Part XIV

Darkness.

Then less darkness.

Painfully bright colours in all shapes and sizes whizzed past.

The memory of the last sound, whereas the world was created with a big bang, it ended with a seductive snap. Not a subsequent crackle. Not even a pop.

Was this the afterlife? The complete nothingness was a bit of an anti-climax after the promises of every religion. Or maybe the heavens and Valhallas of the universe had been snuffed out too.

I closed my eyes.

Santa Claus is an evil git.

…and he had won.

* 

There was a crackling. Then a pop. I opened my eyes. I was in an enormous warehouse that made me feel like an ant. A small rat scurried away with a white feather gripped tightly in its mouth.

“Hope?”

Where was I? When was I? It could have been five years or five hours. I was glad that I was dressed.

I found my way out into the world.

A kid on a bike whizzed past me.

“Kid! Hey kid!”

The kid stopped his bike and stared back at me with a serious look.

“What the hell happened here?”

The kid continued to stare at me and seemed like he was going to tear up, but then suddenly turned away and cycled off without saying a word.

What the hell happened here?

* 

I managed to get back to the Fortress of Catitude.

The world was a desolate place, which had made hitchhiking very difficult. I should have probably stolen the kid’s bike. If only I had learnt how to ride one.

The world was empty. Marathons of empty streets were being run. Parks and playgrounds had turned into memorials of headstones listing the names of billions of people who no longer existed.

Because that’s what had happened. Half of all life, in a moment had been extinguished. And somehow, even with that force majeure, Santa had somehow missed me. What were the odds? Oh well, I mean other than the one in two. Luckily, I wasn’t a statistician, or I would have been tempted to do some math.

* 

The Fortress of Catitude was intact and the door, expectedly, was unlocked. I walked in and the place echoed of emptiness.

However, when I walked into the kitchen, a woman was sitting at the table.

“You here to do your laundry?” she asked.

“And to see a friend.”

I’m not sure why I said that, but she had a familiarity to her. Like I had known her my entire life, in another life. In every other life. I just needed time to get to know her.

“Clearly, your friend is fine,” she said, tongue in cheek.

Maybe it was the complete lack of any people, but my heart felt immediately connected to her. I didn’t yet know her name, but it seemed like it was too late to ask. I took off my jacket and took a seat across from her.

“You know, I keep telling everybody they should move on and... grow. Some do. But not us.” I said trying to keep the conversation going.

“If I move on, who does this?”

“Maybe it doesn't need to be done.”

I had no clue what we were talking about, but her voice rattled the very sinews of my heart. Had she somehow continued my fight against the Claus? Maybe she had come across these parables and with the loss of everything, chose to keep the fight going. Because someone had to.

“I used to have nothing,” she replied after a moment of thought, “And then I got this. This…job... this idea of a family. And I was... I was better because of it. And even though... you were gone... I'm still trying to be better.”

“I think we both need to get a life.”

She smiled, “You first.”

* 

It was time I got a life. Over a decade of fighting Santa; and he had won. Actually, if I hadn’t started my war on him, the world would probably still be alive. It was my fault. I was the butterfly that boldly flapped my wings that had resulted in this world ending event. If I continued my battle now, it would possibly result in even more violence and loss.

The world was mourning.

The world was moving on.

The world was better off without me in it.

* 

Time passed. As it tends to do.

I found a home as a hermit in a small fishing village in a place not found on most maps. I took to drinking heavily and my belly grew past the need for an equator sized belt. My beard grew down to my chest. It was a mess that sparrows chose to come for the open house but set roost elsewhere claiming that it was too much of a fixer upper.

Was it just me or was it getting crazier out there?

The world, even in its sadness, could not find peace. 51 people were killed, and 50 others injured in terrorist attacks on two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand. It was the deadliest mass shooting and terrorist attack in New Zealand's history and described as one of New Zealand's darkest days. Subsequently, Facebook announced they had disabled 1.5 million videos of the gunman's rampage. I threw my phone through the television and disabled myself off the network. No news is good news.

