SLEEPLESS

“The Sorceress War was fought over seventeen years ago,” Quistis lectured. “Many people, both soldiers and civilians, died in this war. In fact it was one of the bloodiest wars in history.”

Quistis sighed as the class refused to listen. It was hard being a substitute, even harder being a nineteen-year-old substitute. She glanced at the clock just when the dismissal bell rang. Boisterously and indifferently, the class of adolescents filed out of the lecture room.

“Kids.” Quistis muttered in distaste without noting that she was only three years their senior. She switched the master computer back to its main screen for the next instructor to use. She heard a quacking sound suddenly as the computers were restarted.

She cursed to herself wondering which student had installed sound effects on their computer once again simply to annoy her. Quistis wandered across the empty room to the seat in the back row. It felt nostalgic in a way. There were always the good old times when Seifer used to annoy her by leaving his screen on Wendigo Dance for her to find. She used to press one key and every computer in the classroom would begin singing.

That never happened to any other instructor but her. And now that ghost of classroom incompetence was still following her even though Seifer had long

“Dammit.” She cursed to herself as she tried to access the controls but with each key she pressed, the quacks came once more.

“This computer won’t stop quacking.” Quistis remarked in a mock commanding tone to the blond man that was coming closer.

Pushing her aside, Seifer pressed a series of seemingly random buttons and the machine was silent.

“What are you doing here, Seifer? The last time I saw you, you were heading for the cafeteria.”

“Why are you always picking on Zell?” Quistis asked as she made her back to the front of the room.

“You’re a jerk.” Quistis muttered under her breathe. “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

“Really?” Quistis asked, playing along. “So does this messenger have a message for me?”

“You have been promoted to the status of presidency of the Gay Men Alliance - oh wait, that one is for Squall.”

“Hush, oh yeah, Cid wants to see you. Some important matter again. Probably another mid life crisis. Maybe he’s going through an adolescent phase. I should accompany you.”

“Seifer is that really how you see the world?” Quistis asked in a frustrated tone. “Full of homosexuals, pedophile, perverts and human toilets?”

“No, there are also masochistic nuns like yourself who can’t seem to get over that one boy who has yet to fully reach puberty.”

“I hate you.” Quistis said firmly but playfully as she picked up her things and left the room. She was strangely satisfied that she heard his footsteps behind her.

In Cid’s office, Quistis mindlessly noted the presence of the Headmaster and his loyal Xu. However, there was a man there she had not seen before. He did not appear to be a Garden student or a SeeD for that matter. He got up the moment he saw her and nodded as if he was greeting an old friend. He was blond, although a shade darker than her own. He was slender, noticeably more so than Squall or Seifer. He reminded her of a cat.

He smiled at her, a real smile, like the ones Seifer could not muster and the ones Squall lost with Ellone. She liked him immediately.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quistis.” He said, raising his hand for her to shake. Beside her, Quistis knew that Seifer was eyeing the man critically, with genuine displeasure.

“Don’t,” Seifer said tugging her on her shoulder. “Who knows where that hand has been.”

“Who are you to ask her that?” Seifer demanded as he grabbed the man by his collar. Expecting his military training to overpower the boy easily, Seifer was more than surprised when the man grabbed his fist by his pinky and began to twist it. In unexpected pain, Seifer released the man. The encounter only served to infuriate Seifer more but he was restrained by Quistis and the stranger held back by Cid.

“That jackass started it.” The stranger complained to the headmaster who stepped back and shook his head.

Quistis sat down beside Seifer. She eyed the stranger nervously. He straightened his clothes and slumped back casually.

“Now,” Cid said. “We are not going to jump to conclusions in this matter. Frankly I’m confused by all of this. But you have absolutely no idea how pleased I would be if what Lucius, here, said was true.”

“That’s impossible.” Quistis whispered in a hushed voice as she allowed her eyes to drift to Lucius. Resemblance? Maybe a little around the eyes but she had to look hard. Yet she felt a sudden insurgence of warmth. How she would love for it to be true! All these years spent abhorring her foster family. Now a member of her family that was connected to her by blood.

“It could very well be possible.” Cid remarked. “This was during the Sorceress War when you lost your family, Quistis. The orphans that were brought to us could very well have been torn away from their siblings. In many cases we even had to give names to infants.”

“We didn’t name you though, Quisty.” Someone said from the side entrance. Quistis looked up to see Edea standing there in her black gown. “You came with a name but no past, no last name.”

