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"Maerchentic Existence"

by K.M. Hirosaki ([email protected])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story and all characters therein are copyright (c) 2004 K.M. Hirosaki.

This is the tenth and final installment of 'Maerchentic.' I'd like to extend my personal thanks to every one of my readers who has helped make this story possible. It's been one of the most fun things I've ever had the pleasure to write, and a part of me is sad to see it go.

But this is the end. Enjoy.

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MAERCHENTIC EXISTENCE

-=~a child's future is not defined by his past~=-

There's no such thing as "full circle" when it comes to me.

I have no idea who or what that kangaroo-thing was from a while back, but he was definitely not like me. Of course, by the time I was done with him, he wasn't like him, either, so fair's fair. Sure, he hurt me pretty bad, and I should have probably done a lot worse to him in return for that, but I think I came away from that experience with something much more valuable than trauma followed by catharsis.

He could change himself, physically as well as metaphysically. I could do the first of those to some extent, but not nearly as well as he could. Once I discovered this, I of course had to rip and tear this ability away from him, as much to punish him as to benefit me. Permit me to take double joy in that.

So now I had this power. That's fine and dandy, but having power and no plan is like winning the lottery and not knowing what you want to buy. And so I bided my time. After all, I'm fairly sure that the same time constraints that apply to regular folk don't apply to me, and so I wasn't in a rush. I might be rash, but I'm not impatient. Never, ever accuse me of being impatient.

An inkling of a plan had begun to form in my brain, but getting it into a cohesive shape was like trying to track down an old pal from school when you had their name, but not their address, and in the meantime, they'd gotten married. I needed to know more.

Luckily for me, I'm a worldly fellow by nature. Also, by nature, I get exposed to a lot of personal secrets. People say the damnedest things when sex is on the line. I'd like to say that it's akin to having a window into the soul, except that I actually really have that, and so the analogy is sort of lost in the lack of irony.

When I met the art collector woman, she made me think. I spent several days with her, and got to have a lot of enlightening conversations with her. She had a charming outlook on life, that one did, and even I have to recognize that it was tragic that her time came so soon. It's some consolation to me, if not much, that I know for a fact that she was happy at the very end.

Still, I'm getting off the point. She gave me pause to look at my existence in a new light. It got me to thinking about the potential untimely and unfair ways that existence can be robbed from us. I might be a monster, in some ways, but I'm still a 'person,' too, and so the idea of ceasing to be is a scary one.

Maybe I won't die. Maybe I really will live forever as a sort of otherworldly entity, ad infinitum, or until the universe ceases to be, or whatever's bound to happen. In either case, there's nothing I can do about it, and so I'm content with not trying. But while I could let the world run its course while striving for my own continued survival, I still knew that something just wasn't right.

There was another real tragedy, though. There had been another such individual, and his existence had been unfairly ended. Poor Rikiya's fate, in a simple sense, isn't really any different from the cougar's. Both of them had decades that could have been spent doing things that they doubtlessly would have enjoyed. Myself, being the hedonist that I am, thinks that's more than a shame. Everyone should get to enjoy things if they have the chance. Not having the chance is like having the rules broken on you.

He was a child on the cusp of life's true beginning, and before he got a chance -- that chance to enjoy existence for what it is -- it was over. Done.

Part of me used to be a little boy just like Rikiya was. And just like Rikiya, life was just beginning for him when it was taken away. Maybe you could argue that he didn't really "die." Yes, he became me. But the boy was gone. Sure, I'm thankful for my own existence, but I didn't ask for it, and the boy that I used to be didn't ask to become what he did. One life for another. It was an unhappy accident that had its pluses and its minuses, and if you believe in karma or kismet or anything like that, maybe you think that it all balances out.

That still doesn't change the fact that there was a young linsang boy who had an entire life ahead of him.

This boy liked people to call him "Auri." He was just starting to hit puberty, he would have strange funny feelings when certain people looked at him in certain ways, and he'd wake up in the middle of the night sometimes wondering what in God's Good Name his body was doing to itself. He liked math and science and he was polite and respectful and his parents were...

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't remember who his parents were. Not everything before the accident is still in this mind of mine. That's a shame. But anyway, I'm willing to bet that he probably loved his mommy and daddy and whatever siblings he might have had. Speculation, there, but indulge me.

