#jade.eng298

[immortal-journal]

Bomb

August 12th, 2045

“In today’s latest news, world war three has officially began amongst the allies with the attempt of destroying the United States of America’s nuclear arsenal by the British empire. The United States tried to strike back with their go towards trying to detonate the London bridge. Japan has not declared war on its other neighboring countries, in an attempt to keep peace amongst other dueling countries. For more updates concerning the war, listen to the NPR app or your local radio station.”

This is what they’re trying to do, with instigating “peace.” Human’s naïveté when witnessed makes me want to laugh and point at the stupidity portrayed to the ignorant public. My eyes scanned the Tokyo freeway I was on, every car filled with humans fighting with their spouse about where they should eat dinner, miserable commoners who are yet to embark on their 9-5 work schedule that makes them want to scream, or it might even hold terrorists and murderers ready to sacrifice innocent souls for their own agenda.

Tokyo sat before me, a wide city filled with 38 million people, the most populated city in the world. I knew that this city would soon be ashes, with the apocalypse happening. Oh, believe me I am truly devastated that the human race I have lived so long within the shadows will be ending like this. For thousands of years war has destroyed societies that have thrived for so long, and leaves rubble amongst the survivors to become the savages that they have so long tried not to become.

Why do you ask that I’m here? I wish to die. I know, whoever may be reading this journal entry probably is gasping in surprise at this sudden declaration. Why would someone like an immortal man wish to die? It is such an annoying question deciphered in dramatic monologues and lengthy poetry. When you’re like myself, someone who has come to seen the thousands of your mortal partners die, along with your children, and so on, you wish for death because loneliness is a living hell. I have contracted diseases before, tried to inflict physical damage on my body, I even tried to be eaten by many beasts whose bellies could hold ten of me, but no matter what deadly act I committed on myself, I still lived no matter if I tried to get eaten by a killer shark, or dived into a volcano on a remote island.

This bomb, this unmistakable evil, this is my chance to end this once and for all. Something of that magnitude that can turn something into ashes within a split second would have to apply to myself as well.

I looked around me, noticing that traffic has suddenly stopped on the freeway. Glancing around, I saw a young Japanese girl staring at me intensely from her window in a silver Nissan car parked next to mine. I smiled at her, giving her a friendly wave. But, she continued to stare. My smile instantly faded as I began to wonder what she saw when she looked at me. Did she see an old soul who is weary of living? I have came across children in my past lives who had a feeling that I was something not of this world. It was always a comfort to know that someone else out there tried to understand my existence, even if it was an innocent child.

The cars weren’t moving at all. Checking the time, I widened my eyes when I saw that I had been stuck in the same place for the past hour. I rummaged in my suitcase, trying to find my cellular phone to call the hotel I had stayed at the night before—

I jumped in my seat when a loud siren had filled the air. Other drivers and passengers whipped their heads around as well, surprised and anxious as to where that siren was coming from. It wasn’t a police siren, or a bullhorn sound, it was a siren that could represent a warning—

My radio suddenly turned on by itself. A static sound came from it, then a panting voice came on.

“Emergency! Emergency! Germany has fired a missle to Tokyo seek shelter—(static)—bomb is coming—(an even longer period of static that had me wondering if the station turned itself)—Japan has entered into the war—SEEK SHELTER NOW!”

But it was too late. A pinpoint in the middle of the sky made its way slowly towards the heart of Tokyo. The descent was gentle, it looked like it would simply bounce off one of the buildings and die in its own grave. I knew that wasn’t the case though as my excitement helped me brace for impact—

It was a wondrous light. My hands were steady on my car’s steering wheel when the almighty bang of God’s wrath erupted in a terrifying jaw-dropping moment. Shinagawa was gone. My foot forgot to tap the break, causing my the front of my car to slam into the one in front of me that too was stopped along the shuto expressway. The roaring vibrations of the atomic bomb reached its cloudy hands into the air with a triumphant cheer of power, then rushed its tide towards the freeway. Car doors began to fly open as the humans helplessly tried to outrun the incoming blast heading towards them. Their faces whipped around with the fear of death outlining their screaming mouths. Mothers holding babies tripped over crushed people that were lifeless on the ground like rotten debris.

