him and that made him a lot happier!

11:21pm

I left that party earlier than I expected, but I also did not expect it to be that…un-fun.

The people were utterly boring and Ann—who invited me there, talked to me for a good five minutes before ditching me in the wild.

One problem: I am all out of money for a taxi and the best I can do is a bus home. I have been walking for a good hour but I have not seen a single chariot of public transportation just yet. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any vehicles.

I don’t remember the road being this unoccupied when I arrived earlier by Grab. I know, if I had money to Grab from home, why not to home, right? Well…I wanted to look good when I arrived? Come on, don’t judge a brother.

Plus, I was pretty sure I was going to hitch a ride from whoever was going my general direction, but clearly leaving the party early did not include these perks.

Did I take a wrong turn somewhere? It’s just that this is all so unfamiliar and I am usually pretty good at remembering landmarks. I can’t really check my phone for GPS since I’m all out of mobile data, so I’m stuck with my instincts.

Wait.

Over there.

A light.

This has been the only sign of civilization since I left Ann’s house, and I am ecstatic to at least ask another living soul for directions—or at least where I am. Jesus if they could ask me how my day was I’ll definitely oblige—the hour of walking is exhausting.

As I come closer, I see that the light is coming from a small establishment. A convenience store.

YES!

I push open the glass door and the chimes signify that a customer has arrived.

A cheerful-looking lady await me in the cashier.

Her mouth opened a little and she looked surprised to see me. Maybe she was expecting to slack off the whole evening.

“Welcome to 8-12! Open 8 days a week, 12 months long!” she chimed in a loud and cheerful—but monotonous—tone. I still heard her hesitation though, so I guess she really wasn’t expecting someone to come in at this hour.

Also…what a weird catchphrase. I don’t give it another thought as companies are known to make some kind of catchy slogan that doesn’t really make sense.

I make my way to the counter.

“Hello miss. Do you happen to know which way the nearest bus station is?” I ask.

She looks at me like I asked her why she’s not giving me the money in the counter. She does not answer though.

“The bus station. Or bus stop. Do you know where it is?”

“Delivery is early.” She murmured.

“Sorry?” What did she mean by that? Are the buses here the type that carry cargo like fruits and vegetables on it as well? I mean I’m fine with that but does she mean that I missed it?

“Uh nothing.”

There goes my hopes that someone might point me to the right direction.

I sigh and suddenly, I realize that I haven’t eaten since I left home. I mean I drank a little beer with some chips in the party, but that doesn’t really count.

Alright, if I’m going to continue my journey home, I better get myself something to eat first. I check my phone and see that the time is 11:41. That’s how long I took?

I browse along the shelves and found me a chicken sandwich and soda. This should be enough to get to the bus stop—wherever the fuck it ends up being.

As I walked to the counter, I see a convex security mirror and can’t help myself. I pull out my phone and take a mirror selfie on it. This will be a good story to tell to my friends, if anything.

The cashier is still looking at me weird as I put down my items on counter top. She toots them both and says, “120 pesos, sir.”

Ain’t that a bit expensive? I don’t say that though, as I am too hungry to discuss anything.

My train of thought is interrupted when I notice that she is pointing to the table in the corner. “Please, have a seat.”

You know what, maybe she’s just new here. That will explain her being jumpy and all. I walk toward the table she was pointing to and noticed something odd.

There’s a sign posted on the wall by table. Its one of those gender neutral signs you usually find outside restrooms that are both for male and female. What an extremely odd spot for this sign to be in.

I ignore it and proceed to munch on my sandwich, thinking of my plan of action. I can’t really do anything besides walk toward the same way.

Oh, eureka!

I might not have enough money for a Grab, but I can definitely purchase some mobile data for Maps.

Just before I can stand up and make my way to the counter though, a group of three men enter the store. They look about my age and I know what you’re thinking, but they don’t look suspicious to me at all.

