The Chrono Trigger

[10.26.00] » by Dark Ferret

The tower was terrifying.

It wasn't that the place was evil; quite the contrary. It was terrifying because the place had once upon a time been pure and joyful and the very picture of perfection. People here had been deliriously happy -- now they were quite, quite dead. Their paragon of joy was shattered, crumbled, laying in piles upon piles of rubble, like the corpse of a happy man.

The gorgeous sunset over the stone courtyard shone like the paintings of my father, and I thought, couldn't help thinking: what a life we would have lived here. We would have fit in so well among the cheerful and happy families. We deserved a life like this.

And upon each blow to Miguel, each blow that connected and hurt but never affected, after each blow he stood, I thought, very distinctly, I WILL DIE HERE. THIS IS MY REWARD FOR DESIRING THIS LIFE. IN DESIRING THIS LIFE, I DESIRE THIS DEATH, AS WELL.

Terrifying. I wanted to cry. Every moment in the still glory of the tower, the air crackling with opportunity that died, bloodily and painfully, I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob for it.

I have led a painful life. I have learned not to cry. Not at pain physical or emotional. I once slipped over the bridge and fell into a boat, breaking my arms and several ribs, and as I laid face first on the floor, breathing with such effort and spilling blood from my mouth, from my lungs and lips and face, did not cry. At all.

And yet I wanted desperately to cry.

I WILL DIE HERE.

LIKE SO MANY OTHERS, I WILL DIE HERE.

Well.

My sane mind grasped for the comforting folds of insanity. I wanted to be exactly like Miguel. I wanted to love this place with abandon, without thinking of all the death. I wanted to be happy here, instead of sobbing.

I couldn't. It was impossible. I was too sane for it.

Maybe too much sanity is insanity of its own?

I WILL DIE HERE.

Maybe I wanted to. And leave my body there. What a beautiful grave, inside the belly of majesty. Insanity, but all great beauty is born of insanity. Name for me an artist who was sane.

Yes, we were killing him. He crouched, finally, doubling over in the pain. No death was in his eyes, though. He was delirious, of course, but quite content. Quite certain that he was right, and he would win.

As certain as we were.

No, there's a thing where everyone believes they are right. We're the good guys, and the good guys win, of course. We don't all die at the end.

Of course, we could very well be the bad guys. It's all in how you see it. If we were the ones to destroy this place, if Serge was the one to take the other path, then we killed this living happiness. We were probably very much the bad guys.

So, yeah, I sort of identified with Miguel. He was the champion of this beauty, of this joy. He was kind of like my father, in that, you know, his main objective was beauty.

What a tame word for what I saw there. Beauty. Majesty. Joy, happiness. None of them. Something more. Something, all of them added together, but something more substantial, more powerful, more aggressive.

Yeah, it sort of fucks with the mind.

I went insane a little bit that day.

Well, maybe a lot. Maybe I went very, very insane. Maybe I never came back. Maybe that much beauty stretches the mind into something vulgar. Maybe it's not meant for man to see.

It is. That much beauty is a little obscene. So much fucking beauty it stretches the mind like sodomy stretches the ass. A giant fucking butt-plug.

OhGodIdon'twanttothinkaboutitanymore.

Please don't make me think about it anymore. Ever again. The sunset. I never want to see it in my mind's eye.

I wish I had died there! I wish I had been right! I AM GOING TO DIE HERE. I wish I had! I so wish I had!

I didn't want to hear what Miguel had to say! I didn't want to hear him talk about the beauty of death and destruction. How gorgeous it seemed then, the nobility of the heroes and the ever-battling path of destruction. Such determination ... such beauty ...

Trigger.

Of destruction.

The Chrono Trigger.

How fucking beautiful.

Thoughts about the tower invaded my mind. I was not really in character for this piece. It was easy to write most of it; it was sort of how I felt. Listening to that gorgeous but depressing music drove me mad.

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