“Whoever brought you to that orphanage probably didn’t reveal your last name to protect you.” Lucius said calmly as he watched her with affectionate eyes. “It was a dangerous time for the families that had been massacred by the Galbadians. Your last name would have killed you.”

“Lucius, why don’t you explain to Quistis how you found her?” Cid implored.

“It’s a long story.” Lucius replied. Nodding at Quistis as though they were sharing a private joke. “Let’s just say that it involved some things that were outside the law.”

“Figures.” Cid responded with his eyes warmly embracing the boy. “You look a lot like your dad. I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

“What?” Quistis asked glancing from man to man. “You mean Felicias? The Colonel of the Galbadian Army? He was my father?”

“I think we should leave you two alone for a while.” Cid said with a new lightness to his voice. “It’s always a wonderful experience for us to find children who still have family. It’s a feeling like none other.”

“This place is high tech” Lucius said as he marveled at Garden’s magnificent dome ceiling. “I feel like I’m in Esthar.”

“No.” He replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I don’t live anywhere. I just wander from place to place.”

“Hey.” Lucius interrupted. “You know that guy who was with you. Is he Seifer Almasy?”

“I thought so. Is he still out to kill sorceresses like the mad psycho that he is?”

“Lucius!” Quistis began wishing that she did not have to take her instructor mode once more. “I want to know about mom and dad. How did they die?”

Lucius paused for a moment and did not reply. He played around with a coin in his hand and he grew serious suddenly.

“Quistis.” Lucius implored. “I don’t want to talk about that now. This is a happy day isn’t it?”

“I see.” Quistis answered. “I don’t always divide my days into happy and sad. I would rather see them as honest or scripted.”

“I need to see some of your friends, preferably some whom you trust. I need your help. I’m sorry little sister, I’ve come here today bearing burden and not assuagement.”

“Yes, something of the sort. How about Squall Leonhart?” Lucius asked growing more excited. “He’s about a decade younger than I am but I find him utterly fascinating.”

“Fascinating yes, but reliable no. Not as a leader. Not anymore. It’s been a long time since the Ultimecia crisis. He’s not quite the man he used to be.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Was he Squall, the sorceress’ knight? The prince of Esthar? Or the unquestioning SeeD?

On this grand epic stage, he didn’t want to play the role of the hero. No matter what they thought he was, he knew that he was merely a counterfeit protagonist, the mockery of true heroism.

Here he was again, alone. Hero, villain, he didn’t want either of these titles. His loneliness was a gorge which had no end. He was trapped on a stage forever acting as a circle of mirrors to those around him. No one could understand the depth of his solitude in this script. He was encased here in this awful role of the action protagonist slashing a large sword at some new devious enemy. It was the same story again and again. He, the hero, was right and they were always wrong. His life was a cliché. This was a role he did want to play. He would prefer to die and embrace the dreams beyond rather than live as a cardboard cut out of a character everyone was supposed to admire.

He knew what he was supposed to say now. He was supposed to want Rinoa back, to rescue her from some new danger and then live happily ever after in some unrealistic ending. But he didn’t want Rinoa back. He was glad to be free of her. The truth in the end, the very truth that he had kept even from himself was that he had never loved Rinoa. He had impaled himself that night before Alexandra to be free of Rinoa. So that she could never find him again. He would rather die and dwell in his own internal landscape than to live being her good husband. Why did he have to be the smiling hero always saying the right words at the right times? Why did he have to fulfill someone else’s expectation of what was charming, what was sweet or what was right?

The closer he came to fulfilling that mold the more he felt separated from himself.

Oh Rinoa, how much he loathed her. That damned smiling villain without a core. She wanted him to share himself with her but how could she ever understand what he had to share? What he had within himself was his alone, never to belong to anyone but himself. It was so cheap, to whore himself in order to belong. Why did he have to play the role of the hero just to please them? He was born with one face but now he had gone and made himself another. And did it make him happy?

They simply did not understand that he wanted to belong only to himself. He did not want Quistis, Rinoa or anyone else. They could not share the self that belonged only to him. And for that, he was glad to have eternal solitude. Because being alone was far better than forging a mask of seeming love.

Squall continued to walk through the quiet streets of Esthar. It was dark now, midnight, the witching hour. This was the time Alexandra had once said that belonged only to those like himself and her. She was right. The moon was a silent witness to his musing. It was daybreak that he feared.

Squall . . .