And I, I enjoyed the beautiful view.

I was so close to the blast that I knew death would have to come. It was slow, watching death rushing towards me. I closed my eyes, and instantly I fell into a sleep so I could welcome death more properly. I thought it would all end in the blink of an eye, but it was outstretched seconds in the sound of a violin singing a sad love story. My mind still asleep, I could imagine what must be occurring. The crimson cloud of dust  enveloped cars steadily before me. Humans were beginning to jump over the side of the freeway to an alternative death. Others who couldn’t escape the freeway burned from the nuclear heat, their hands clawing out to the sky, their existence slumping over in an insignificant last breath.

I raised my palms upwards and titled my head back with a relaxed sigh. I’ve survived deadly events of war before, but never has this occurred. This was my chance, finally I will be given a chance to die like they can—

The heat swallowed me in a stunning kiss of passion. Dying came in stages. I felt the heat of a warm blanket covering me to induce a deep slumber. Then, the blanket continued to warm until the point of it feeling like a hot iron was rubbing lightly against my skin. The iron went deeper into my skin in the next stage, causing me to scream from the incoming pain consuming me. I was on fire, what is this I’ve experienced being burned badly by fire but never a fire made by man—

I found myself out of my car, slumped on the charred pavement. The rows of cars on the freeway that were destroyed by the bomb were blackened with fire filling the car and surrounding each car. I sought out the young girl that was staring at me and found nothing but a sticky hand print left on her car window.

How am I still have coherent thoughts? The tips of my fingers were charred and being caught in the wind of smoke that began to circulate the heart of the explosion. My clothes were gone, my hair was nonexistent. My eyes traveled along the length of my nude body. I was nothing but rubble and stripped flesh. I could see the white of my bones in my arms. Why am I not dead? I was a walking corpse. I was supposed to be dead from the explosion, that’s what I came here for I can’t live like this anymore—

I let out a strangled cry that went unanswered amongst the silence of the grave I was in. I am truly damned to not die. People used to think of me as a god due to this condition of mine. I looked at it as something I did to God that left me as a cast away from his good graces.

I was so tired. I didn’t want to lay on the ground because if I did, I would simply wake up a hundred years later and find myself as I was before. I began to walk, or shuffle is a more likely term for it, interweaving through the cars on fire. My eyes scanned the freeway, looking for survivors. Who was I fooling though? There are no survivors in a place like this. This was hell on earth. Shit, this is terrible.

I had to get out of Tokyo. There has to be survivors somewhere. But how would I find them?

I walked for several days without pausing for sleep, for food, or for water. I called out for survivors, for anybody that may still be alive. On the seventh day I was walking towards the coastline of Japan. I was still charred black, and my toes were beginning to hang off of my feet, making them dangle with every step I took. There was absolutely nothing. The smoke lessened the further I walked away from the heart of the explosion. The sun was able to shine through the ash clouds. Patches of light lit up the ground I walked along, grass, pavement, dirt, as if it was leading me towards refuge in this empty world.

Before me was the sea, and with a frustrated groan as I scanned my eyes before me, I realized that there were no boats around me.

“Shit. Of course.” This was the first thing I had said in days. I wanted to laugh, but physically and mentally I couldn’t stand it. My voice came out in a raspy whisper. My eyes closed for a second to let my thoughts sort themselves out. I was supposed to be dead by now. I wanted to finally, after a millennia, find out what happened after death. Oh, how I envy humans. They get to experience the moment their hearts stop and they can open their eyes to what waits for them in the beyond.

A shuffle of footsteps occurred behind me. I spun my head around, crying out in pain at the sudden feeling of being stabbed ran down my spine. Due to my damaged eyesight, I had to squint to see a figure moving uneasily side to side towards me. They became clearer with every step they came towards me. A light snow of ash due to the radiation drifted down upon us. Standing on the beach, I slipped sideways when my feet fell into the water. The salt of the sea dug into my exposed flesh that made me jump up from my position with fear that became adrenaline.

