Sing about Me
We're going back in time to high school. To the lavender gang days, the day that Yahflay was shot.
I understand that the story may seem disjointed so far. The next two parts are crucial to my life, and it's challenging to piece everything together before these events, as what comes after tends to undermine them. Nonetheless, I will continue.
On a cool summer morning on Opranus, city of Awburg–the sabbath to be exact A'roll drove his lowrider over to the home of Yahflay so we could work on one of our projects, this project was an album, a disco-inspired project we spilled our hearts out into,
Yahflay was very heavy on the Koudzl; he was an addict, he said the green kept him sane.
That fungus ruined him, and he knew it.
Yahflay and I both spent our youngest years within 20 miles of each other, and we became friends. Not great friends, barely friends for that matter.
Once we discovered we would go to the same high school, that all changed. We got there a little bit earlier than everyone else in our grade, though, we were also held a year back to be put in a grade with people of our age-range.
Yahflay's childhood evidently wasn't so pretty; his father had killed both his sister and his mother before getting sent to a mental asylum three years after Yahflay converted to being Aheian– (a decision I influenced)
He was not 'in tune with Syre' as the elders said; he was susceptible to every addiction, problem, and mental health issue under the sun.
And that morning, on our stop we took before we went to A'roll's house every morning. He had bought three bags of Koudzl from the convenience store.
"That human guy is always playing the saxophone." Yahflay points towards a human; he waves at us. He's wearing a suit, and he's serenading a woman in her mid-late 30s. There are cameras around him, and he is playing that saxophone like nothing else.
Something about that always stuck with me. Every time I hear the song he played on that saxophone, I can't help but remember the death of Yahflay.
We'll call him Flay; we called him Flay at the time, regardless.
A'roll looks in his glove compartment.
"I found a lighter." He grabs his bag of Koudzl and mine.
He mixes the bunch, grinding it into a paste before placing it in the bottom of a cup. He fills that cup with soda, he uses the lighter to cook the paste within the soda, forming a cake-like structure, he takes it out of the cup, and bites it before handing the Koudzl to Flay, he eats his.
"I don't get you naemors," I say.
"I'm Aheian now, dude. I'm not a naemor!" Flay smiles and laughs. He then thinks about what he said and starts laughing.
Approximately thirty minutes go by and we're in the same parking lot, both A'roll and Yahflay are stoned.
A'roll starts his car after opening his CivicLink.
"We're going to Mudern's house. He owes somebody some money." He raises his eyebrows and points the rearview mirror at Yahflay.
He grabs a gun from his pocket. He calls it the peashooter. It shoots pressurized CO2 cartridges and blows up anything ranging from small animals to entire people.
We start our way there.
"Co'ol, you don't mind driving us back right?" A'roll states.
I shake my head.
"You've been quiet my whole life, every time you talk, I always remember what you gotta say." Flay giggles.
The drive to Mudern's house takes 3 hours; it's noon.
Yahflay steps out of the car, then I do, then A'roll– all 3 of us are wearing black trench coats with pink badges on the back. Our Emblem is a Diamond with a lavender feather in the middle, the words 'Ouranós Esteile' is the brand, custom made trenchcoats–paid for by A'roll's mother.
Yahflay scouts the home.
They hide Double-whammy and all the guns we could need.
"Of course, Mudern isn't home." Yahflay walks back to the front of the house.
One of the neighbors hops over the fence holding a metal pipe.
"Hey, does Mrs Kifle and her son Mudern know any of you?" He asks. He's an Earthling, he's got a short bowlcut with a very long beard, and one of his eyebrows is shaved.
"I know if he doesn't give us our money, we're gonna punch button all through this hellhole," A'roll says.
The neighbor raises his metal pipe, swinging it at A'roll, who dodges it.
A'roll barely fought with his hands up to this point; he was scrawny, 59 kg while wet, but a majority of his bodyweight was muscle.
The earthling steps back, watching A'roll reach into his trenchcoat.
Instead of a gun, he takes out a bottle of pepper spray and sprays it all over the earthling's face, who squirms in pain.
Yahflay grabs his metal pipe out of his hands as he squirms and squeals like a pig on the ground and hits his ribcage repeatedly.
"Oh, heavenly mother, please forgive me! For I have committed the grave crime of harming another lifeform! Bless me with your forgiveness, please, mother!" He says whilst beating on the earthling.
I pat my pockets to find out my civlink isn't there, so I go into the car.
A'roll mistakes me for trying to get away, so he pulls out something out of his trunk.
