The Land of The Dead Hero

When I was first supposed to visit my dad in prison, I already had a plan to kill him. I wanted to smuggle a sharpened ball pen inside the prison where he was incarcerated, and stab him in the stomach or in the eye socket. At the time, I took the necessary steps to make this happen. I tested and studied which sort of pen would be best suited to withstand this sort of impact - plastic was too brittle, so I settled for a metal one - and how to exactly smuggle an item into a prison in the first place. It was a rather tedious and crafty process, one even career criminals would be proud of.

Because believe me, when you come to prison for a visit, they check even kids. I remember how nervous I was at the time - not from meeting him, as I was actually quite eager about that and what I had planned to do - but from getting caught. I dissasembled the pen into many smaller pieces which I hid inside the sole of my shoe - think about the fact I was on side a genius but on the other a total idiot, because I could have smuggled a knife - and in the end managed to get through the prison security without any sort of a problem.

I remember insisting that my sister Mirka should go with me, as that was a necessary part of the plan. I was sure that if she were with me, it would bring less suspicion on me with the guards. She was relatively innocent looking. Our mother didn't want her to visit him at all, but I managed to convince her. After all, I was doing it for her. I wanted her to see what I would do. I was under the impression she hated him just as much as I - and knew, as a brother would - that she would understand my choice. Hell, maybe even down in my heart, I had hoped she would support me.

After all, it was because of him that our grandmother was dead.

And now, after serving a mere ten years, he was about to be released. And his lawyers and associates were all fighting to convince the state that the prison changed him. That he could raise us, nurture us, and show us how to live our lives.

Yeah, I was determined to fucking shank that fucker.

He broke into my grandma's home. When she was asleep. Apparently, because of some money-related dispute. He broke into her fucking home, and than just fucking killed her there. Of course, he has said it was an accident. That he wanted merely the money-as if THAT made it better-because he knew she was wealthy and felt she owed it to her daughter, his wife. My mother always said he was obsessed with her. A fact I had always hated. It creeped me the fuck out.

And to think I was named after him. That I shared the same name as this vile despicable piece of shit.

Samuel. Did you know that this name is associated with the Devil? Samael. Poison of the God. How fitting.

Yet when I saw him just sitting there...I chickened out. Or maybe I pitied him. I don't know which one it was. He was...well, he looked like a junkie. Perhaps he even was a junkie. I remember hating that too. He just looked so horribly neglected. It completely caught me off guard. In my vision of him, he was this evil demon. Almost a biblical threat, not a man but a beast that I need to diminish away from this world, if that makes any sense. But when I saw him before me for the first time...I saw a rather hopeless man. And I felt that if I took his life here and there...Maybe he would have even thanked me for it.

And I didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

And so, my plan to murder my own father was put on hold. I needed to investigate. To understand. To simply...know, if he was a person who deserved more punishment or not. After all, it wasn't that I was a complete nutcase.

He even wrote me a letter. Not to my sister, or my mother, but specifically to me. 

I still have it, and I sometimes think about it. It definitely influenced me.

In his letter, he wrote as follows:

"Dear Son,

I have wondered for many days and nights what I should write you. If I were to lie to you, and sugarcoat myself and the life I have here. If I were to sweet-talk you, so you would pay me more attention and see me in a better light. Or, for that matter, if I should write to you at all.

No. You are smarter than that. If I had lied, you would have probably figured it out.

So, I will be honest and blunt. After all, you already hate me, so if you continue hating me, nothing will even change.

Yes. I did what everyone told you. At the time, it felt as though I was doing something right. I was trying to help myself and my family. I really saw my actions in that light, as something a hero would do. You think your grandmother was an innocent soul just because she was old? She robbed your mother! Her own daughter! What sort of a person does that? She was sitting on money while your mother and I worked ourselves to death as we were expecting two kids! Those are the excuses I told myself. Those are the words that made me at peace with my actions.

Yes, my son, the human mind can be quite creative when it comes to justifying such actions to oneself.

After all, no one thinks of themselves as the bad guy. You will learn that along the way, too.