I’ll wait for them to buy whatever they want to buy, then I’ll get my mobile data. I don’t want to be a hassle if they’re just here for a quick beer run.

I watch them converse with the cashier. Shouldn’t they just go straight to the fridges or shelves? Maybe they’re asking for a specific brand. I see the guy talking to the cashier catch a quick glance at me, and it sent shivers down my spine.

What the fuck is the deal with that?

To distract myself, I go on my phone and pretend I’m busy. As you already know, I do not have mobile data, so I don’t really have much to do. I open my Gallery to look at the memes I saved. That should keep me entertained.

I don’t do that though. Upon opening my Gallery, the latest picture I took caught my eye. I open the file and my brows furrow.

I look fine, but the cashier whose reflection should be in the mirror isn’t there. More accurately, something else is in their place. I can’t make it out for some reason, but my phone’s decent camera caught everything in crisp resolution. The cashier though—or whatever is in her place—is just a blurry shadow looking thing with a mouth.

My instincts tell me run.

However, my ears tell me that there are footsteps behind me. Pretty soon, my eyes tell me that the boy having a talk with the “cashier” is now sitting in front of me. Everything feels like its closing onto me. My ears tell me nothing now. All I hear is the sound of my own heartbeat getting louder and louder. I see him mouth the word “hello,” but I have no interest in lip-reading right now.

I slide my vision onto the security mirror once more.

I see myself

The sun is absent

Darkness should come with the cold

An unlikely meeting in the dead of night. Fiction.

Most people are so used to associating the night with peace and quiet.

People like this have probably never been to Manila, where a good chunk of the population start their routines well into the evenings, either going out to have some sort of stimulation or enjoyment or just simply going to work like the normal responsible adults do. In here, one man’s night is another man’s morning.

Gino never thought about it that much, but he has been in the graveyard shift ever since he was 18. He worked in a call center and while he has tried multiple companies in his tenure, the schedule would stay the same, as most companies looking for agents are based in the US.

If you asked Gino how old he was, he was the type who would smile and say, “Guess!” You would then give a few guesses and once he “comes clean,” you’d feel weird even though you already got your answer.

That’s because Gino is a pathological liar. He paints a picture of himself that he thinks is the most convenient for people around him, or whatever will get him what he wants. He’s the type that is so easy to talk to in the office and given his experience, you would actually find it useful to ask him for advice.

That is not what makes him dangerous, though.

What makes him dangerous, is that he believes his own lies about himself. So you’ll never know him. Never actually, truly know him, beyond skin-deep.

He believes he’s happy with his work. He tells everyone this. He is not.

He believes he’s content with what he has. He tells everyone this. He is not.

He believes he isn’t lonely. He doesn’t tell anyone this. He is not.

So imagine his surprise when I approached him while he was smoking alone in the building rooftop.

“Hi, Gino.” For privacy purposes, I will omit his last name.

“Yo man, never saw you before.” He said, stopping mid-puff to reply to me. This is another sign that this man breathes to please people. At least give yourself the pleasure of your own cigarette.

“It is time to go.” I tell him. I am being purposefully vague, as breaking the news quickly to new souls is known to cause problems.

He checks his watch as a response, taking a long inhale, and replying with a puff, “I’m not due to return until 2am, bro. I have a different schedule for my breaks.”

“No, no.” I tell him. “It is time to go with me.” I hand him over my ID.

He looks at me funny, like I said that pigs could fly, and takes my card. He reads it and his reaction turns to nausea.

“Hey, what the fuck?” A break of the character he worked so hard to make for himself. “If this is some kind of sick prank, it is not funny and I am not having it. Go bother someone else.”

I expected this response. A few millennia in this job gives you the perfect expectations when you have to carry out your duties.

I hold out my hand in front of him while he still looks at me, convinced I’m some prankster.

First, there was nothing. Then, he blinked, and in my hand was my beloved Scythe.

Gino was still looking at me in disbelief, and I know this is not enough to convince him. Times have changed, and humans believe that a lot of things are possible now. It is an age of technology, after all.