"I got it some years ago." He says,
The earthling pleads, A'roll has an orange ball of something in his hands.
"No! Don't! Please no!" He exclaims, "You'll burn the whole neighborhood down!"
A'roll throws the bomb through the front window of the Kifle residence, lighting it ablaze. We leave before anyone is called. We did forget to wear masks, but that's no worry–we all look exactly alike to a human.
Except Flay, who's slightly overweight and very-very-very dark. As dark as the new moon.
We get in the car, thinking nothing of it.
A homeless man throws a brick directly at the window of the lowrider; the crack ruins the tint, which makes us invisible from anyone on the outside.
A'roll yells at him. He steps out of the vehicle, pressing a raygun against the forehead of the homeless man. Flay rushes out of the car.
"Relax! We don't need it! We don't–it's not that serious, it's just a car!"
A'roll drops the weapon.
I turn around and see a very familiar all-black hovercar pull up, the very one that was in that neighbor's front yard an hour ago.
I tell them to get back in the car, I look out the rearview mirror and see Mudern in the driver's seat. Mudern was this notorious rapper within our community, a horrible dude, with a big gambling problem, and a huge addict to anything he could get his hands on.
Sex addict, cocaine addict, Koudzl addict, he was addicted to things Jenti couldn't even get addicted to–he killed four women before (and one of their mothers!) in a car accident, he purchased a home here to get protection from the government of Celestia that was gonna exile him anyway.
You can hear his music blare from the cars; the vehicle shakes from the bass. We heard him, and he was 1400 meters down the street.
A'roll and Flay rush into the car. A'roll runs over the homeless man, who flies like a ragdoll into a fence.
"Drive! Drive!" I exclaim.
We didn't realize–THEY didn't realize the repercussions of beating someone's manager half to death and firebombing their entire house over 5000 credits.
And now, we're about to die.
I thought to myself.
Why the hell did I hang around these dumbasses?
The black car approaches, it's approaching quickly, three raygun rounds phase through the back window.
"Co'ol! Shoot back! Damn!" I reach into my pocket, fumbling, and grab Flay's peashooter.
Very recognizable weapon, just from the sound of it alone. They know Flay has to be in this car once I fire it. I landed a good shot on the tire of Mudern's car, exploding the tire entirely.
He brakes the vehicle, reversing.
We're safe for now.
Flay exhales, calmly.
"Wow. I thought I was going to die." He says.
"A'roll keep fucking driving! He knows what our car looks like!" I yell as loud as I can.
A'roll sobers up and begins driving; he drives all around the city before getting out of the limits.
"There's a party 130km north, we'll get there 4 hours into the party."
On the way to the house? Block? Whatever type of party doesn't matter. We're going so we can avoid all detection.
A'roll laughs for a minute before driving to the party. We get there at sundown. Get drunk, get high. I slept with a girl there, nothing too notable for what the rest of the day had to offer.
On the way out of the party, we're still wearing our coats. Remember that, and only three other people are.
We're walking down the road to A'roll's car.
Then, we hear the voice of someone yell, "Hey! Bitch!"
We turn around in sync.
Mudern and five other people are standing there.
The party is still active, the tension is so thick in the room you can cut it with a knife.
I try to de-esclate.
"Co'ol! I remember you! You're the hoe ass monai that fucked my sister! Ain't that who you are?!" One of the five exclaims, I recognize him. Twenty-three-year-old male, about my height when I was thirteen. His skin is light and pale, and his eyes are red. I believe he's an albino, and he is also a psychopath. He murders and tortures small animals for fun–his sister, albeit adopted, was the kindest, most heart-warming woman you've ever met.
It's a shame that she got sent to.. Heaven. She's dead. And there's the murderer(s) in front of me.
They laugh.
"Proxy killed his sister because you made her impure, with that Aheian nonsense. She was a sweet, pure Jenti gal. Y'all aren't even worthy of being considered life." One of the men says.
"I'll really punch button all through this crowd of y'all–" A'roll says, one of the men rushes up to him.
"Do it! Do it! Do it! Do you love your life? I hate mine! I'm 31, beefing with teenagers over 5000 dollars, you think I got something to live for?" One of them says,
"Well, since you asked so kindly." A'roll chuckles, quick-drawing his raygun, and he falls to the ground.
The other grown men look at the man; the entire party pauses.
The psycho and Mudern reach into their cloaks and take out assault rifles. Flay, a human named Luther, and a Siciste named Ankner drop their jackets and run, blending into the crowd. A'roll follows suit, then I do, and we both run as fast as we can.