But that quickly shifted when I got to prison. Before this incident, I had only some vague ideas about it, but I immediately realized they were incorrect. I was not some career criminal-not in the slightest-but this place certainly made me into one. It is not for the faint of heart. It is a jungle, a pit of hell that will kill you, once it consumes you. It certainly has done that to me. I genuinely believe that the first and last crime I committed was out of misguided righteousness. And have since then been more careful with those feelings, for I have seen where they lead to.

Sometimes the first step into the abyss is trying to jump over it.

Even now, I don't know what I should do when I get out. However, since the law allowed me to at least try it, I consulted with my lawyer, and my appeal was successful. And as such, like I told you and your sister in person, I will be released to a world I no longer understand. That I have not seen for ten years.

And I don't want to exit that gate and have no one and nothing waiting for me. 

I don't want to not even know who my children are. How they live. What school they go to. If they have friends.

If my inmates or friends—yes, even I have some—ask me about you, right now I cannot say anything other than, "I don't know."

And I don't know how to stop you from hating me, because I believe you are right in doing so. When we met in person, it was the first time I had spoken to my children since they were born. I didn't know what words to choose. In fact, I was surprised that you actually came. But I didn't handle it well. And it still bothers me.

After all, I have hurt you and made your life miserable. I would have hated myself, too. So why am I even out here trying this? Why don't I just let you live your lives? For that, I can only answer with my selfishness. It is nothing more than that.

But still, here I am. Here I am, reaching out my hand. I hope that you - at least you - could stand there waiting for me outside that gate.

And, if your heart finds it right, show me the world behind it.

Sincerely,

Your father,

Samuel Laness"

***

When I opened my eyes, nothing had changed at all. It was still the same world, still the same faces, still the same room, the same dream turned reality.

I was reborn. It happened after my sister, or something pretending to be her, kicked what appeared to be a purple ball into nothingness. It was such a silly and ridiculous scene that I immediately thought I was dreaming.

However, no matter how much time passes, the scene remains unchanged. I have been reborn to a busty dark-haired model - this part I don't specifically mind - and some blonde miller.

I have never been fond of fantasy or comic books. That stuff was for nerds and fags. Nor did I specifically like history. After all, why care about the past when you can't do anything about it? I always believed a man should do something in the present, and that's what I lived by. I was always terrified of people not living their lives to the fullest. Of succumbing to...well, something. Be it phone, drugs, or even books.

So, I'm not sure if this was the 15th, 17th, or 13th century. It was definitely something medieval, though. I mean, the house was wooden - that's a giveaway. Surprisingly, when I was born, I did not really feel any sort of...Well, pain? Even when that midwife cut off the umbilical cord, there was no pain at all.

I remember what that woman, my mother, Anasa, told me. The very first words I heard in this world. I understood them immediately. As if I always knew this language. It was such a strange and surreal experience. Of course, the body I had was probably eventually screaming too - but I had to remind it, because everyone was...well, staring at me weird.

Anasa said: "Look Elias. Look! A blessed child!"

Well, why thank you, lady.

"Why did we have to name our cursed son after the Hero, but not her?"

Wait.

HER?

I immediately knew something was wrong. 

Oh no. No no no.

This was quickly turning into a nightmare. God was playing some tricks on me, I had to be sure. This body...I immediately knew. This body is not the same as I had before.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

"Well then we will name her after his sword..."

Aer Zolid. Well, I suppose it doesn't at least sound feminine.

But seriously what the hell?

I couldn't think too hard about it though. Elias, that well-built miller, my father, was overjoyed with my very existence. He planned on running around with me and showing me to everyone in the village. That midwife - Canalyse - tried to stop him, saying I need to rest, but before I knew it...Well, Elias couldn't be stopped.

So on the first day, I saw the watermill from the outside. It was a massive structure with four giant wooden wings, which was accompanied by two large byres. That's how I knew Elias was also a farmer, with cows and other livestock animals. He was so happy that he showed me all the animals in his house first, as if they could approve of me, and then he ran to the village. It was surreal. I was overwhelmed, and the whole thing felt like a dream. There were so many houses, so many people, so many streets and sensations.

It nearly made me vomit. 

