Perspectives

[ko ko]

ahoi. i'm new on this forum. i'm on ff, but i decided to join this one cuz i'm bored and depressed. um, i think might have i posted these on another forum too.

so pretty much what these are are a bunch of character perspectives, sketches, analysis, whatever you like call em. uh, some of them contain spoilers, but not necessarily explicitly. anyways, on with the show.

Driven

What drives a man?

No, what really drives a man? I'm not talking about what drives a man to get up every morning and go to work to make enough money to support himself, his wife, and two kids, to pay the mortgage of his house in the suburbs with the white picket fence and dog running around the yard. I'm not talking about what drives a man to put up with the normal drudgery of everyday life. I'm talking what drive a man when he is a soldier.

So what drives a man? Is it his sense of duty? No. That's what gets him in the war. But after a while, that just sort of fades away and becomes just another thing you question. What is duty anyway? Who cares about responsibility to your country or race or whatever when the people around you are dying.

No, what drives a man is the fear of shame. A man is raised to believe that he needs to be a man. That fear is for the weak. That killing another man is the only way to cleanse your soul. That when you are face to face with your enemy and you see the white of his eyes and you pull the trigger and stop his heartbeat before he stops yours, that's when you truly experience life. When you end another man's life, that's when you are a man and you know what life really is.

But that's not true. It's all just an act we play. To kill another man when you appreciate your own life, liberties, and pursuits, it's like you've killed a part of yourself. But you don't show it. You can't show it. How can you? When everything that you were raised to believe is the thing you are striving to feel, you still search for that feeling of exhilaration, of liberation, of finally becoming a man.

But that's not what you feel. You feel an emptiness. You carry a fear of blushing. If a man blushes, well then he's just not a man. You kill because if you don't, you are deemed too weak to kill another man. You could fall. Falling is the only other option because even running is falling. So you could fall facing the other direction. You could let yourself be killed. But then again, that means you have failed. You can't let that happen. Why? Because that means embarrassment.

The object of the game is to avoid shame. Pain you can bear. The weight of the men you have killed, that you can carry around all day. Your back becomes bent and twisted, not being used to the emotional baggage. But you still stand up straight. A bend back is cause for embarrassment too.

That flush of blood to the face. The sudden redness that fills the cheeks. That can't be allowed. Pain is a part of daily life. Pain means you are strong. Pain you can ignore because pain means you can heal. Pain is viewed the same as a wound. Pain means it'll scab, peel, then be good as new. But is it really? Physical pain and emotional pain, are they equal? Are they the same? How can they be? The brain doesn't bleed.

It leaks.

I've seen it. I've cracked the skull of a man open and watched the grey matter leak out of its white container and spill over the floor. I was sad until I saw the dark grey body of his slave driver. Then my heart hardened and I moved on to kill the next man.

But when will it end. Can it end? When will my shame finally build up enough to finally tell me to stop? When will that final straw break my camel back? How much longer can I keep myself from feeling the shame of my sins?

Shame isn't the same as regret. Regret is missing the opportunity to do something different. When you've reached the point of shame, there are no other options but retreat. I killed and let pieces of myself be killed because I was too afraid of shame, too embarrassed not to let it happen. My back is already broken, yet I keep accepting straws.

How often do you hear someone say they were too afraid not to kill someone? That must be a first. But it's true. I was, am too afraid of the consequences if I do not kill another man.

The consequences for me aren't even death. Sure, that's a possibility. If I don't kill the man immediately in front of me, he will kill me. I'm not even afraid of where I will go afterwards. If for some miraculous reason I go upwards, all the weight I've been carrying will drag me down. And even if I'm send down, the shame I feel now would be way worse than any punishment that could be inflicted upon me.

But for now, I continue to feel the fear for shame. The embarrassment of blushing. The constant pursuit of being a man. The constant pursuit of redemption.

So, as I stare into the eyes of the man before me, I don't pray for his soul. He isn't in control of his movements. A grey slug is. I've come to believe these slugs, no matter what they believe, can never be men. Only men can be men.

Before I take the fatal bite into my enemy's neck, I look at the men around me. Over there, one of my men takes the life of a man with a the slice of his tail blade. Over here, another of my men takes the life of a man with twist of her wrist. And next to me, my best friend, a man until the end, takes the life of a man with his bare hands.

I turn back to my man. He looks into my uncaring eyes, his own full of fear. He knows he is going to die. I wonder if he feels shame at his end. A part of me reminds me once again that he is not here because of his own volition. It all boils down to that grey slug controlling his every movement, his every thought. But that doesn't matter now.

This man is in front of me. If I do not kill him, then he will kill me. How will I face myself then? How will I deal with the shame? The embarrassment? I cannot.

So I kill him.

My reputation remains pure.

[ko ko]

The key to understanding this one is in this quote:

"It's not a sacrifice to renounce the unwanted. It is not a sacrifice to give your life for others, if death is your personal desire. To achieve the virtue of sacrifice, you must want to live, you must love it, you must burn with passion for this Earth and for all the splendor it can give you – you must feel the twist of every knife as it slashes your desires away from your reach and drains your love out of your body. It is not mere death that the morality of sacrifice holds out to you as an ideal, but death by slow torture." –Francisco D'Anconia, Atlas Shrugged.

Slow Torture


Maybe one day, they will ask, why did she do it?

They probably wouldn't even ask one day, they would probably start asking even before the act was complete. But others would ask later. The question would continue for who knows how long. Maybe one day even later, the history books will cut the summary so short that the question won't even be asked because its importance will have been so greatly reduced. But until then, they will most definitely ask, why did she do it?

Perhaps they will think it was for glory, because it was her duty, because she knew it was the only way. Perhaps others, those that actually knew her nature, they will think it was because she loved the fight, which she just couldn't get enough of it and that was the only way for her to go.

I mean, who could imagine a beauty such as Rachel growing old? Her blond hair darkening from the years and sun to a light brown or some sort of reddish. No matter the splendor of her golden hair now, the truth is genetic. Blond hair doesn't last.

The soft smooth perfection that is her lightly tanned skin won't either. Sure, the magical properties of morphing will delay the damage of the sun and other harsh things, but eventually, it will wrinkle and, dare I say it, sag! The horror! No amount of fantastically matching clothes can cover up a hideously old body underneath. And let's not even mention the creaking in the joints due to the extensive use they've endured from years of hard use from gymnastics and other physical hardships that young people put themselves through. Good God, save her from Father Time!