I tried to mask my pain by painting my face white. I kept a journal but in between misplaced lyrics, it turned out to be a joke. My crying twisted itself into bursts of uncontrollable, pathological laughing. I was a clown but not a single red balloon to be seen. At least it didn’t come out as a ‘Ho, ho, ho’, but it was a disturbing visceral cry.

For lack of medication, I picked up a bottle. I spent my days in drunken bliss, trying to drown out the anger. But I couldn’t drown my demons, they knew how to swim. Anger at the world, anger at people, anger at the Claus, all cycles of madness trying to avoid the realisation that I was truly angry with myself.

Hope? Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. You can break a man with hope. And I felt myself cracking at every stitch and seam. But I smiled through it. The world left me alone. All that shaped me, all that had meant anything to me, had been ripped away. So, I made my own Captain shaped world. Anyone stupid enough to try to enter with help and support was met with short and snappy burst of anger which was never deserved.

A lone wolf. A sole UnderdoG.

Fuck hope.

I just hope my death makes more cents than my life.

I shaped my hand into the universal symbol for a gun and put the muzzle of my two fingers up to my temple.

Boom.

* 

I don’t know how many months passed. Silent months drowned in cheap whiskey, beer and loneliness.

It was a bright morning that fought my curtains, when a cracking boom thundered through my room. I was trying my best to completely dress a sofa using only my body. I drunkenly opened my eyes. I ignored it.

Then just as suddenly, it thundered again. Knock-knock.

Fuck it, I ignored it again. There’s a comfort to repetition, and I didn’t want to be a part of a bad knock-knock joke. I wondered if it was in my head or just sobriety banging at the door.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Fuck. Sobriety would have been a better visitor.

“Beer’s on the bucket. Feel free to log in to the Wi-Fi. No password, obviously.”

“What the fuck man, you look like shit. And you weren’t a bed of roses to start with. I will take a beer though. Do you have any weed?”

I should have guessed that even if all life had been extinguished, Croc would have found a way to exist.

“Buddy, you all right?”

Concern? I forced a smile on my face.

“Yes, I’m fine! Why? Don’t I look alright?”

“You look like melted ice cream.”

I faked a laugh.

“So, what’s up?” I burped, tasting stale beer.

“I need your help. There may be a chance we could fix everything.”

“What? Like the cable? Because that’s been driving me crazy for weeks. Not that it matters, TV is still broken.”

“Like Santa.”

I sobered up and became serious. “Don’t you say that name.”

“And suddenly you’re Harry fucking Potter?” Croc Hasen took a sip of his third beer, “Now, I know…He Who Must Not Be Named might scare you…”

“Why would I be? Why would…I…be scared…of that guy?”

“Because you’re a pussy. I get it. You’re in a rough spot. I’ve been there myself. You want to know who helped me out of it?”

“I don’t know. Your weed dealer?”

Croc paused for a second as if deciding whether to continue what he was saying. Or he was just reminiscing about his weed dealer. He gulped down his fifth beer.

“It was you,” he finally said, “You helped me.”

I suspected that he was high as fuck. I walked over to a window and pointed out of it in the general direction of somewhere out there, “Why don’t you ask them how much my help was worth? The ones that are left anyway.”

Croc dropped his voice, “I think we can bring them back.”

“Stop. Stop, okay? I know you think I’m down here wallowing in my own self-pity, waiting to be rescued and saved. But I’m fine okay. So, whatever it is you’re offering, I don’t give a fuck, I couldn’t give a fuck less. Goodbye.”

“There’s beer on the Crocket”

He was holding my last beer. Fuck.

“What kind?”

* 

I drank myself into a dream state on the Crocket.

I dreamed up a beautiful world, a world above the world. A world inhabited by gods in the sky surrounded by gold and silver palaces.

I was in such a palace with walls that grew up to the heavens.

A small cat shaped animal that looked vaguely familiar was talking at me, but I wasn’t listening. He swore me and ran off.