Mudern and that psycho killed thirteen people, injuring 13 more each.
That saxophone player lives in this neighborhood. And he's playing that saxophone. That saxophone while we're taking cover.
The saxophone starts feeling like it's screaming.
Flay and I hide behind A'roll's lowrider, running across the whole neighborhood.
"I'm tired of this, Co'ol. We've run across this block five times. Let's just start the car already, it's gonna be fine." He begins to reassure me. "And if it isn't a promise that you will tell my story, sing about me, or something." Flay laughs, out of breath. We open the car doors.
The light of the car, the one that appears whenever you open the car door, is bright. That crack in the windshield lets it escape despite all of the tint inside the car itself.
A loud pop is heard, and the Saxophonist drops his saxophone.
The light gets brighter; those aren't regular rayguns. Whatever those cartridges touch is annihilated; rayguns are silent. There isn't a pop when they fire normally.
I close my eyes, hearing the footsteps of Mudern.
The light fades away.
"Hmph." Mudern states, tapping his foot on the ground. He lifts his rifle and shoots through the back window into the car, and it passes through the front seat out the windshield where Flay is sitting.
Noticing that it hit something, the loud pop as it annihilates the car seat and Yahflay's spinal cord.
"There's that fucker!" Mudern yells, the four men pull him out of the seat, shaking the car.
I can't help but watch, and they grab their metal pipes and beat the chest, legs, and back of Yahflay's neck.
"Agh! Somebody! Please! Anybody! Please!" Yahflay's voice cracks as he screams, we aren't any older than fourteen.
"You should've thought about that before you were playing grown-up!" Mudern stomps on his neck, "Let's kill 'em now." Mudern says they take out their switchblades, stabbing Yahflay.
He lets out several gasps, short ones.
"Please! Anybody! Pleas–" His pleading is cut short, the psycho blasts a hole through his windpipe. Finally, Flay's suffering is over. He is dead, gone.
"I say we firebomb the car like how he did your house." The psycho says.
"Nah, we got who we came for; those other two learned their lesson. We can go." Mudern says. They jog to their car.
The Police, paramedics, and several mothers arrive at the scene.
I get out of the lowrider.
Yahflay is gone, definitely; the temple mourns him. A'roll shows up along with our whole gang.
We have a meeting in the warehouse that evening.
"I say we go get our revenge!" One of our members says his name is Rodner, and he was killed by Mudern's gang three days later.
A'roll slams his shotgun on the table.
"We're going to get our revenge! Damn it! I've already run it through local law enforcement–as long as we don't kill any civilians– we can kill Mudern." A'roll yells.
The room filled with teenagers and young adults screams in happiness.
This could have been mentioned in the first part of the story, and it has been several years; we've never bothered to avenge Yahflay's death.
However, that changes today. We're back on Opranus.
We remember the address of Mudern very well, and the Federation wants him dead personally/
He released his own project under a label that's located in the Commune; he gives out Federation secrets within this album. It's a good listen, but this hatred I have for him undermines it just a little–you know. He's gotta die. He has to, there's no other way.
Bo looks at me.
"So, how do you know him?" She asks.
"He's–famous, let's say that," A'roll says.
We get out of the hovercar, holding our rayguns to our chests, then stuff them in our pockets.
A'roll kicks down his door, the first person he sees he shoots, an albino potenes falls to the ground while rolling up a Koudzl blunt. I run into the kitchen with my shotgun, shooting the chair where his mother sits, and she falls.
"He's not in here," I say.
A'roll pistol-whips his mother, then arrests her.
Mudern's manager runs out of the bathroom with a box-cutter and is quickly shut down by Oza.
Mudern is recording a song.
"Oooh! This is the one right here!" He says to his producer, his producer is an Ayelole, Oza's species. He's got this ginger hair. I never get to see his face; the back of his head is blown to smithereens by A'roll.
I corner Mudern.
"Do you remember us? Do you?!" I ask him, Mudern looks the same as he did half a decade ago.
He shakes his head, no. Pleading.
"What do you want! Money??! Power?! Fame!! Fortune! I'll give you a feature!" He says.
"You murdered a thirteen-year-old boy," A'roll says.
"That's it?" He says, laughing. "Ohh, it's about the Commune. I'm just putting it together, you guys got the–" I shoot him in the ribcage with a double whammy, then stab him in the shin with a switchblade.
He lets out a loud yell before being quieted.