I had to close my eyes and try to survive the whole ordeal. I was keeping them closed firmly. So firmly, I felt pain. As if I were hoping falling asleep would wake me up back in the real world. But no. No matter how I tried, that still wasn't happening.

"You are a blessed child. I have born a blessed child."

My mother, Anasa, was ecstatic about it. I have never seen a happier woman in my life. She seemed almost mad with happiness, constantly crying and touching me, and feeding me to be "strong."

But the husband or the midwife (or is she a housemaid?) didn't really stop her at all. Not until I discovered I had a brother. He was born seemingly on the same day as me, just a little earlier, but they always kept him separated. I didn't know what to make of it. I tried to listen in on their conversations - I picked up the language really quickly - but I couldn't make it out. Apparently, Anasa was dangerous for him, and she indeed expressed extreme hatred for the child. Whenever he was brought up, she always squeezed me and growled. She also cried.

God, how often that woman cried.

"That child has been touched by the Witch."

Apparently, that simple line was nothing short of a death sentence in this world, at least for my mother.

"While you have been touched by the Hero."

This is what my mother always used to say. And hey, who was I to disapprove of it? I knew next to nothing about this world, and from what I could gather, my brother had some sort of disability. Since this world is probably medieval Europe, I am not all that surprised they don't like those types. Spartans threw them off cliffs. 

Oh well, guess he got unlucky.

But the midwife, Canalyse, always protected him. She always said words like "You are delusional," or "Please, lady Zolid, calm yourself." While my mother screamed at her and called her "The Witches whore!" or "Well then take him you harlot! You want him anyway, don't you? Want to steal my son? Is that what you are after? Well then, take him! Come on! Or do you want to steal my husband, too? How about this house? Don't we need to make it bigger, before we give it over?"

Then she whispered to me and said, "Don't worry, Aer. That one has been touched by the Witch, too...But I won't let her harm you."

But Elias was the real man - his word was final in this house. And more often than not, he sided with the midwife. He said: "It is, in the end, my son. And it is not his fault that the Witch touched him."

And he sometimes slapped her around. Well, what can you do? It's a medieval world after all.

But when it came to me, Anasa treated me really positively. My real mother, somewhere, in the real world, never gave me so much affection. Or at least I don't remember it. This woman was constantly checking if I was fine, if I was fed, clean, and warm, and always smiled at me as if I truly were the best gift that had blessed her life. She showered me with kisses and affection.

I creeped me out though that she kept giving me girl toys in the cradle, such as a doll. Well, she can't be surprised I don't play with it.

Lady I know you don't see it and I can't explain it to you, but I am a man. I won't be playing with any dolls.

But on the other hand, if I were in the care of Canalyse, I felt no warmth or affection from her. And, to be blunt, she wasn't even attractive or appealing. It was just some stupid girl who clearly took taking care of me as a job that she had to do for an annoying boss - my mother. She frequently made mistakes when taking care of me as well. Like forgetting to change my diapers or wash me, because my brother Arailt, whom I have never seen until this point, "needed it more," in her words. 

All of these arguments and infant life were fucking boring. 

But I could hardly change anything, because I was just a baby. 

So I just had to endure it all...At least until I could speak.

But then one day, about the time when the midwife became sick, Anasa took me to see my brother. Canalyse wasn't the only ill person around, though - I know Elias hasn't been feeling well, too; only Anasa seemed to be blooming with energy. There were rumors of an epidemic in the village - Canalyse was helping the villagers and apparently got infected - so I was mostly relieved she was gone, because I didn't want to catch anything nasty.

Well, when she took me to see my brother in the cradle - a rather dull-looking infant with a few strains of black hair, who apparently couldn't move anything but his head - I wasn't all that convinced she would harm him. Why? Because for all her talks about him being "touched by the Witch" and how much she "hated" him...

I think this woman could never bring herself to truly hurt that child. Maybe she considered it. Perhaps she even justified it to herself, as my father has. But she changed her mind, just as I had when I saw my father. She found a reason to not do it. To find another way. To make peace.

Even if it was...to not make me sad.

I suppose she really loves me, doesn't she?