And yet, that fierce ferocity in her icy blue eyes would never fade. Only Tobias's raptor eyes could match such a glare. But I don't know if you could even call that natural. Even when he was in human form, the glare remained, but it was much more passive, like it was a permanent expression, not a feeling. Those that knew her will say that there was more than just expression behind those eyes.

I am told that feeling could be heard in her voice, too. She had confident certainty that her actions were exact. You could see a loyalty to herself and that which she had taken into herself. Whatever she deemed worthy of doing, it would be done to the best of her ability, as if it were her last act. And if you knew how her life played out, many of her acts she viewed to potentially be her last, because, at the time, they most certainly could have been her last.

But at one point, she became aware of what exactly would be her last act. And this brings back our original question. Why did she do it?

There is only one person who can answer that. I'm not even sure she could tell you the full answer to that question. The reason being is that she doesn't fully know herself. How do I know this? Maybe I should stop talking in the third person.

I have no answer. There is no single reason, only a multitude of events that led up to my ultimate decision.

Glory? Bah, what is the use of glory when you are not there to enjoy basking in its light? What need do I have for glory? They have always said I have my own personal spotlight. It is warm enough. I do not need the gratification of others. I have always been too independent for that anyway.

Duty? HA. Duty to whom? Duty to your country? A country is simply imaginary lines drawn on a map by some old men of the past. Screw the old men of the past. They may have wept for the future, but I cry over the past. What use are tears at this stage anyway? As for duty to your race or species, that can't mean much because we aren't even all of the same species. So if you really must know, just ask Jake over there what duty means.

What was left for me? My family already broken years before offered no comfort. Those that had been through the same roller-coaster ride as me offered no comfort.

I was betrayed. How could she do what she had done? No one knew her anymore, especially not me. Everyone felt she was always the most predictable, second only to me. But no, she'd done the unthinkable. How? How could she do this to us? How could she not see what exactly she was doing to us? To me? I would pay the price. For her traitorous act, I would save her. She would try to forgive me. And I would not be there to tell her that it was not necessary. It will be forever branded to the back of her eyes that it was she who did it. The one I was supposed to trust the most. The punishment for betrayal is worse than death.

He was lost. He faced the same betrayal as I. While my reaction was to be expected, I don't think anyone really expected his to be quite so brutal and cold. But I understood. He and I, we had never been close. But we were drawn together along with the others. I find it odd when I see the string that ties us together is actually a rope. He would give me a blank look and I could read it though there were no words. We had an understanding. But when he gave me that look, I knew. The price I would pay was a fraction of his. When I returned his look, he knew. And though he had never been more certain in his life, it was his loss.

He grew distant. Or perhaps it was I that had neglected him. We had an unspoken agreement. But at some point, our game had ended. Maybe I missed the queues, but I felt like I was the one waiting. They never seemed to come. Maybe he simply feared me. When he was in the mood, all he ever seemed to talk about was how uncontrollable I was. For him, he was right, but, oh, how little he knew. Or maybe that was all an act, just like my so-called lack of fear. Because it always seemed like he just had other things to do. He seemed to have everything he'd ever wanted. His life was complete here. So I had fallen to the wayside. He neglected our banter.

Near the end, the anger really was hate. He and I never really talked, never had any connection. We were probably the least close in the group. The matter of trust for the most part was there in battle. But at the table, how can I respect someone with no opinion of his own? He was a hypocrite. He called us a primitive, backwards species, but it was he who was the most foolish. Maybe it is that we have a vicious nature, but man has a long history of fighting his brothers, so we learned to accept what brothers as we may. They knew nothing of that. They focused solely on species. Could he not recognize the connection between us all? Why was he so eager to throw it all away? They showed him no love while we offered our hand every day. His uncertainty clashed too greatly with my resolution. He was my only ally that held my anger.

I only asked him once, so I was only denied once. But there were times when I looked at him, and he knew what my soul was asking, but the answer I received was always no. He constantly wondered why he hadn't received what he wanted, but I wondered, didn't he? Was he not granted the one thing he wanted the most? No more, no less. It was something even I could not do. I could not ask him to deny the actual best thing in his life. I would not live in denial. I saw what he wanted. It was he who was in denial. He refused to see that he had indeed been given exactly what he'd asked for. Why should he lie? Because he was in denial. How do we help those in denial? We shove the curtain from their eyes and show them the truth. But even then, they could still turn away and delve deeper into the hole they had created for themselves.

So, why did I do it? I guess the answer is actually very simple. Where else was I to turn?

Betrayal, loss, neglect, anger, denial; I was surrounded by elements I could not live with. They would have driven me to self-destruction. What would be the point of that? Even now, after all that I've been through, everything must have a purpose. I still do not wish unto others that which I would not wish unto myself. That left me with only one option: to accept.

My cup was empty. There was only one thing I knew that was absolute that could fill it, blood. The blood of my enemies would be mixed in with my own. It would create a harmony the likes I'd never seen, and I would be satisfied.

[ko ko]

Death or Destruction

Just how equal are the terms death and destruction? About half the time they go hand and hand. War. War brings death to people. It destroys the material around us and destroys the lives of those who are left in the realm of the living.

And what of the war's participants? Some of them meet their death. Others meet their destruction. But to meet your death, must you always meet your destruction? Is it possible to be the bringer of death and destruction without destroying a small part of yourself?

What did I lose? Obviously not my life, so I have not met death myself. I have shown the door to others. I have shoved them through knowing full well that they will never return. Death is not a path. Death is a destination.

But is destruction the path to death? It can't be. Everything is a path to death because death isn't just a destination. Death is the ultimate destination. No matter what we do, it is unavoidable. And what do we do as children when faced with something forced upon us? We reject it. We try to stay away from it as much as possible. And that's what we continue as adults. We avoid and ignore and fight death, but we all know full well that we shall arrive there eventually.

It takes a truly enlightened person to accept and welcome their fate.

I am not that person.

Do I know anyone like that? I might have known a few, but I will never be certain because I can't ask them.