"I promised myself that when Yahflay died, I was gonna kill you." A'roll states.
Mudern looks up, holding his stomach.
"How–oh. You're that lowrider owner. Firebombed my house 7 years ago and still not over it, are you?"
A'roll strangles Mudern, then throws him on top of his MIDI keyboard.
We exit the home, it's burned down and replaced. A'roll visits his girlfriend, and I visit my temple.
High Priest Awe grabs me by my wrist.
"I smell blood on you." He says.
I look at him.
"Do you seek to convert to Aheia?" He asks. We were forced to wear helmets on our operation, an operation with the Federation logo.
I lift my helmet just above my forehead.
"Ah– let me guess. Somesau'ce?"
"Co'ol," I say.
He takes a seat on a bench.
"Co'ol, I see that big pistol in your holster. It's blue. Who have you killed?" He asks.
"My enemy…" I say.
"Your enemy? Was that their only purpose in life, to be an enemy to you? Is that why you killed him? Was he just a target to shoot?" Awe asks.
"No–he was a person. A famous one, millionaire, billionaire, I believe, had his brother Yahflay killed several years ago." I say.
"I swore you said that was the police?!" Awe states.
"I said that because." I place my head in my hands, holding back tears. "We were already troublemakers, delinquents, and juveniles, wrong in every way. I knew later on that next sabbath, it was Boni'fare, wasn't it?" I ask.
"Yes, I believe." He says.
"You were going to teach about him to the children, how not to live, right from wrong, that police part. I said it because you and I both know that the police killed Sister Amaze three years ago, and they were targeting us. I did it so you wouldn't die trying to bring him to justice." I say.
"You did it for me?" He says. In visible confusion. "Co'ol, you don't understand. There isn't an I, and death is no more than prolonged sleep." He states.
I look down at my boots, and they have red and blue sludge on them.
"There is no thing as 'my' or something you possess, when it comes to an individual, he isn't your enemy. And instead of doing things because you think it'll help a person with their life is insane. Life for you, yourself. You only live once, Co'ol, be who you are meant to be." He states.
I look at him.
"I don't understand, if there isn't a my or an I–" I ask, he interrupts.
"Live for the self, not for these imaginary labels or possessing something, the self may not exist, but still live for it, live for your enjoyment and not for material possessions." High Priest Awe stares at the sunset.
"Killing is the worst thing you can do, but in your soul, self, mind, and body, you justify it. You knew you'd experience that level of suffering at some point, and you still went through with it. And you did it for someone we all wished were still here today. Hopefully, Mother Aheia will forgive you." He pauses.
"But I won't." He states, walking into the temple.
I look back at the temple, then I take out my Civlink, going through the camera, looking at my face. My eyes are bloodshot red, and I look scary. My cheeks are sunken and shallow, my facial expression looks like I'm mortified, or I've seen something horrible, and I haven't even done anything yet.
"What have I done to myself?" I stare at my reflection.
All of this violence, for what? What am I even fighting for? Why am I so mad? What am I doing with my life?
I'm wasting the best years of my life, doing this, going planet to planet, killing people or watching people get killed, and what do I have to show for it? I'm banned from the only place I've ever called home, and I can't stand this. I can't take this, and I'm not living like this anymore.
I place my foot down, standing up, walking down the stairs into my hovercar. I drive to the rest of the team, they're boarding the shuttle, and I place that helmet on my head yet again. I've been a soldier for 3 years now–I can't leave.
This is all I have; nothing needs me or wants me. I'm not living right. A change, it has to come, a change soon.
A'roll smiles.
"My wife, she's pregnant!" He yells, everyone claps and cheers.
"We're naming him A-rael Yahflay, just call him A-rael." A'roll states. He's happy.
See– I'm happy. I'm very happy.
"Isn't that lovely!" I say, clapping and cheering.
Once we leave the star system of Opranus, I sit down and start writing. I write a book, a travel guide, then a manual, then a narrative, another one. I just write just to write, I tell all these stories coming to my mind, and I just put pen to paper. I'll spend months on a project, then merge it with a completely separate one. My universe is more convoluted than any other fictional universe.
It makes me wonder, what if my life is a plot? Twisted in all these directions, I can't see.
Bo and Oza play their card games, and A'roll talks to Aedar about stuff his son would like.
I sit there doodling in my notebook and writing my novel, a story about a skeleton that gets banished from his village and is forced to wander the world alone. It never sold well, but I did get a small profit and a slight movie adaptation around 5 months later.