An elderly woman walking down the passageway saw me. She spoke to her entourage who then continued on their journey, but she remained behind. She looked in my direction as I tried to hide myself behind a pillar.

“What are you doing?”

Shit, she had found me.

“You’re better off leaving the sneaking to your brother.”

Brother? Who did this lady think I was? And my hide and seek skills were legendary. I mean no one even knew where the Fortress of Catitude was, except the postman, the CIA, Santa probably, those nice census takers, Google and…okay fuck it.

“You’re not the Captain I know at all, are you?”

Um. “Yes, I am?”

She studied my face and made me feel very uncomfortable. I probably still had white face paint on.

“The future hasn’t been kind to you has it?”

There was definitely something in Croc’s beer or I was getting a second-hand high back on the Crocket. The Crocket was basically always hot boxed.

“I didn’t say I was from the future.”

She gave me a cutting look.

“I was raised by witches, boy. I see with more than eyes and you know that.”

Oh fuck. Even in dreams; you don’t mess with witches. Ask any rat with delusions of being a real boy.

“I am totally, totally from the future.”

Her face patiently softened. Her eyes became gentle and comforting.

“Talk to me.”

I felt the words pulled out of me.

“I was just standing there. Some idiot with an axe.”

She smiled at me.

“Idiot? No. A failure? Absolutely.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“You do know what that makes you? Just like everyone else.”

“I’m not supposed to be like everyone else, am I? I’m the Captain.”

“Everyone fails at who they are supposed to be, Kamal. The measure of a person, of a Captain, is how well they succeed at being who they are.”

“I wish we had more time.”

“No, this was a gift. And you’re going to be the man you’re meant to be. I love you.”

I looked at her, voiceless.

“And eat a salad.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

* 

I awoke with a start.

“I’m still worthy,” I said to myself.

“You still look like ass,” replied Croc.

“Where are we?”

“The place we need to be.”

I got out of the Crocket. It was dark and gloomy and a scent of week old socks lingered in the air. A mountainous, rugged terrain that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“If I could do this, I wouldn’t have needed to come and find you, dumbass. Now fuck off!”

“Wait, what am I supposed to…”

The Crocket door slammed shut with Croc beginning to sing, “Total Eclipse of the Croc”.

* 

“About time you got here, and I’ll bet you didn’t need to climb a mountain.”

It was her.

When I saw her face, my hearts burst into fire.

I still didn’t know her name, but my soul knew who she was. My heart filled to a point that I didn’t think it would hold.

She laughed at me.

It was the sweetest sound that I had ever heard. I lived an entire lifetime of love and happiness like I had never experienced; in that moment, in that sound. I didn’t even ask her if I could call her Cat or Kath or Catasha.

Her face glowed with beauty, but more so with intelligence. She carried herself with courage and strength. And I think most importantly, in her eyes, was an endless well of compassion and kindness. Everything I was not.

A figure approached us and broke my reverie.

He was a skeletal figure and dressed in a dark robe and his face was painted red. He had deep set eyes where you struggled to see his pupils; and looked like he was in need of a good hearty meal or twenty. The dark robe seemed like it had been born in shadows and had been tattered and torn in the washing machine of time.

“Who are you?” she asked him.

His voice was deep and low but as if it was trying to remember how it was supposed to sound.

“Consider me a guide. To you, and to all who seek the Soulmate Stone.”

He could have easily passed for a wandering guru. I put up my Asgard.

We began to walk away from the Crocket, and we walked in silence. I walked a few strides behind trying to absorb every atom of her being with my eyes. She was beautiful. Long, curly hair running down her shoulders, with her nose coming into silhouette as she almost floated along. Boots didn’t hide her perfect calves and thoughts of a lifetime of running together, rather than alone, came into view. When she looked back to see if I was keeping up, she had a smile on her face that echoed eternities of long talks about life, the universe and toast. Of nothing. Of us.

I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t fathom the emotions that were rising up. But we just kept walking. In silence. Every opportunity to say ‘I love you’ missed, that I suspected I would regret for the rest of my life. Or the day. Whichever came first.