I'm a freakish aberration. Now, I don't mean that as a slur or as an insult. Hell, I'm happy with who and what I am. I like it, love it, enjoy it, delight in it and get off on it. But I'm not so intellectually fucked up that I think for a second that I'm part of the natural order of things. Please, you need to give me some credit. I'm a bastard, but I'm not a fool.

Hedonism, like I said. I believe in keeping my own chance to experience the plethora of pleasures that existence has to offer. That being the case, I wouldn't give myself up for another even if I could. Part of being a freak means that, in some weird sense, I'm special. And being special means that some things don't apply. Selfish and selfless don't need to be mutually exclusive concepts.

Even after I found out that his 'existence' had been a lie, I knew from being around 'Rikiya' beforehand that his emotions, thoughts, feelings, and enjoyment had all been very real (and quite delectable, I might add). Putting two and two together, I finally had a clue as to how to formulate a plan to settle my own debt with the universe.

First, I had to find an adoption agency. I'd come up with a good one, at first, but the man in charge was a moral cesspool. The person I ended up bribing in the end hadn't been a shining example of moral fiber, either, but at least he hadn't been a fucking child molester.

I didn't want to use the name 'Shane Harrington' anymore for two reasons. One, I now associated that particular name with that sack of shit orphanage director, and I'd rather not have to be reminded of him... ever. Second, if the wolf ever called my bluff, he might decide to track down young Shane, just to be petty, and that would make me... well, about as fucking upset as I can imagine myself, and I've been pretty damn upset before.

The name I settled on instead was 'Alexander.' I arranged it so that money went to the right places, and so that little Alex would get adopted by a nice, caring family who would never, ever, ever learn about the palms that his dear old dad greased in order to make it happen. That was the first big step, and it was a crucial -- if mundane -- one.

Now, there was a young preteen linsang boy named Alex who was slated to be taken in by an orphanage. The next part of the plan involved having a young preteen linsang boy named Alex.

When I do things, I need the energy to do it. You don't just run a marathon at the drop of a hat because suddenly you feel like running a marathon. I was going to have to work up a nice appetite for this one, but it would be worth it. Not that it's usually not worth it to do what I do. There have, of course, been certain 'notable exceptions,' but we'll just not mention those, if it's all the same.

Never underestimate the power of a broken heart. There are reasons for the fact that slighted lovers are driven to kill as often as they do. Being jilted is a surefire way to bring up all of the parts deep within a person that most want to deny exist within them. I, as you know, thrive on that part of the psyche. And it's so potent because it can do things. Rage and fear and desperation drive individuals to do things that they might never otherwise do.

But yes, broken hearts. I knew that that's what I was in the mood for on that night. It was the beginning of a weekend, and so the bar and club scene was packed with the full myriad of the emotive spectrum. Trying to pick out somebody who was feeling listlessly melancholy would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack. Trying to pick out somebody who was crushed and heartbroken was like being in a forest and seeing which tree was on fire.

His name was Doyle. I'm not sure if it was his first or last. He was young-twenties canine crossbreed mutt that nevertheless looked like he inherited the best physical features from either side of his family. Kind of scruffy, but I could live with it. I wasn't too picky about things, because he'd just been dumped by his fiancée. Bitch had called things off out of the fucking blue, apparently. I felt for the guy, really. A little. I was more concerned with feasting.

This Doyle fellow "wasn't gay." I'll concede that it might be true, and that maybe my ass really is just magical after all. The end result was the same. He fucking wanted me so bad. Sure, he probably would have wanted anyone who would have given him the time of day and bought him a cheap drink, but I like to think that it helped that I'm just a peach to look at.

Flirting with him was actually kind of fun. I got to be really filthy and dirty, because nothing seems to rile up a man who's been scorned by a woman than extolling the virtues of a hard cock and the places to stick one. He laughed if off, at first. Maybe he didn't want to believe in wishful thinking -- not that I blame him. I think he realized that I wasn't just kidding around when I grabbed him by the wrist and pressed the palm of his paw against my pants so that he could feel my erection.