Gino did look a tiny bit impressed, though.

“Look bro, that’s actually really cool.” He said, handing me back my ID. “But I still know this is just an elaborate prank.”

This is the part where I stop thinking this is amusing and I just want to get it over with. I put my blade against his neck and pushed it, not enough to cut off his head, but enough so that he feels Scythe digging into his skin.

“FUCK!” He exclaimed. He’s definitely afraid now. I can taste it. “LOOK. I CAN GIVE YOU MONEY. YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO SHIT TO ME.”

Money.

People who doubt my ID seem to think money is what I want when I start to harvest them. Is that all they think their soul is worth?

I do have an idea, though. Something that will benefit me too.

“You want…to buy your soul?” I said.

“YES! FUCK! YOU FUCKING PSYCHO.” I can see the tears flowing from his eyes. He reached into his hoodie pocket and threw what I believe is a phone, and a wallet.

“THERE!” He screamed. “TAKE IT ALL. ALL OF MY ATM’S PIN IS 455510. SAME CODE WITH MY PHONE. TAKE IT AND LEAVE. PLEASE!”

“Ah, but that is not the payment that I want.” I say, and kick his possessions back to him. “I don’t need them.”

“HUH?” He is losing it. He’s naked to me now. That’s what fear does to you. “WHAT DO YOU WANT THEN?”

“I want the happiest memory you can think of from the last…say, 5? Too old.” I look at him and see that his face is full of sweat, tears, and drool. Not very Gino of him.

“Three, then. That’s fresh enough.” I say, a smile in my voice. I’ve been craving a snack. “The happiest memory you have from the last three years.”

“I….” Gino’s screaming has been replaced by a rather weak and surrendering tone. “I can’t think of anything.” He said.

“You don’t have to. I’ll get it for you.” I said. “You’ll forget the memory, and you’ll forget this little meeting that we had. It’s like it never happened. Until it is time again.”

“Wha- How- What do you mean when it is time again?” He asked, trembling.

“You were supposed to die today. Here. Heart attack. I think maybe too much convenience store food. I’m not a medical expert.”

“You really are Death, huh.” He falls to his knees and I can feel the coldness in his body. Even from afar, you can feel his fear.

“Through and through.” I replied. “And I don’t how long you’ll have after I give you a little extension. Only Bossman knows that.”

“Boss….man…..” He whimpered, looking up at the sky. I think he got the gist. He nods and its the signal I’ve been waiting for.

I whip up a paper contract from thin air and I hold it out in front of him. “Your palm, please. As a signature to our contract! I need it for the paperwork.”

He does not look up, and he doesn’t flinch. He has that resigned feel that I so utterly love but I have to control myself. Don’t want to paint him a bad picture of death. Although he won’t remember anyway.

Gino puts his palm on top of the paper and the paper vanishes, meaning I can take my food now.

I stab the back of his head with the wooden end of Scythe and out came the memories from his head.

They come out as little, floating threads that have a soft glow of color, depending on the emotion felt when remembering them.

The most basic ones are yellow for happy, red for anger, blue for sadness, and white for emptiness, as in no particular emotion rises up when remembering the memory.

“What the actual FUCK?” It was my turn for bad language. Gino can’t hear me anyway.

Every. Single. Memory.

They are all white.

Usually, White Memories are ones that are just part of a routine. Like a person’s dead-end job, or a commute, nothing special. I’ve seen workaholics with a lot of White Memories but this is my first time seeing one with only White. Even the most work-obsessed people had birthdays or pets or family or friends!

I was enraged!

No wonder he couldn’t remember anything to give me. He had nothing to give me! Imagine not having a single happy memory for the last three years! Did he think all these memories of “money” had the same value? Outrageous!

It is a good thing that the terms of the contract protected me of such circumstances.

And so that night, Gino, a call center agent, died in the rooftop while having a smoke.