Epitaph
Here lies the one I lost,
Never to know the love I felt,
When I die,
pray my soul be yours,
lest angels weep.
Clouds of dark grey blew across the afternoon sky in the distance as the storm retreated into the forest that bordered one edge of the grassy hill. The boy stood on the hill, his dark blue hoodie pulled up, obscuring his face until he took another drag of the cigarette in his hand. A much younger boy stood next to him, a questioning look painted across his fair features. The two stood in front of a lone tombstone planted on the crest of the hill, watching as the wind gently blew the tall grass that surrounded the grave.
Above them, the specter watched, a cold feeling in what little remained of her being. She recognized the younger boy, for it was her son. It had been years since she had died, leaving him behind, and now he had begun to mature into a strong boy, full of spirit. The presence of the older boy was the reason for her sudden change of being. There was something very familiar and frightening about him, but she couldn't recall who he was. Her soul was filled with fear for her son, what was he doing with such a person?
"Why did you bring me here?" asked the specter's son.
"To tell you the truth, Adam." replied the boy as he nonchalantly glanced at the specter hovering above her tomb, taking a draw of his cigarette.
"Truth about what?" Adam pressed the boy, "Who are you anyway?"
"I'm an old friend of your father's," chuckled the boy, "He's referred to me as his 'other-self' before."
"How come he'd say that?" Adam watched lightning ripple through the clouds over the forest in the distance.
"Because we used to look alike," replied the other-self, "He's since gotten a lot older."
"Why haven't you gotten older then?" Adam studied the other-self with an inquisitive eye.
"Because I am who am," the other-self took another drag of his cigarette, "It's not something I expect you to understand."
The specter felt a new chill of terror run through her as she watched, she understood the implications of those words. This was no ordinary human boy with her son.
"I don't understand," mumbled Adam, looking away, "But why are we here at this lady's grave?"
"This is your mother's grave," said the other-self solemnly, "Your real mother."
"You're lying," Adam shot back, "My mother died a few weeks ago. This grave is too old to be her's. Plus, I went to the funeral with my father!"
"Oh, and he's not your father," the other-self looked up, winking at the specter, "Your real father killed your mother."
"Who's my current father then?" Adam asked distantly, trying to convince himself of reality, "He's my real father, not some killer."
The other-self laughed heartily, "Your current father killed your biological father, Adam. He's more of a killer than your biological father ever was!"
"Liar!" shouted Adam, turning to face the other-self, who stood staring at the tomb's epitaph.
"It's a beautiful message, considering she never really knew who he was," the other-self ignored Adam's outburst.
The specter's thoughts paused at this comment, was he referring to the man with the scar, the current father of her son?
"I don't believe you," Adam turned away from the other-self, "I'm going to ask my father now. I'm going to tell him about you too!"
"Go do it then," challenged the other-self, lighting another cigarette as he flicked the butt of his current one away, "He'll be visiting her grave tonight anyway."
"Fine!" called out Adam as he began to walk down the hill towards the city, "I hate you!"
"As you should," shouted the other-self, not bothering to turn towards the departing figure of Adam.
The other-self stood smoking in silence, alone except for the presence of the specter. He watched another ripple of lightning surge through the clouds over the forest, followed closely by the sound of distant thunder. After taking another drag of the cigarette in his hand, he spoke to the specter.
"They grow up so fast, don't they?"
"Who are you?" replied the specter, "I feel so uneasy in your presence, but I'm dead!"
"That's the million-dollar question," smirked the other-self as he redirected, "I have the power to bring you back if I chose to. Do you want that, Angelique?"
"How do you know my…" Angelique's specter seemed taken aback by this sudden address.
"Name?" cut in the other-self, "If I can resurrect you, I can know your name."
"That does add up," she replied, "What happens if I come back?"
"That's where things get complicated," sighed the other-self, dragging the cigarette, "We're pretty far along here now."
"Would I get to be with my son?" Angelique felt her soul ache for her son's embrace.
"Eventually he'll be with you anyway," the other-self replied casually, "All mortals will die someday."
"Even you?" she questioned boldly.
"No," sighed the other-self, "I'll keep on being. Eternity and all…"
"Are you god?"
"That's one name I've been called," the other-self glanced over his shoulder, "I'll have to get going soon, they're coming."
"Wait!" called out the specter, "What about bringing me back to life?"
"Oh, that," frowned the other-self, "I think it's best we don't. We can't have you ruining the archangel's designs to pass his mantle to your son."
"Why did you tell me that then?" sobbed Angelique, "Why torment me with that?"
"It was a passing thought that I shared with you," replied the other-self, beginning to walk down the hill towards the forest.
"Who's the archangel?" she called after him, "Why is he passing a manlel to my son?"
"Don't worry about it!" shouted back the other-self, continuing to walk away.
"Why are you leaving?" the specter reached out one last time.