Things went predictably from there. There was the rushed trip home, followed by the requisite three-point-two minutes of bullshit small-talk before it was time to tear the pretty linsang's clothes off, throw him onto the bed, and get ready to fuck him real good, because by golly, at least it won't be a surprise when he's not eating breakfast in bed in the morning.

Part of me felt a twinge of regret. Doyle would have been really fun to play with, in ordinary circumstances. He would have been abso-frickin'-lutely perfect to throw the mind-whammy on, turn the tables, and pound his tight little ass against his own best-laid plans. But I needed to save up every last drop. Besides, he was pretty decently hung, and no part of me was really feeling the need to say no to an angry, rage-and-lust driven mounting.

He didn't want to see my face, I guess, because I was pushed down onto my hands and knees atop the mattress, and he got up behind me. Maybe he really did have sexual insecurities after all. If he did, though, it didn't show in the act itself. Mr. I-Need-Abreaction fucked me like a damn pro. He held me down and fucked me like a right little bitch. A lot of the time, I get a little overdramatic, pretending that my tail is getting a more solid pounding than it really is so that the other guy feels better about himself (and so I get to munch on some more ego). I didn't need to fake anything, this time.

Doyle was a biter. He bit me a lot, actually. Some of the marks he left would probably have actually worried me if I hadn't known that transmogrification was imminent. It was nice, though. He got to taste some blood, and that gave him a huge rush that I was able to make good use out of.

So, I was stuffed. And here I was, up to my brim with all of the wonderful energy of this poor guy's angst, anger, and mental malaise. He was now well and tuckered out, and as a result, I was just getting started. I let him sleep, slipped out of his bed and his apartment, and headed for a special place I'd prepared.

It wasn't too far from Green Springs Children's Home, where little Alexander needed to be delivered sometime in the hours following dawn. I'd stashed away a duffel bag full of belongings that a kid his age would probably want, and some appropriately sized clothing. There was a house that was nice and empty, because I'd rented it a few weeks before for this very purpose. When the authorities came to come down on the person responsible for paying the bills, they'd never find him.

I stripped myself naked, because I wasn't sure if clothing would interfere with the process or not. I'd only ever done something like this one time before, and that had been an accident, essentially. I needed to do this right. My thoughts focused on that gem of supernatural essence that I'd stolen from the kangaroo-creature, and I began.

The experience was about as exhilaratingly extraordinary as it was painful. Even with magic, the sensation of having your bones scrunched down to prepubescent stature is more than just a bit tingly. I paid less attention to the way that the muscles and flesh reshaped themselves; I didn't really want to think about the details. Magic does what magic wants, and trying to think of it like clinical science wouldn't have been merely disgusting, but might also have screwed up what I was doing.

And so, my body shrank down and reverted into something much younger. I don't have any idea how long the process actually took, but I'm wagering that it was only a few seconds at absolute most. It's not really important. What's important is that step two of the big plan was done. I had a body. But the trickiest part was yet to come.

I knew that this would be the last time that I'd have... faculties. So I indulged myself one final time. I stuck on a pair of pants and a shirt that I'd packed away in the bag, and I just playfully scampered around the mostly-abandoned house, climbed on things, and jumped up and down on the bare mattress for a little while. Yes, it was foolish, but hey -- this was my last chance ever to just do something silly like that.

After my childish outburst, I sat down on the edge of the bed, and began to meditate. I thought about the life that had been left behind when Boy had merged with Eidolon. The two had long since been fused to become me, and they couldn't be split or torn apart again without destroying my own self. But I wasn't aiming for that.

I've always thought of creativity as my strong point. You sort of have to be, when you're me. And so I sat and I imagined. For hours and hours. I imagined a life that was altogether similar yet acutely different from that of the boy I used to be. I came up with memories and events and happenstances and a family background that would leave him hardened and primed for reality while still leaving him unsullied, unafraid, and uninhibited.

Then, I stepped back, and I built a wall around myself, like a one-way mirror. When I was confident that I was well and hidden away within the confines of my own mind, I checked again to make sure that little Alex was going to be okay on his own.

And then, I gave him a little spark with the last of the power I'd stolen.

As far as Alex knew, he'd come to this house by mistake while on his way to Green Spring Children's Home. When he rechecked the scrap of paper with the address that he'd crumpled up and stuffed in his pocket, he realized that he'd just read the number wrong, and that the orphanage was actually further down the street and around the next corner. So, he picked up his duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed on over.