The voice was not above a whisper. It came from his right at first. Squall turned abruptly to see what had made that noise. Was it in his head? Had he gone truly insane? Hunching his back, Squall began to walk faster – away from that sound. Yet he stopped suddenly as the voice began to come from all sides.

Squall . . .Squall . . . come back to me . . find me.

“No!” Squall retorted to the unseen voice. “I won’t. I don’t need you!” Squall covered his ears in fury and began to run, away and away. Yet he stopped in the alley as he knocked over a mound of trash. He pried his foot out of a pile of rotting garbage but came to a stand still as he saw a figure dressed in red standing at the end of the alley. It was a little girl, with shining crimson curls flowing onto a velvet dress complete with ruffles and lace. She bent down to pick up a teddy bear which she dropped onto the dirty sidewalk.

“Broken.” She muttered to herself as she dusted the toy off. “Mister, my bear is broken.”

Squall walked the girl slowly approach him, she was as transparent as the light from the dim flickering street lamp

“Stay away from me.” Squall choked out. “Stay away.”

“Mister, my bear.” She implored, holding the bear out in her ghost hands. “It’s broken. Its head fell off.”

“No.” Squall replied, reaching to his side to where his gunblade would have been had he been carrying it.

“So fragile.” The girl replied. “Life is so fragile.”

Breaking out from his stupor, Squall turned and ran from her. He was choking on the night air that felt like cotton in his lungs. He knew that he could not escape her no matter to where he ran but still he kept running. He collided into something hard and soft – a woman. He knocked her backwards, and somehow he stopped to see if she was okay. The little girl was gone. Squall began to feel foolish for running from her, yet he could not shake the image from his head of that girl.

“Are you okay?” Squall asked the woman he had ran into. She was tall, slender, dressed in white.

“I’m fine.” She insisted as she brushed away his fingers. “Don’t.” She stood up to her full height and Squall realized that she was about the same height as himself. She smiled at him and dusted off her skirt. “You were in a hurry.”

“Yes, I was.” Squall responded tritely as he looked her up and down, wondering if it would alright for him to walk off now.

“Have we met before?” She asked. “You look familiar.”

“Perhaps.” He responded. He began to study her and he realized that she was right. He had met her before, somewhere. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he had last seen her.

“You shouldn’t be wanted around Esthar at night without a weapon. Nowadays with the guardian forces having disappeared, there’s more crime than ever.”

“Thanks for the lecture but I know how to take care of myself.” He responded a bit less harshly than he had intended.

“Let me walk you back to the presidential palace.” She offered.

Squall was instantly suspicious. But before he could begin a sentence, she spoke again.

“You can take the train from there. It’s the closest train station. Let’s go.” She insisted as she began to walk off without hearing his reply. He gave up and decided to follow her.

She smiled at him warmly again as they continued to walk.

"You're a soldier aren't you?" She asked him. "I can tell by your build. And those marks on your palms, you've used magic before haven't you?"

"It was a long time ago." Squall responded nonchalantly but could not conceal the touch of sadness in his voice. "I used to be a mercenary."

"A mercenary?" She asked shaking her head. "You're pulling my leg young man. A man with a face as honest as yours, I can't believe it."

Squall tried to hide his frown as he contemplated why she was referring to him as a young man when she looked barely above seventeen. Yet there was something about her that he liked, that reminded him of Raine. Maybe it was the way she wore her hair, in a ponytail completely swept away from her face, or maybe it was her loose casual clothing giving no thought to showcasing the slender fit form underneath, or maybe it was the way she smiled that was so honest it reminded him of Rinoa.

Rinoa. He felt a stab of guilt as that name wandered back into his mind. He tried to push it out, clean himself of her affectionate sociable self. I will be more myself. Myself, myself myself. He felt the words repeating in his mind like a broken record, each time losing a measure of its strength.

"I was a mercenary." Squall insisted quietly, forcefully.

"No." She responded. "You were yourself."

Her words made Squall look up abruptly. Her smile was no longer warm, now it was chilling, secretive. Somehow at that moment he wondered if that little girl he had encountered in alley had disappeared at all.

"We're here." She answered gesturing to the train station. "You should be alright now by yourself."

"I've been by myself for most of my life." He answered. "I've always been alright."

"Are you sure?" She asked, her voice taking a sadder tone. "That you've always been alone? Maybe you need to re think your definition of aloneness, because some of us were never alone until now."

He saw her wave to him one last time as she turned and left him there at the deserted train station. He could not, for the life of him, make any sense of her cryptic words.

Winhill Bluffs / Library