Destruction is not death's equal. There is no equal to death. While death is a destination, destruction is an act. Destruction can bring death, but death cannot bring destruction. Things, acts, they bring destruction. Destinations cannot bring destruction. But destruction can bring destruction.

I have met destruction.

I have watched the one I love meet death.

But I have not met death, and she never met destruction.

Some may say that the war killed something in each of us, in our souls. But I can't believe that. You can't kill someone's spirit without actually killing them too. I think that you can only destroy a soul. That's what happened to me.

It's hard enough to not know who you are, but when you are thrust into a world in which you no longer even know what you are, how can you expect to remain whole? I was so lost and confused.

I still am lost and confused. I once thought that I would figure everything out over time, but there is some sort of mental barrier. I simply can't make that mental leap. Perhaps the barrier is a giant pile of what was once my mind before it was destroyed and in order for me to move on I have to rebuild my mind with the left over pieces.

That's destruction, isn't it? There are remains. Things can technically be rebuilt, but never in the same way because some things are permanent. Like death, but not like death. Some say that life replaces death. I get it, but I don't really get it. The life elsewhere that seemingly replaces those that are dead, they aren't the same.

The war killed Rachel. No one would ever argue that. But I can't bring myself to say it destroyed her. It changed her, yes. It allowed her to unlock something primal from within herself. Or maybe she didn't change. She must have had it in her the whole time in order for her to be able to do the things she did. I doubt I could have pulled half that stuff off.

When I look at Jake, I don't see the living dead. Cassie says that's what he is, a zombie. She says that Jake is just going through the motions of life. She says Jake breathes eats, sleeps, and even works now. But he isn't dead. His spirit is destroyed.

There has to be something out there that could restore him. Just like there has to be something out there that can restore me. Or maybe that thing that could save us is already dead.

I can't speak for Jake. I can't say that I'll ever know what goes on in his head. I only know what I see. Actions speak louder than words. While I may never forgive him for his final order, I can't be angry at him. A part of me knows that Rachel was strong enough to say no if she wanted. And the other part of me screams back wondering how she could want death? How could someone so in love with life actually want death? Once again, I can't say that I'll ever know what went on in her head.

I know what she wanted. She wanted me. She wanted me to want her the way she wanted me. I'm not sure I accomplished that. I needed her like I needed my wings. But she never wanted to be needed. She wanted to be wanted.

She couldn't seem to take being needed. To be needed was too much for her. It was something I never really understood. For her, want always overruled need. And if something needed to be done, she made it so that she wanted to do it.

I think that is how she avoided destruction.

But not me.

And not Jake.

I don't know about the others. Marco only ever needed himself. He had his stupid little jokes. Ax now had his people. He used to share his thoughts with me about how he wasn't even sure if he could return after spending so much time with us humans. It seems to me he went back just fine. Cassie always had her family and nature to comfort her. Even the loss of Jake wasn't enough to shake her. She seemed to cling to whatever ground she had left after the war managed to destroy some of her morals. For her, the world will always be black and white with only a little bit of grey.

But for me and Jake, the world is all grey. We have lost our ability to see colors. Maybe Jake has been able to move on a bit. Maybe he can see more than just the faded brown stains that never seem to wash away.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it shouldn't be about what I need. Maybe it should all be about what I want.

What do I want anyway?

I wanted freedom. I got it. I have my wings.

I wanted her. Or did I really want her or did I need her?

I think I needed her. I needed her in order to keep connected with humanity. Was she right? How much did I actually want her? How far was I willing to go for her?

I'd like to say I would have given up my wings for her. I'd like to say that I'd have stayed the two hours simply holding her hand. I'd like to say I'd move on and never look back.

But I can't. Because she's not here.

I'm here. Jake's here. Cassie, Marco, Ax, they've left us behind. Jake and I, we can't seem to move forward. We are in the land of grey destruction.

Could it be that when you've had so much destruction that all there is left is death?

Is that what Rachel saw? Is that why she agreed to go? Is that why she wanted to go?

But no, she was never destroyed. She was only changed, evolved in her own manner. She only caused destruction. She never met destruction. She only met death. She met Death and they walked away, hand in hand, through the door of no return.

So what is left for me?

A pit of despair? A wasteland made up of the ruin that was once my mind? Possibly.

I go through the various degrees of torture daily. When I sit on my branch overlooking my meadow, there is little to stop the flow of memories when the prangs of hunger have been satiated. When the hawk mind sleeps, there is nothing to protect poor little Tobias.

[ko ko]

Waking Moments

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to a great thudding sound, like the heavy pounding of an enemy crashing through the walls. I jump out of bed and begin to morph. It's right about then, when I start to focus and concentrate that I realize exactly where the sound is coming from.

It is the beating of my heart.

I collapse back onto my bed. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is enough to make me feel a little lightheaded. I hold my breath for as long as I can, slowing my heart rate. The thudding sound remains, but it is now subdued and more rhythmic. You would think that since this happens so often I would know what the sound is already. But I never seem to remember before I start to panic.

In the time before I drift back to sleep, my mind wanders.

What is it that causes my heart to thunder?

Is it the nightmares of old? The ones where I'm being chased by hordes of Hork-Bajir endlessly through the woods and my seemingly boundless endurance for running as a wolf is finally draining my last bit of strength? No. I simply roll over at those. I know I'm safe and that I'll never have to run for my life again.

Is it the heartache of old? The ones where my heart is being torn as I watch the boy I love being stripped of everything he once knew and thrown into a reality where the laws of nature do not apply? The ones where my heart is pounded into the dirt as I watch my friend, as close as a sister, drown in the depths of war and buckle in the tide of young and misunderstood love. No. I simply wipe the tears from my unopened eyes and dream on because that is the only place left where I can see those I've lost.

It should be obvious what is left.

I fear the future.

The only thing about myself I've ever really been certain about is my love for animals. But when I look at the ground, I have no idea where the line is. Rachel always said she knew where the line was and that she'd never cross it. She did many things that I could never do. There were some horrendous acts that none of us could do. I'm not even sure Ax would have done them. But, at some level, they were justified. Weren't they? What would we have done if she hadn't been there? That's one question I refuse to answer.