And he still has no idea that everything that he thinks happened before that single moment of being lost is a lie. He never actually suffered the heartbreak of losing his parents, he never threw up on himself in front of all his friends at the amusement park, and he never broke his arm while learning how to ride a bike.

It doesn't matter, though. He's still real, even if his past isn't. In the last three years, I can say unequivocally that he's a real, living, feeling, thinking young man. Everything that's happened since then has been all him.

For the most part, he's happy. He's never late for school, he's smart, and he likes math and science. He likes his adoptive parents, the Forsythes, and they treat him nicely without giving him too much leeway. From time to time, he thinks about his real parents, and it makes him sad to know that they're dead, but he reassures himself by thinking that they're probably in a better place, now.

So now, a young fourteen-year-old linsang boy has his chance at life. Is it me? No. But that's not the point. The boy that I used to be is already gone, but at least someone can take his place and live a life that he was never able to. Time will tell whether it's a good, full life or not, but here's hoping.

Some nights, Alex goes to sleep and has strange dreams that he doesn't understand. They're not exactly nightmares, but they leave him feeling disconcerted, at the very least. He's an adolescent, though, and there are a lot more likely explanations for his feelings that don't involve having a sealed-away emotion-eating supernatural entity in one's head.

It's a very nice arrangement, really. I don't know what will happen to me when he dies. Maybe I'll die, too, or maybe I'll go on in some way, incorporeal. In the meantime, I get to live here, watching and seeing without making my presence known. Perpetually being inside the mind of a young teenage boy is like a smorgasbord for me, and I've never been hungry for a single moment in the last three years.

Alex might not be me, but I'll protect his life more preciously than my own, and not even for my own sake. This child is not going to have his chance taken away from him like the child who was forced to become me.

In the event that anyone ever tries to lay so much as a finger on this boy, that somebody is going to live for a long time wishing that they hadn't. Hopefully, I can do that without making my specific presence known to little Alex, here, but I can't be sure of that until the time comes when I ever need to reach beyond this barrier I've made for myself. Maybe he'll think I'm his guardian angel or something. Hell, maybe that's sort of what I am: a guardian angel, who happens to just symbiotically subsist off of the emotions that he feels, twenty-four hours a day. It's no skin off of either of our backs. Not that I have a back anymore, really.

Tomorrow's a big day for young Alex Forsythe. He's going to wake up before dawn, take a good thorough shower, brush his teeth real good, and have a big, healthy breakfast that Mom cooks before he gets loaded onto a bus headed for summer camp with his friend Lyle. Lyle's a good ottery chap -- smart, honest, just basically has a good head on his shoulders. They'll probably have a good time together, and they've been looking forward to this for months.

Alex doesn't understand the awkward feelings he's been having lately for what they are. He's got a pretty hard crush on his handsome otter pal, but he just doesn't realize it. It's getting close, though, and I imagine that it's only a matter of days, now, before the kid realizes that he likes other boys (hey, if I had to create the personality that I was going to existing alongside of, you can't blame me for making it a personality that I'm comfortable with).

Maybe he'll feel funny and ashamed. But then again, he's known ol' Lyle since the day he moved into the neighborhood when the Forsythes adopted him. I'm rooting for the little guy, and I'm about ninety percent sure that he's going to go for it, and tell his pal how he feels. Probably at some point during this trip, seeing as they're going to be spending a lot of time alone together.

I could cheat, and check out Lyle's mind for hints on what his reaction will be, but I'm not going to. I'd rather be surprised, to be perfectly honest. Sure, they're young, and if anything comes out of it, it'll just be puppy love more than anything else. But they'll be happy -- ecstatic, really -- and they'll be really cute together. Or, possibly, Lyle will freak out, Alex will lose his best friend, and the little guy will have a long time to feel sorry for himself as he tries to sort out these stupid feelings that he can't ignore and that hurt him so much.

I'll feel bad for him if that happens. I really will. Maybe you don't believe that that's possible. Perhaps that's because I freely admit that, in either outcome, I'm going to be here, and I'll be getting what I want and need either way. It'll just taste a bit different.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I have no remorse about what I am. And people get over pain. Eventually.