“Sir…sir…please…”

I looked into her eyes and tried not to take a step back in fear. Hey, I probably didn’t look as great as well. The side of this woman’s face was the color of raw cow meat that periodically oozed fresh blood onto the surface of her skin. Half of her hair was burned off of her head, along with her eyes taking on a color of black coal. As my eyes followed the length of her face, I noticed that her arm also was trying unsuccessfully to heal itself from the heat radiation of the blast. I looked into those coal black eyes, and tried to muster an apology for what had happened to her.

“I’m—I’m sorry—“

I’m not a sentimental person. I used to be during the Renaissance period when I was composing lyrical ballads in an inn about fighting for love when I saw Shakespeare coming up and an unmistakable desire to fall at his knees crying after his performance of Romeo and Juliet. My humanity was showing, I would’ve joked to a passerby who had no clue to my condition. I hadn’t felt an loving for somebody’s ideas and artistic mind since before the Black Death occurred in 1347. Let’s just say being surrounded by the disease, contracting it, and watching others die around you while you stay healthy is a depressing condition.

So as I stood before this woman, I wanted to fling my arms around her in a crushing embrace. I learned with my few hundred years living in an era of romanticism that being sentimental is exhausting. A person gets only a handful of decades with a chance to bestow kindness onto the world. It’s to leave their mark before they die, so then their name lives on. But what happens when your name can’t live on due to exposing yourself, but you still will?

I didn’t know exactly where this woman came from, so I mustered with my ravaged voice some words in Japanese to communicate with her.

“Hello, ma’am…what is your name?”

She didn’t say anything at first, for the sea replaced the silence she was giving me. It was an “akward” conversation, as some would say. Ready to repeat my question, she decided to answer.

“Aiko.”

Her voice was light but assertive, as if she was a mother who was able to bestow her will upon her children quite easily. She self-consciously adjusted the sodden white shirt she had on that was ripped along the seams, matching her denim jeans she also had on.

“Hello, Aiko.” I nodded my head in acknowledgement towards her. Usually when on the beach, one could hear the occasional shifting of human feet scurrying in the sand, or a seagull swooping low over other’s heads. But in this case, not a single sound can be heard but the power of the sea behind us. It frightened me, and made me sleepy. My body urged me to fall asleep so I could sleep through all of this, but I needed to find out what happened to everyone else. Her eyes looked over my corpse body.

I could tell she was in shock, but how was I supposed to help? The coal black eyes landed on my wrist.

Looking down, I saw that I had my diamond watch on still. I bought that watch back in Milan during the winter of 1986. I loved the 80’s fashion, that is the only area of art that comes closest to the renaissance period. And Aiko’s eyes were not wavering from it.

I didn’t have anything to do with the watch now. Society’s concept of time is nonexistent, along with their damned money currency. I reached towards the watch to take it off so Aiko could keep it, because why would I keep something that will make it look like I was a target—

It was the rock she was hiding behind her back that knocked me out. Usually I could withstand an attack such as this one due to my lengthy past of being hit in the head by blunt large objects. This was the first time though when I couldn’t handle the pain. My body fell flat on my back onto the wet sand before me. My vision swam in and out of my consciousness that allowed me to feel Aiko grabbing my hand to snatch the watch off, and not look back as she scurried away.

Of course, the one and only thing I didn’t want to happen happened. I fell asleep.

And I had awoken in dingy, dirty old pub.

Drool caressed my cheek from being pressed against the splintered wood table. A bottle of rum was open next to me with half of it already drained. Parchments of paper were scattered on the small wooden table I was sitting at, along with a bottle of ink and a quill waiting to be used.

Confused, I observed my surroundings. Drunkards clapping each other’s back in congratulations for drinking the most in their group, the hoof beats of horses on cobblestones outside loudly amplifying the drunken laughter, and tho scratch of an artist or a writer making their famous masterpieces made me sit up with excitement. Am I really here? Is this really happening?