"I have an appointment to keep…" came the distant reply as the other-self disappeared into the gloom of the forest, trailing a thin line of cigarette smoke in the wind.
......…...
The autumn wind blew crisply across the grass on the hill as the sun began to set on the Western horizon. The figure of a man and that of a boy stood in front of the solitary gravestone on the top of the hill. As they stood in silence the specter watched from above her tomb. She pondered the meaning of this visit. The man came to visit her grave quite frequently, often leaving flowers, but she was unable to identify him, either because of his age and the changes it had brought or because she had never known him to begin with. She recognized the boy, Adam as her son, the one who had been here only hours before.
Painful memories flashed back to her, she could remember dying at the hands of her lover. She could also remember the anger and rage that had ensued when this man had found her dead body. She could still picture the scene after her death, the man smashing the same ax that had taken her life through her lover's skull. Despite being dead, there was a persistent feeling that it wasn't the first time she had died, but death had done nothing to reveal the answer to this sensation. Perhaps this man knew the answer, but alas, there was no way to ask him now that she was simply a metaphysical figment above her grave.
"Why did you kill my father?" asked the boy, clenching his fists as he stared at the grave.
"Because he killed your mother," replied the man in a weary voice as he knelt to place the flowers he held at the base of the grave, "I loved your mother. I tried to save her, but I was too late to stop what happened."
"So you took me and named me your son?" the boy questioned, his tone lightening slightly.
"Yes," replied the man, "I did, despite the fact that I was told not to."
"Who told you that? Was it the boy I told you I was with earlier? The one who calls himself your other-self?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Why?" questioned the boy.
The specter watched as the wind ruffled the hair of her son as he stood looking at the man's face, staring off into the sunset.
"Because I made the decision to go against him, not you," replied the man as he sighed.
"Your other-self?" the boy turned his gaze towards the setting sun.
The specter felt her presence shift uncomfortably, they were describing the boy she had spoken with earlier.
"What happened to my father's body?" the boy shifted in his stance, turning to look directly at the man.
"I burned it," said the man, looking down at the boy, the remaining sunlight catching the scar across his eye, "I scattered his worthless ashes to the wind."
"Then you buried my mother here?"
"That's right," the man sighed, "I visit her grave more frequently than my own wife's. She died in childbirth, as you remember."
"I thought I lost a sibling…" the boy quavered, "But I was never your son."
"I may have power, but I can't control the outcome of many events in my life." The man sighed, "But I did have the power to make you my true son."
"Is that why you tried to save my mother?" the boy stared off at the tombstone, a tear running down his cheek.
"Yes, my child," replied the man, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, "But I ended up saving you instead."
"I'm not sure how to feel about that…" mumbled the boy, wiping at his tears.
"Be grateful," the man's voice grew desolate, "You have no clue what it cost to save you."
"What do I care!" shouted the boy, "You caused all of this! You lied to me about my parents!"
"It's just another part of a larger picture," the man stared off at the sunset, "You don't understand."
"I don't want to," tears streamed down the boy's face as he turned and fled down the hill into the sunset, heading back for the city.
Sighing the man rubbed his face as he let the boy run away without uttering a word.
The specter watched the man as he stood alone, mourning the loss of her life. Could he have ever truly saved her, even if he had been in time? What would have been the outcome? Would her son still have become his child?
After another moment the man turned and began to trudge back towards the lights of the city on the twilight's horizon. The specter watched the man retreat. Perhaps someday, she would remember who he had been to her when she was alive.
........
Adam raced through the grass, heading deep into the twilight as he headed for the lights of the city in the distance. He could feel hot tears stinging his face. This was all so unfair. His father had committed sins that he could never forgive him for. He felt his fists ball up again as he ran, the hot breath leaving his lungs with each exhale. Suddenly a figure appeared out of the darkness, stepping in front of his path.
"Hold on there, boy," called out the man as the boy ran towards him.
Cautiously, Adam slowed his pace and came to a stop near the man. He was older than he had first guessed. The old man's age showed in the white of his hair and the well-manicured hair around his face. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light that excited Adam and scared him in the same instance.
"Where are you going so fast at this time of night?" asked the man as he sized up the boy.
"I'm going home," replied Adam cautiously, "I had a fight with my dad."
"Oh," said the man, "Is that so? Who's your father?"
"You'd know him as the Saviour," grumbled Adam, "But he's just dad to me…"
"You have quite the prominent father," chuckled the man, "Why would you be angry with him?"
"Because he killed my parents," growled the boy, "It's all his fault."
"I like you," said the man, "Since I like you, how about I help you get revenge for the death of your parents?"
Adam's eyes widened in surprise, "How would you do that?"
"Let's just say there are some things that I can teach you," said the man in a low voice, "Things you wouldn't want your dad to know about. They're things that you can use against him if you choose to."
Adam nodded firmly, "Alright, teach me."
"Well then, follow me," said the man turning away from the boy, "I've got some people I want you to meet..."