I love you once. I love you twice. I love you 3000.

I was out of breath when we arrived at a plateau which clearly ended abruptly. It gave a feeling of falling without having to walk up and look over its edge.

“What you seek is in front of you…as does what you fear.”

“The stone is down there,” she said.

“For one of you,” the red guru continued, “For the other…in order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soulmate for a soulmate.”

I reached out my hand and took hers in mine. Electricity burnt through me. She responded by cracking my knuckles.

“It’s me,” I said, “It has to be me. You know what I’ve done. You know what I’ve become.”

“I don’t judge people on their mistakes.”

“Maybe you should.”

“You didn’t.”

I paused. Then I smiled at her.

“Okay…you win.”

With that I let go of her hand and with my last act, knocked the love of my life to the hard, cold stone and began to race towards the edge. She wasn’t done though. She was willing to fight for it. She was fast and managed to tackle me to the ground. We paused for a moment and looked into each other’s eyes. She cheated by tickling me and I became paralysed…may Santa never know that weakness. She untangled herself from me, but I bounced up as well. Too much rested on the outcome of this race.

Rule #20 – it’s a marathon, not a sprint. Unless it’s a sprint, then sprint.

I jumped nobly. The air raced past me. I thought that I had won. I opened my arms up to my fate.

But then, suddenly I stopped.

Abruptly.

I was still breathing; and the fall had lasted too short a period, no matter what the speed of gravity claimed to be.

I looked up. She had somehow hooked me to a rope line, which is why she had stayed behind me. I had wondered how my fat ass had managed to win the race to the literal finish line. She had somehow managed to grapple a hook, do some scout knots, probably had a bite to eat and had attached it to my belt loop; and still only ended up a second or so behind me.

Rule #1 – Cardio.

Now I was too tangled in the line to do anything.

I looked down and she was hanging beneath me with me holding on to her.

“Damn you!” I cried out.

She paused and looked up at me, “Let me go…”

“No…please…no,” I begged.

She paused again, “It’s okay.”

“Please. No.”

She smiled up at me.

Then she let me go.

The girl who I didn’t even know, but loved with all my heart, let me go.

And she was gone, taking with her, every last piece of my heart.

* 

“How did it go?” asked the Croc.

I gave him the Soulmate Stone without a word.

* 

“Hey Cap’n, look at this.”

We were back at the Fortress of Catitude. The Croc sounded excited which gave me reason to not want to look. But as with all car wrecks, I couldn’t help myself.

He was standing in front of me wearing a golden glove. It looked pretty much like an ordinary kitchen glove, but it was golden. Yellow at the very least. The Soulmate Stone was wedged into it, pretty much with optimism.

“Please tell me we didn’t do all of that…lose all of that…so could you make your fucking fap glove look pretty?”

Croc smiled at me. It was an overwhelmingly disturbing sight.

He raised his gloved hand. It definitely had some stains on it.

And he snapped his fingers.

* 

“What the fuck are you?”

Croc’s voice broke the dark silence as I blinked my eyes open to be greeted by a watercolour world.

“My name is Peter Porker,” said a talking cartoon pig, “But I’m known as Spider-Ham”.

“What the fuck?” I managed to say.

“I was bitten by a radioactive pig.”

“Shit the stone was on the wrong finger, hold on.”

Croc Hasen snapped his fingers again.

* 

I opened my eyes again. We were still in the Fortress of Catitude. Nothing appeared to be different. The feeling of emptiness returned a thousand-fold. What a waste. What could have been. What should be. All for nought.

Croc was still standing there but now had a satisfied look on his face and the glove looked a bit moist.

Then suddenly there was a large booming sound.

“Ho, ho, ho.”

It was coming from outside.

He was here.

A tickling of a chuckle coughed into my throat.

I walked outside.