Maybe that is what drew me to her in the first place. Everyone, including her, wondered what in the world drew us together. How could two people that were such opposites be the best of friends? She wasn't like the other beautiful blondes I knew. Maybe it was her infamous dark side that the fighting drew out of her that set her apart in the first place. I know she struggled, but she always emanated total certainty and confidence. When she was overwhelmed with emotion or the heat of battle, she was most intimidating. But whatever inner conflict she experienced, it seemed like she knew what she knew what she was doing. Maybe that was what I saw in her.

I don't know. How can anyone know? That was what I loved about Rachel. She always seemed to know what the future held. And even when she didn't, that was the one thing she didn't let bother her. She always knew we would win the war. The real thing that the war changed about her was her certainty in herself. That ****y attitude towards gymnastics carried over to fighting. But she didn't know what the future held for who she was. That was the real thing that scared her. She knew her purpose. But she didn't know if that was all she was.

I balanced her out for the longest time. I had my morals. I'm the one who had the patience to deal with any situation. I was the one who always seems to know the right thing to say to calm things down. We leveled each other out. She helped me come out of my shell and I helped her to slow down to appreciate the little things.

That is what I face a future without. I face a future without certainty, without confidence, without courage, without balance.

I don't know what to say anymore. I say things and I instantly regret them now. The words come out, but they no longer seem to fit. There are things that I know. Those are the things about animals and how to protect and take care of the environment. It's only things that could be written in an encyclopedia or science textbook that I have the mental stability to maintain sustained conversations about. The only times in the past I found myself at a loss for words was when I would talk to Jake about us. We were both at that awkward stage; neither of us was willing to voice our feelings. Our lack of experience left us wondering as to what to do with each other. That feeling is perpetual now.

I've had boyfriends since the end of the war, since Jake. We have long conversations about nature and preservation, about things I like and know. But when it comes to any other kind of talk, I choke. Some of the men I've dated think it's cute and endearing that I never seem to know what to say. They seem to think I find relief in physical comfort. But it isn't fulfilling without that emotional understanding everyone seems to lack. I can't connect with anyone.

I feel like I only have one friend left, Tobias.

Sometimes, especially after a particularly bad nightmare, I visit him at his meadow. I lean against his tree, sitting nestled in the roots. He rests above on an overhanging branch where he can watch over his field yet keep an eye on me. He doesn't morph. I expect him to do so on his own accord; I'll never ask. We are both comfortable in our own skins and with each other's.

I've always understood his conflict. He couldn't give up his wings because he felt it was his duty to us and to Prince Elfangor to continue the fight. Nothing Rachel could say would have ever changed his mind. Besides, where would he have gone if he had changed? He couldn't go home. We had become his family. We provided him love and as much support as he let us. To some degree, I don't feel sorry anymore for his loss of self. He chose to stay as a hawk. When he would have his tantrums about not knowing who he was and losing his humanity, a part of me couldn't help thinking that he brought it upon himself. His humanity was gone because he gave it up; a hawk isn't human. During the war, I could never tell him that. I look back and I don't know why I never said anything. It must not have felt right at the time. Nothing feels right anymore.

I think I understand him better than he understands me. I know about his conflicts about what he is. Normally, I would say "you can't change a leopard's spots," but in our situation, we most certainly can. He simply can't settle for being a normal person anymore.

He seems to think he understands me. But I can tell from his responses that he is as questioning as I am. The things that I did trouble me the most. Although, we speak about all of our actions. I sincerely try to pay attention to the things he says, but I get lost in my own thoughts all too often. I know it, he knows it. He does it too.

Our conversations bring up countless questions. But we always return to the same central one, who are we?

I think that's why Tobias has stayed a hawk the whole time. He is a boy in a hawk's body. A lot of times, he has expressed that he feels like he's a hawk stuck with the thoughts of a boy. He thinks he would be better off sometimes if he could just forget the past and actually live like a true hawk. By staying a hawk, he can avoid having to properly answer the question. After all, he's just a hawk. All a hawk has to do is hunt and survive. His future is laid out for him.

But I'm still asking myself the question. Tobias hasn't any good answers. He has gotten extremely philosophical and introspective. He tells me to live day by day, like him, like a hawk. And I ask myself, can I do that? Can I really live that way? I might have once, but now? Thus far, the answer is no.

In the waking hours after my nightmares, my mind returns to thoughts conjured up by our old conversations. I try to trust in who I am. But I don't even know who I am. I'm the girl who hides in the zoo or the woods taking care of every injured creature I find then turns around to slaughter hundreds of sentient lives, both innocent and criminal. How can I be so hypocritical? How can I live with myself with so much blood on my hands? What must I do to repent my sins? If I can save just one, would it be enough? How will I be judged for my actions?

What matters in this world? Something tells me that life matters. But if life is the only thing that matters, then is slavery acceptable? A slave is technically alive. The stories I was told growing up tell me otherwise. The pleas I heard while in the Yeerk Pool told me otherwise. If death is preferable to being a slave, then, if that spark dies, is that life really a loss? My ancestors didn't give in though. I am a testament to that. What about the others? How many lines of life are there that will never come to fruition because of my actions?

How can I be so certain that all life is sacred when it is so easily ended? Tobias could never give me a good answer. His best answer was to take off into the sky only to swoop down and catch a field mouse. He would return with it, barely alive and say to me, "For me, the choice is simple. My life, or the mouse's. I will always choose mine."

I wish I could talk to him about that some more. Except I can't. I forget sometimes that he left with them. I can't go and visit him in his meadow. His meadow is occupied by another. He went with Jake. Jake took away another one of my friends.

Someone offered an answer once, "If all life is sacred, then no life is sacred. If everything has meaning, then nothing has meaning. So if nothing has meaning, the only way something can have a purpose is if you give it purpose and meaning." I thought at the time that that was a great answer. Maybe I could assess what was left of my life and reevaluate what had meaning in my life. My problem is that I like what nature gives us. I enjoy all creatures living. So to me, all life has meaning, which means, by my new logic, life has no meaning. So I'm back at square one.

Most nights I don't fall back asleep.

I continue my circular thoughts until light begins to peek through my window. At that point, I might as well get up and move on to my daily routine. At least that much of my future is certain. I know the minimum of what needs to be done day by day. It's just barely enough to get me by. Most people think the dark circles under my eyes are from overworking myself. I let them think that way. I would stutter if I ever tried to convey my thoughts and fears.