I jumped up from my chair and hurried up to the bar. The gentleman shining a dirty glass with a dirty cloth didn’t reconigze my presence at first. Clearing my throat, the bar keeper looked up with an expression of annoyance at my interrupting his duties.

“Hello—uh, kind sir, would ye have knowledge of the current date?” God, I was rusty. I held my breath in the hope that that was convincing.

In response, the bar keeper gargled a ball of spit in his mouth and spat it into the cup. I tried not to feel repulsed at the sight. Humans have so much to learn in the coming centuries.

“It is the 5th of April in her grace’s year 1594, ye filthy drunkard.” He turned his back towards me to end our conversation.

“God bless!” I bowed towards the barkeeper’s back. I’m back, I’m back. I ran over to my table to grab my compilation of poems that I had been working on. The sleepiness I had been feeling was starting to slowly ebb away. I reminded myself to stop drinking rum after staying up for a week straight trying to write a play. It was Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet that made my stoic existence of the past hundreds of years to feel like something worth living. I could write a play, I told myself after viewing such a wonderful performance of how feuding families being the causation of two young children. How about, I thought to myself with my eyebrows pursed in creative thought, I write a play about an immortal who simply wants to find his death. The thing that everyone lusts over in this world can be turned sideways in this play to something that is a reaffirmation that mortality is a beautiful, mysterious thing.

While running out the door, I stopped short, for something was wrong. My chest gave a great shudder, as if it was trying to gulp a lungful of air that was already residing within it. Then, the feeling went away. How curious, I thought to myself. Shaking my head, I reminded myself to not drink so much rum, it gives me such vivid dreams.

I walked through the bar’s creaking door, ducking my head down due to its abnormal height. The smell of horse dung and rotten turnips with a touch of possibility greeted me in a warm welcome. I widened my arms to the smell, the sounds, and the sun trying in vain to shower its light through hanging clothes and London’s swelling, dark clouds. How bleak this would look to another’s eyes, but for me, this was where I ended as another soul damned to eternally walk this earth, and begin at a mind that can declare that they’re so much more than that.

Then, I saw him.

His scruffy hair mused in every direction from his fingers frustratingly patting it down in wait for an artistic inspiration. His dirty clothes dotted with ink from the writing of his most previous play that he finished last night. His smiling grin as he greets a friend of his who is lingering outside of the pub.

“Master Shakespeare?” I asked myself, daring to not believe it. I knew that it was him though, it was like I was living a memory of seeing him here in this very spot—

“Master Shakespeare!” I called to him over the noise of a crowded city. Naturally, he didn’t hear my call at first. I moved closer to him, bumping into an old lady selling killed chickens to passerby.

“Master—“

I stopped, for once again my lungs refused to work for me. What is happening? I stroked my throat in confusion. Trying to take a deep breath, I exclaimed in surprise when at least a gallon of water rushed out of my mouth. My eyes watered with humiliation and pain, but not a single soul noticed the puddle spreading along the dirt ground. My knees buckled beneath me from the rushing of more water making its way steadily up my throat.

“Help! Help!” I called out to the passerby that who could’ve at least patted me on the back with kindness. Hooves continued to clomp on the ground, beggars still asked others for a spare coin, and the smell of rotting vegetables and uncooked chickens coated my swelling tongue—

My eyes closed, and I found myself staring up into the sun. I was shaking from the coldness of the sea that has made my naked body shrivel with paleness and lack of food or water. I rolled my eyes with annoyance. Of course I was healed completely. I tried to move my paralyzed body that was steadily awakening from its slumber. Has it been a hundred years since I was knocked out by Aiko? Or two hundred? Oh, please don’t let it be a thousand.

Two faces peered into my vision. They were wearing face masks, along with body suits that shielded them from the abnormally hot sun. I had never been so happy to see human faces.

“Sir? Sir are you okay? Can you tell me your name?” Their accents were different from the Japanese. I had actually floated across the sea to the mainland. My mind spinning from the recent events, I opened my mouth to the strangers lingering over me, wishing beyond belief that I had passed over to the other side. My lingering doubts still led me to answer these two who found me.

“I Am the Immortal.”