He was there. Sitting in the distance on a rock, doing absolutely nothing. It had to be a trap. He was kitted out in a golden armour that exuded a red Christmassy glow. An evil looking double sword with blades at both ends and the size of a man sat planted in the ground beside him.

I didn’t care.

“You could not live with your own failure,” Santa said in a holier-than-thou voice, “And where did that bring you? Back to me. I thought by eliminating half of life, the other half would thrive. But you’ve shown me that’s impossible. And as long as there are those that remember what was, there will always be those that are unable to accept what can be. They will resist.”

“Aha! I’m all kinds of stubborn. Ha, ha.”

“I'm thankful. Because now, I know what I must do,” he stood up putting on his helmet, “I will shred this universe down to its last atom. And then...with the stone you've collected for me, create a new one. Teeming with life; but knows not what it has lost but only what it has been given. A grateful universe.”

This dude talked too much.

The battle raged on in much the way previous battles had raged. Thunderbolts and lightning. Very, very frightening.

In my head, armies battled on both sides. In the air and on land. Luckily, we didn’t need a water man. Powers glowed. Punches were thrown, parried and countered. Weapons lodged themselves into wishbones and the land around us became a minefield of destruction.

But it was just he and I.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he laughed.

“Ha, ha, ha!” I laughed back.

Punch after punch. Kick after kick. It would have looked like an old 1930s dance movie if we played the right backing track. That’s the trouble with real life. There’s no soundtrack. No danger music. This would have required a rhapsody.

In all of this, Crocodile Hasen came into view, he was walking stoically as much as randomly, munching on a sandwich.

“Where’s the glove?” I yelled in his direction.

He shrugged and yelled back, indecipherable with his mouth full of tuna fish sandwich. He gave me a thumbs up and wandered off.

I really needed to swear him when this was over.

Then, I saw it there, on the ground in the distance. The Soulmate Stone glistening in the dying light.

Santa, following my eyeline, also saw it. I was faster though and managed to get to the glove first. Just as I got my fingers intertwined with the sticky rubber fingers, he threw his double sword at an old brown van that was parked off behind me, destroying it, with the resulting explosion throwing me backwards. I lost my grip on the glove which waved as it fell apologetically to the ground.

I looked up, stunned, and through the fading clouds, saw a figure floating above me. He had a strange robe and a strange beard, making me think that some place called Razors and Robes was having a special. Definitely strange.

He looked down at me and slowly extended his hand, and then simply raised his index finger slowly.

He nodded and disappeared as the fogs of concussion dissipated. Laughter rang out in my head. Although I couldn’t recognise it, it was in my voice. I was definitely due for a Cat Scan.

Santa had reached the glove and picked it up. He put it on with a smile clearly shining through his beard. He raised his hand and in the universal gesture of getting a good idea and began to snap his fingers.

“Not so fast, fat boy,” I yelled and grabbed his hand, stopping his fingers from snapping. He headbutted me, but the adrenaline pumping through me caused me to feel nothing.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” I yelled at the bronzed sky.

In a sudden movement, he grabbed the Soulmate Stone out of the glove with his free hand and clubbed a blow to my chest and it stung with memories and heartache. Time heals all wounds, but the scars last forever. And the scars burnt a piercing, red hot, scalding pain through my heart. The blow made me let go and left me fighting tears on the ground.

Santa put the Soulmate Stone back into the glove, yelling from the anger and pain coursing through him. I ran up to him and grabbed the glove. But he pushed me away again.

“I…am…inevitable.”

He snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened.

Luckily the glove was slippery as hell, for reasons I didn’t want to think about, and I had managed to pry lose the Soulmate Stone from the glove. I pulled off my sock and pulled it on to my hand, then placed the Soulmate Stone in my palm and gripped tightly.

“AND…I…AM…THE…CAPTAIN!”

I laughed maniacally and uncontrollably.

The world deserved this.

I gave him the finger, which was hard to see through the sock. All the weight, the heartache, the loss, the pain surged through my consciousness.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”

I snapped my fingers.

* 

P.S Goodnight. And always remember…that’s life!