Walking through the world, I am retreated into myself. I have betrayed myself, the old self, the one I can no longer return to, the one I can barely remember. It is my obligation to my remaining values to continue to live. That is what I do. I live today and mourn my past every waking moment. And when I sleep, I tremble with anxiety and fear over my future.

[ko ko]

Selfless


"Hey there sexy. Who might you be?"

I turn my head slowly in a well-practiced movement while tilting my head slightly in their direction and raising an eyebrow. My response is always, "Who wants to know?"

The answer is something along the lines of "Oh, no one. I just saw you all alone here, looking cute and handsome. I was thinking you looked a little familiar."

To that, I answer, "Well, I've done some movies here and there. I've been on Letterman, Leno, Oprah, you know, all the important shows. After you save the world, you name starts to get around." I always end with a small chuckle and a bright, but not overly eager, smile.

The woman of the moment widens her eyes in fake surprise. "So THAT'S who you are."

After that, the conversation tends to wander around. I get asked what it's like to be rich and famous. A lot of them want to know how I feel knowing I saved the world, what kept me motivated to fight. A few ask me what it feels like to kill another man and to lose fellow Animorphs.

I've got my answers to the questions down pretty well. They vary a bit from person to person, but it's all the same. I play the perfect gentleman. I am exactly who they think I am. I am who they expect me to be. I'm the funny guy that wasn't really affected by what happened. I plowed through the experience and moved on to bigger and better things.

I take them home. They marvel at my mansion and all my idols of wealth. In the end, I take them upstairs and have my way with them. In the morning, my driver takes them home. I never see them again. I perform my duties; I fulfill both my needs and theirs. I am what they see. They expect nothing more.

I lounge around my mansion during the day when there is nothing to do. There rarely is anything to do. I get cast in plenty of movies and do the occasional TV appearance, but it still leaves a lot of free time. Time to be filled with what Marco wants to do. But what do I want to do?

When I'm alone, I feel anxious. I get jittery and start to sweat. No one is there to tell me that I'm acting ridiculous and to just calm down.

I thought about things other people do when they are stressed. My first attempt at a solution was to hire a masseuse. That helped me only while I was actually receiving a massage. The moment she would leave, even though my body was relaxed, my brain would start to race again. It didn't help.

My second attempt was to take a vacation. I took a trip to the most popular places in the world, places everyone says you should see at least once in your lifetime. The cities were packed and the beaches were crowded. I was recognized everywhere, and the people kept me busy. But they told me I was doing it wrong. As someone with vast funds, I could afford to go to the most remote and luxurious places with woman of the moment to "get away from it all." I listened. The woman of the moment was a bore. We talked for hours about nothing. Somehow, that kept her happy, but not me.

It wasn't just her. It's all of them, everyone. And it's no one.

When I'm alone, I want to be around people. When I'm with people, I feel like I'm being smothered by them. There is so much expectation, so little response, not enough reassurance. Why can't I find a balance? What's wrong with me?

That's the question. What's wrong with me? It led me to speak to the one person who always seemed to be able to interpret any situation and find the deeper solution that I could never see, Cassie.

When I spoke to her, I quickly slipped into my role of the lighthearted jokester. We reminisced a bit, and I made her laugh. She looked like she needed the laugh, too. But nagging in the back of my mind was that voice telling me to ask her my question. My lips just couldn't seem to form the words. Cassie doesn't expect me to be the introspective sort. To her, I'll always be the funny one who, when the situation comes down to it, can become cold and calculating.

Cassie, being Cassie, noticed anyway. She saw through my act, asking me the question I wanted to ask her. "What's wrong with you?"

The ice was broken. I didn't have to funny anymore. I told her about my problems in a strange manner, using the same tone that I had used when I would explain our battle strategies. I felt like I was trying to win against myself. When I finally finished and asked her, "what's wrong with me?"

Her response was simple. Frowning, she shook her head and asked, "Who are you?"

That ended the conversation. Cassie left. I never had a conversation that felt real with her after that.

Who am I?

Am I the one who makes everyone laugh? Am I the cute one that can have anyone he wants? Am I the one who sees the bigger picture and the line from A to B? Am I the one that knows when to get things done and in the most ruthless way possible? Am I? Who am I and what do I want?

I always know who I am when I'm with other people. But it's not fulfilling. I always live up to their expectations. I always charm everyone in the room. I am what they call "good and proper." Not even I am dissatisfied with my behavior because I act perfectly and to the tee. Yet, I feel like I'm being drowned with the need to be the person that others want me to be. It's always about other people. Has it always been that way?

I want to say no. I want to say I can be my own man. But I'm not sure I can.

Even when I was little, I wanted to be a famous comedian. Fame. In order to achieve fame, you need others to give it to you. It is not possible to be famous as a singular. Other people have to acknowledge that even more people know who you are. Comedy. I used to make jokes all the time. Even if most of the people called them lame, I found delight in them. It was the only thing that I had for myself. I didn't need others to give it to me. That changed; I changed. My humor shifted to mostly sarcasm. Sarcasm relies on other people. I make jokes at their expense. But now they think I'm funny. Their laughter urges me on. It tells me that I'm a comic. Strangely, I can't remember anymore the jokes I made when I didn't need the laughs to know I was being funny.

When we were at war, I didn't want to fight. No one expected me to want to fight. I wanted to be there for my dad. He needed me to give him support because I needed him. Without him, I would have had nothing left. When I found out about my mother, I fought for myself and for her. I guess I had what most would consider a typical reaction. It's the memories of when I came close to killing her myself that scare me. Who was that person? Was that really me? Was that the real me?

After, when there was no war, when I was supposed to go out on my own as a man, I had no leader to turn to in order to give me my purpose. I don't know what to do anymore. I need people to give me their expectations. I need their praise to know what I'm doing is right. For when I'm alone, there is no one, and I have nothing to do. I have no expectations for myself. It isn't boredom. It is long, dragging periods of extreme anxiety and anticipation.

Maybe I'm a no one now. Maybe I really wasn't anyone. Maybe if things had gone differently, I could have figured out who I really was. I took the orders; war gave me directions on what to do and how to behave. Nothing, nothing I took was ever because of selfishness. The demands of war gave me a purpose and a role. I became used to receiving orders. I got used to receiving expectant looks. I had a job that was given to me. I can't remember how to take what I want, how to take something that wasn't given to me, something I earned.

