The Devil does not Allow Himself to Dream

Author: Fropster

Word count: 1.4k words

Original Text: (link)(Recommended for mobile view)

Related Material: Pandora's Backstory

## Synopsis

In another world, Pandora does not exist. Instead, he lives a normal life without the need to keep running from the crushing weight of the world.

(But in the end, it is a *dream*. Pandora despises ***dreams***.)

## Story

In another world, Pandora does not exist.

Instead he’s still □□□□□, with no need to change his name or make another alias for every person he meets. No patchwork facades made from the faces of the people around him.

It’s a kinder world. His uncle’s debt was done without much trouble, so the local mafia never gets involved and □□□□□ lives a normal if impoverished childhood. There is no impending doom, no sword hanging over his neck and no voice in the back of his head whispering in his ear to keep running, to keep moving, to never stop.

When he’s 12 years old, he’s nothing more than a child who likes to read and enjoys walks with his uncle, now preparing for his first day of school with the help of a few years worth of savings and a scholarship. He smiles, laughs, cries and plays like any other 12 year old, perhaps for the better.

*wait*

In another world, he grows and falters like any adolescent in the prime of his youth. He is allowed to after all.

He maintains the top rank in his grade for his entire stay in ∎∎∎∎∎∎∎ High School as expected, though he lets it get to his head as most teenagers would. He butts heads with some, finds he can tolerate others and that surprisingly, they can tolerate him in return. He laughs and cries and feels pain and feels joy and he does all those things with the people around him.

*i don’t remember this*

When he graduates, he’s met with sarcastic remarks of never wanting to see him again, wishes of good luck and promises to keep in touch throughout it all. His signature smug smirk is gone, replaced with an awkward smile and what can only be genuine happiness that pins him as nothing more than an 18 year old with his friends, and it’s fine because he doesn’t need to be anything else.

*none of this happened*

In another world, he is as free as he can be.

His uncle allows him to spend his last summer before college starts with his friends enjoying themselves and living life. On their list of places to go to is the beach, cliche but classic.

*the beach*

*i remember…*

It’s packed as one would expect at a beach during summer, but it’s part of the experience. They set up at a decent spot and go on to commit whatever ruckus their brains present them, enjoying what they can while it’s still free. There’s that distinct look in their eyes and he thinks-

*…she liked the beach*

It’s a strange thought. It doesn’t refer to anyone he knows, but it's familiar. There’s a wretched scent in the air only he seems to be able to smell and his ears ring with a hearty laughter that’s strained from overuse.

*she laughed like she was enjoying the last minutes before the world was going to end*

*she looked like she was dreaming a happy dream*

*and eternally in her eyes was the fear she would ever have to wake up, even if the dream was killing her*

*i always hated that dream*

*I always **despised** that **dream***

He jolts awake to see ∎∎∎∎ patting his back to bring him out of his thoughts and back into the world. “Hey □□□□□, you okay man?” His friend asks as any other would. “You’ve been spacing out.”

*I look at this person I’m supposed to know and find there isn’t even a face, not a semblance of a living being*

*I cannot recognize this thing as real or a human*

*In the corner of my eyes, gaps in the world start to emerge*

“Y-yeah.”  □□□□□ replies. “Just thinking about stuff.”

*a lie*

He looks at his friends.

*they don’t exist*

He listens to the soft crashing of the waves.

*it repeats like a broken record*

The sights of the sea.

*it’s riddled with gaps that can’t be filled in*

He takes in the entirety of the world and is

*disgusted. it’s no more than a dream*

*I refuse to **dream***

It becomes hard to think. □□□□□ closes and opens his eyes, trying to focus on what exists and what is in front of him, before he finds his own reflection is the water’s surface and sees-

*a face I don’t recognize*
*it’s twisted*
*or maybe I’m the twisted one*
*it doesn’t matter.*
*all I know is that it is not **Me**.*
*□□□□□ died long ago.*
*it is not **Me**.*

*Faceless silhouettes of people I cannot recognize try to reach out, but illusions can only do so much. The forms that once made up the **dream** start to meld together and a void comes from it all.*

*The world slowly slips, and slips, and slips into darkness. It loosens and crumbles and shatters until the only thing left is-*

*Me.*

*In the dark void, there are no more remnants of the **dream**. I am floating in nothingness, and the counterfeit feelings and memories that were crammed into my heart slowly make way for the usual emptiness. My face contorts itself into the same blank stare it learned years ago and all feels right as the world returns to how it is.*

*As my mind attempts to come back to reality, it seems to want to take a detour through past memories.*

*It’s the beach again, except calmer. The Astral Plane has a certain lull to it, and so too do the waves and wind. The usually chaotic Night Parade is now somber, following their leader as she watches the sea. I find myself doing so too, watching the moonlight scatter into the sea and riddle the water surface with specks of light.*

*She’s calmer than usual, so is her voice. Hoarse and somber, she asks, “Don’t you ever just want to dream forever?”*

*I don’t respond. She doesn’t care. “Maybe stop time. Maybe do everything over. Just… don’t have to deal with… everything…”*

*It’s a question, one that doesn’t require much thought. I had already decided my answer long ago.*

*The moon disappears from view and darkness engulfs my vision once again, and I hear that constant reminder, that lesson engraved into my being. Once again, I march and move forward, else I die or the world catches up and consumes me whole*.

The first thing I feel upon waking up is the rain of alcohol that can only be attributed to *her*. The immediate thought that comes next is how viscerally disgusting I find it. Beyond the sour and bitter taste and the coarse mouthfeel, its very existence sickens me, one of the few things that can do so, such that I would scrape it off my skin if need be.

My eyes open, then focus. A sea of wraiths litter the ground and blasts of magic and spells consume the sky, with me right in between. I find my briefcase no longer by my side but instead now a large beast made of darkness and large maws that devour entire masses of wraiths whole, of which I seem to have been resting on for the past minute or so.

In the corners of my vision, hazy wisps of flame beckon my mind, trying to drag me anywhere but what is ahead. It fails, because focusing on what is in front of me is the only thing I can do. It is the only thing I have ever been doing.

The culprits of the haze and that ***dream*** slowly become clearer, the Twin Kitsune. They snarl with bared fangs like daggers and multiple pairs of bloodshot eyes that relay only the intent to kill. Flickering will-o-wisps of a violent purple used to surround them, but with my awakening they start to fade into the dark sky.

The pair’s combined bloodlust attempts to pierce me, but I can only sigh in response. A pat on the embodiment of gluttony that is my contract’s offeror and it lets me reach into the void it holds to bring out a flintlock rifle, dyed black just like the corpses that made it.

“This” I point the rifle at one of the two fox wraiths, aiming square on its head. There is little hesitation left in me. “is why I hate dreams.”

Glimpses of black messy hair and the echo of drunken laughter come from the back of my mind and my finger presses the trigger harder than it usually does.

**END**