I missed out on the chance to ask myself what I want, what I want to do, what I want to be, what I like, what I really am like. Up from the ocean depths of war to the shallow pools of the limelight, what was I? Who am I?

I am the selfless one. I did things for others because I couldn't do them for me. I am whoever you want me to be because there is no me. I truly am selfless. I have left myself empty. It is dissatisfying and humorless.

[ko ko]

uh, yup - don't care if no one responds cuz i like posting them

Mentality

Part One: Aristh

(Set early in the series - time frame and sequence of events not perfect - before Ax has any contact with other Andalites.)

Arrogant.

That is what they call us. We are not arrogant, we are Andalites. We are an ancient species, much older than the humans, and though there may be some older than us, we are by far the most advanced in the universe. Why should be not be proud of our accomplishments? But saying that we are arrogant is going too far; it is very insulting.

I have come to the conclusion that perhaps my friends believe I am arrogant because of my lack of emotional response to killing. I believe that they would have a stronger reaction towards me in this aspect if not for Rachel's disturbing attachment to it.

When I kill another species, my lack of reaction is not because I believe that I am better than they are. I do not need to believe in my superiority. For one matter, I have killed him; therefore, I have bested him. I am superior to that individual. Second, if Andalite technology is more advanced than theirs, then by definition we are superior. But thirdly, the reason why I can mentally handle the concept of taking another being life is because I have been preparing for it my entire life. My entire aspect is different.

To kill another being is part of an old Andalite sacrament.

It began in the time of the ancients. It was a time when our tail blades meant life or death. We had to use them to protect ourselves against our predators. We do not have predators today. But we are forever thankful that we have retained our tail blades. But we still follow the rituals that follow the slaying of our enemies as though it were ancient days.

For example, I have eaten with Cassie's and Jake's families. Jake's family says a prayer before their meal. Cassie's does not. Jake's family prepares themselves so that they can eat the food with the proper reverence to their beliefs. The same is not true with Cassie's family. While I am certain based on Cassie's behavior towards all things, she appreciates her food, she does not have the same spiritual outlook or understanding that Jake or I would have.

Andalites perform rituals at the start and the end of the day. We do not perform eating prayers because we are almost constantly eating throughout the day so long as we are on decent grass. But we perform rituals before going into battle, after returning from a failed battle, after returning from a successful battle, after losing a comrade in battle, after losing a comrade not in battle, and so on. Everything has a deeper spiritual purpose. It means something to us. How we wage war has roots to our ancient past. We do not have the same outlook at what we do as the humans.

So they deem us arrogant.

I do not really listen to them. They are a primitive and backwards society. What they are expected to know by my age I knew when I was but a small foal. I wonder if there is something wrong with their brains. Their overall comprehension of mathematics and the sciences seems hindered in some way. Perhaps their brains simply cannot absorb and remember as much information an Andalite brain.

If this is the case, then I think we have nothing to fear from the humans other than if the war is lost and they are taken by the Yeerks. Although, the rate at which they have advanced is startling. It took them approximately six decades from their first flight in order to achieve lunar landing. We were able to accomplish the same feat after a few centuries – time adjusted according to their years. Yet there are so few of them that seem as though they can mentally comprehend the most advanced of their limited sciences. No, we will have nothing to fear from them.

Sometimes I wish I could just tell them. I wish I could tell them that everything they are doing is wrong, that I know a better way because we already discovered it. It is not allowed. I will not be responsible for my own version of Seerow's Kindness. But when I watch them and their primitive fumblings, I cannot help but express my frustration at their efforts and our superiority. So they call me arrogant. Even my prince thinks I am arrogant.

It does not help that I am reduced to silence for I am right but cannot speak against my prince. I see their errors. I know more advanced technologies and systems. Everything they do seems to be inefficient when I compare it to my people. But there is nothing I can do. I must listen to them because my prince is one of them. He constantly orders me not to address him by his title. That would be such disrespect; that is not acceptable. He tells me that he is not a prince so it cannot be his title. He may not technically be a part of the Andalite military, but I am not of a high enough rank to command myself. The code I follow dictates that I have a prince to follow. He would have me think independently and vote on what to do. That is inefficient.

Democracy only works for civilians, not for warriors. And his chosen system of democracy is flawed. There is too much indecision and infighting. Our system of democracy for our civilians at home is far superior. The voice of the people is always heard and followed. I believe that even those who do not win elections are still satiated. I would not know. As part of the military, I am not allowed to vote.

I was taught not to question my superiors. But when one works with another person so closely, it cannot be helped. I made disrespectful remarks of my former captain, Old Hoof and Tail, but I never questioned him. With Prince Jake, he questions himself with every decision, sometimes leading me to question him as well. I never questioned my captain. When I would watch him command, every decision and every order was distinct and sharp, never wavering. The same cannot be said of Prince Jake. Although I question many of his choices, I believe he is the best prince out of my options.

My pondering has, to my horror, led me to question my dear brother. It has occurred to me that Elfangor did not behave like any other Andalite I've ever known. Some of his mannerisms remind me of the humans. He would shrug and roll his eyes. It was something I thought was unique to him. Andalites are taught not to pick up behaviors from other species because it is considered degrading. But Elfangor always seemed to hold tradition and custom is such peculiar regard.

Whenever he knew he was being watched, he did his best to act like he was a normal Andalite. But being his brother, I noticed that when he was alone, sometimes he would simply sit and contemplate. What he thought about was always a mystery. He was not a scientist; he was a warrior. He always told me that fighting is instinctive. A great fighter clears the mind and allows his tail and stalk eyes to command the rest of his body. What could he possibly be pondering about for hours on end? The more time I spend with the humans, the more I am inclined to think that Elfangor behaved much like them. Could he have possibly been touched by humanity?

No, that is impossible. That was the first ever dome ship to enter Earth's space proximity. We were the first Andalites – Visser Three not included – to ever have contact with humans.

He must have known something. He had the biggest heart of any Andalite I ever knew. Loss was always at the back of his eyes. He said I would understand one day. But I still can't comprehend how such a celebrated warrior could act like none of it mattered. He always told me to do as I was told. How often did I see him performing his own daily tasks? I don't think I ever saw him. I always just assumed it was because he preferred privacy. Maybe it was something more.

Maybe he thought the way humans do too. Humans seem to think too much about things other than what is important. Elfangor told me that family was most important. Family is closely related to things of the heart. I was taught that our rituals are paramount. Family is part of what every Andalite should hope to achieve, but there are many other rites to be completed. Elfangor never illustrated his concern about the other rites. He was different. But everyone overlooked that because of his status.

I wonder if I really do wish to be just like him. I only knew the Elfangor that he presented. What did he think about? What were his real views? Why did he reject tradition? Why did it seem he reflected what I see today; was it humanity?

The answers elude me. For now, I shall not concern myself with petty thoughts. I must focus on the spiritual significance of my current and future actions. I always strive to match emotion, reverence, and ritual. Success leads me to a perfectly balanced mindset so I can be without troubles. Humanity and their overly emotional "logic" shall not affect me. The good of the People, for whom I pledge my life to every morning, must be upheld. There is no room for matters of the heart in the pursuit of enlightenment.

The Andalite nature is superior.

Part Two: Lyrical Epiphany

[ko ko]

Mentality

Part Two: Lyrical Epiphany

(Set mid 54, just before Ax returns to his people)

It began with music.

Humans all listen to music. They have many types of music and countless instruments to create said music. They record and save the sounds so that they can be heard on demand at any time from small portable devices called radios and walkmans. There is even a new device called an iPod, but it is expensive, so I do not have one.

Andalites have music. But we are not addicted to it as humans are. We, even with our advanced technology, do not even have as many instruments as they do. We live very close to nature, and our instruments reflect those of what the humans call primitive societies. I am not sure how I feel about our music being compared to the early humans when humans are already so primitive. Our main instruments of music are drums. We have traditionally fashioned ours out of hollowed pieces of wood. There is even some Andalites that have been experimentally manufacturing them out of various metals to create a different sound. But many the traditional Andalites are against them. I was included in those against the new sound, but now I think I would enjoy the new sounds.

Humans, on the other hand, are willing to use almost anything for a drum. They use wood like us, but as I saw on television on a show called Stomp Out Loud, they are willing to use almost anything, including trash receptacles and plumbing. It was also the most violent and spectacular playing of instruments I've ever seen. But, while it is not inconceivable that such items could be used, it had never occurred to me that one would ever do such a thing. I am told that drums are a type of percussion instrument. Anything that makes sound while being beaten is percussion. It is logical in terms of the definition and method of play.

Andalites would appreciate the string instruments the most. I recall as a child plucking a taught string or wire and finding a pleasing sound, but it is a wonder that we never exploited it. Humans not only pluck the string, but also draw a bow across it. The most complex of these instruments seeming to be the piano. It is played by pressing a key which in turn causes a hammer to hit a sting that is housed inside a large frame. It would seem to be percussion because you are hitting the key with a finger and the string is being hit by a hammer, but it is still a string that is being played. My friends have not indicated to me whether or not I have correctly classified the piano. I believe Andalites would excel with the string instruments because they require dexterous fingers. We have a natural advantage over them as they lack two fingers on each hand.

My favorite type of instruments is the winds. Perhaps it is my favorite because we cannot create such sounds on our own as we lack mouths. The horns, the trumpets, the trombone, the clarinet, the flute, they are amazing. I do not like the bagpipes. I find the sound too harsh and grating on the eardrums. Everyone seemed to agree with me except for the late Rachel. I do not know how she withstood the pounding and grating of such sounds on her eardrums. I much prefer the saxophone. It is sound that I shall never forget. If I could learn to play one and share it with my people, I think they might be able to understand the human's fascination with music. Rachel did not agree me concerning the "sax."

But this brings me to an aspect of music that most assuredly separates Andalites from Humans, singing. Like our situation with the wind instruments, we physically cannot sing. I have discovered that singing in thought-speech is not as pleasant as the concept. Singing was meant to verbal. Marco seems to be the only person I have found that thinks thought-speak singing is acceptable. His singing is not pleasing in either form. Sometimes, I heard Cassie singing pleasantly while working in the barn. Songs with lyrics are most vexing to me. A song's lyrics are often quite poetic. Taken alone, they can be a bit repetitive. But it is the music that couples with them that makes the song whole. I find the sad songs with uplifting music and happy songs with depressing music most vexing. I would often listen to the same song multiple times in order to attempt to discern its meaning, but the subtleties of the English language have made it very difficult. It is an aspect of human music that I'm not sure that we, as Andalites, could ever hope to recreate.

The lyrical component to human music shows the depth of mankind. Andalite music is somewhat akin to what Marco calls elevator music. Human music displays the depth of the emotional side of the human mind. The range of sounds that can be created with their multitude of instruments allows one to experience a thoughtful response coupled with the typical emotional response. But the lyrics touch the soul. They trigger an onslaught of introspective thought which is met with a tsunami of feeling. For the most provoking of songs, I cannot hope to be able to describe my full reaction.

Such power human music has. For Andalites, it would be revolutionary. It has led me to believe that for the good of traditional Andalite culture, human music should not be introduced at home.

Music is the most transcendent form of humanity and introspection that I have seen in my lifetime.

Andalites, as a whole, are not an emotional race. We take part little in introspection. We rarely express our feelings openly. We are constantly being told to suppress them and to live with a level mindset. In order to maintain this mindset, our lives revolve around rituals. When I tried to describe it to Tobias, he deemed it akin to religion. After reading about religions, I do not think it is a religion. The human religions seem to be belief systems that attempt to explain that which the humans do not understand. In contrast, we are simply giving meaning to the daily tasks. Rather than trying to understand and question, we simply find spiritual meaning in how our actions relate to the Andalite community, then we accept and move on.

Ever since arriving on Earth, I have been forced to go beyond anything that I had been taught. I was forced to accept things that I found extraordinary as something so profound that they are rarely considered noteworthy by humans, but that is not important here. I was only an aristh. I knew only the equivalent of my culture that my friends knew of theirs. I knew my principles quite well. I always practiced my morning and evening rituals perfectly, but I was lacking was the years of reinforcement that warriors and princes have. The straightforward thinking I'd been taught all my life was being questioned.

I wonder how I would have reacted in various scenarios if I had already had the discipline of a full warrior. As an aristh, I knew the rules. But as a warrior, I would have had the experience to deal with my situation as my Andalite superiors and untainted culture would have expected of me. As my time on Earth turned from days to months to years, I lost my insight into what the will of what my commanders would have been. I could no longer predict what orders I would have been given. I no longer knew what I should be doing. I followed the only task I knew was always constant, to follow my prince, which I performed on a daily basis as I had been taught, except my prince happened to be human.

I started to become lost. As we get older, we become more involved in our society. We learn more and more about our selected sciences, my chosen science being that of combat as I elected to join the military. But we also learn more about our culture and customs. As an aristh, I was taught the basic morning and evening rituals and the pre- and post-battle and death rituals. Nearing my completion of my training, I would have been taught other rituals. I never learned them.

Everyone must perform their rituals. As a young foal in school, I had a morning ritual that I performed in unison with the other students in my class. If I had taken the path of a scientist, I would have different practices as well. What they would have consisted of, I know not. Every Andalite performs daily rituals. To not practice them is looked down upon, giving them the stigma of an outsider rejecting society.

I was losing my connection to my people. I had to perform my rituals lest I lose my last tie to my people. But it was becoming harder and harder to think like them, to feel like them. I felt as though the distance between us was growing. I didn't know how to handle my flooding emotions. To my knowledge, I was not supposed to even be having them. Suppressing them as I had been taught was insufficient.

And so, it began with music.

The lyrics, it was like they opened a new part of my consciousness. I began to think things that I had never conceived of before. The words voiced my inner self.

When I was younger, so much younger than today
I never needed anybody's help in any way
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self-assured

How was it they can perfectly describe how I am feeling without ever knowing who I am? There must be something more to these humans than meets the eye. Could this be how they manage their struggle with conflicting thoughts? What can music teach me about myself?

How does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?

Yes, that's exactly how it felt. It felt like I had no control. I was moving in whichever direction the hill I was tumbling down wanted me to go. There was no way to get home. There were no Andalites willing to come to our aid and take me where I belonged. I didn't believe my friends could ever understand. My leaders had abandoned me, and I was tumbling down.

Did I ask too much? More than a lot
You gave me nothin' now it's all I got
We're one but we're not the same
Well we hurt each other then we do it again

Did I really expect war to be as simple and as glorious as the stories I'd heard growing up? The War-Princes, full of arrogance, boasted of quick and clean battles where they disposed of Yeerks in the same manner that humans dispose of a banana peel (which is a waste as it is delicious though bitter). How did it they do it? What was I missing? Why wasn't I like them?

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds
Have no fear for atomic energy
'Cause none of them can stop the time

Perhaps humans do have something they can teach us. They have done so much harm to themselves. They have so much to fear in their little world. They have found an escape, expression. I was a fool for trying to remain impartial to my emotions. It was the way of the aristh, let the Prince handle all affairs. The pain I carried was not just from the weight of trying to avenge my brother, but the fate of the human world, possibly even my world. Who knows what the Yeerks could have done with six billion human hosts at their disposal? But it is not Earth that is a cold world, it is mine.

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see
It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out
It doesn't matter much to me

Should I give in to my new found humanity? I am an Andalite; I must stay with my people. I am an Animorph; I must discover what that means. Could my upbringing be trapping me from making the greatest move forward into the realm of what it truly means to be Human? Can I remain an Andalite yet somehow hold humanity in my heart?

All I see turns to brown as the sun burns the ground
And my eyes fill with sand as I scan this wasted land
Trying to find, trying to find where I been

My memories of my life before Earth are faded. Not because my memory has deteriorated, but because of the stain of emotional pain. Even now, with the war over and the consequences of my decision close to fruition, I still cannot overcome the hurt. If I have learned anything, it is to appreciate what I have. Would it be a waste to try to return? Is there a going back? I do not think like an Andalite anymore.

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality

I cannot stay here. There is too much temptation. I would lose who I once was if I remain under the influence of humanity. But would that be such a bad thing? I know I will never take humans for granted again, but I cannot remain with them. If I do, I fear I shall stray too far from my path as an Andalite. I must return to my people, because I am an Andalite. Even Elfangor returned eventually.

That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it

They say I stand alone now. They say that I am no longer in my brother's shadow. They say that to them, we stand side by side as proud Princes who have slain many Yeerks and saved countless innocent lives. Elfangor, the great tide turner, and Aximili, the finisher of the war. I know the truth. I know what role each of us really had in the war. I will always be the little brother. I think of my accomplishments, but what can I do? Could I have given up my life for the hope of an alien race?

Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?
Dreams of loneliness
Like a heartbeat drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering
What you had
And what you lost

If I return, perhaps I can find myself again. I do not think I see myself here on Earth anymore. There are too many memories, too many mistakes. There are no more excuses for me to stay. How would that look to my people? I must respect tradition, no matter how lonely they make me feel.

I've been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could've been
I've been wallowing in my own chaotic
And insecure delusions

Why can I not be certain of my decision? I know it is the proper thing to do; it is expected of me. Marco would like me to stay. Prince Jake mutters incomprehensibly. Cassie wants me to do what my heart tells me. My hearts want to ask Tobias, but I cannot find him. I was lost without my people. He is lost without his Rachel. They cannot help me.

I heard your voice through the photograph
I thought it up and brought up the past
Once you know you can never go back
I gotta take it on the otherside

I swallowed my emotions. I have chosen to return, I must act like an Andalite. My friends, they will never know the turmoil I have felt. It is no fault of their own. How could a human possibly understand an Andalite? It is what is expected, even if it is not what I want.

And if I only could
Make a deal with God
And get him to swap our places
Be running up that road
Be running up that hill
With no problems

Humanity has taught me how to reflect. It has taught me what life really means. It has taught me the complexity of emotions and that logic is not absolute. No Andalite could ever believed that logic is subjective. Do I return to my people to show them the way or to escape what I learned?

Rachel once told me that there's no going back. Could she have been right?

It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me
The end of laugher and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die

This is the end


Music lyrics in order of appearance:
Help by The Beatles
Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan
One by U2
Redemption Song by Bob Marley
Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles
Kashmir by Led Zeppelin
Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
Losing My Religion by R.E.M.
Dreams by Fleetwood Mac
Stinkfist by Tool
Otherside by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Running Up That Hill by Placebo
The End by The Doors