Am I alive? I float in blackness, I could not tell – All senses gone. I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. – I smell something; dirt, clogged up my nose, taste it too. I cough in spurts. Dirt and blood come from my nose and mouth. – I feel a terrible pressure over my entire body, and I realize I’m buried under a mountain of rock and dirt at the bottom of a tomb. My ribs are broken. Each breath stabs me in the chest.
I realize I will never leave this place; the pit is my grave. Despair swells in my heart and I shed quiet tears. The world of light is forever gone. I see it, maybe even somehow put things in it, but never touch it again, never bask in the sun’s innocent glow. And despair gives way to a sinking feeling of cold ash. All flame is gone.
I’m tired of living. I give up. I would take my own life but I can only move my arm at this state. I hold my breath as long as I can to suffocate myself, only to gasp for air. I swallow clods of dirt so I may choke but I cough and vomit it all out. I can’t even kill myself. That is how pathetic I am. I can only lay back to dwell in my gloom.
I am so stupid, to weak to ease my life’s burdens and too timid to end my time on this earth. I once believed in Allah as my mother did, I dropped him, and now I think of the old Egyptian Gods. Did they too send suicides to a lake of fire? Does giving up the will to live and letting yourself die count as suicide? If so to both questions, may the old gods forgive me for my sins. May my heart, good deep down, not betray me in their presence. May Thoth judge my life with dispassion, may Khonsu defend my case as a just lawyer to calm Osiris and the forty-two gods who stand in my trial, may Isis hear my complaints as calm me as my mother and Sophia would, as the burden that crushed me in life is finally lifted in death.
My name has no worth. I am hated for causing my father and mother grief as a wild, wicked child. I am hated for bullying my little classmates at school as my father hit me and I filled with the rage to hit someone else. I am hated for causing my mother’s death; my antics and pranks weakened her, letting lung cancer take her. I am hated for becoming withdrawn and obstinate, for giving up my musical talents when my father needed them most, for joining crowds from the street my father hated. I am hated for betraying both JC and my father, for not being black enough and not being white enough. I am hated for hurting Sophia, the one I love most, the one I should never hurt.
There is no one I can ever talk to. To whom can I speak? No friends are sincere, families hate each other, and the rare people you meet you can trust will always vanish in due time. To whom can I speak? Evil is rewarded while no good deed goes unpunished; all groups of people are corrupt while too little people are good too few times. To whom can I speak? I can’t trust anyone, and with such good reason, while they can’t trust me, and with good reason. No one can be truly honest with another. To whom can I speak? I will never be able to truly touch another person. The barriers of the physical make being intimate impossible. To whom can I speak? I will always be alone. I will live this way, die this way, be this way for all time.
I become delirious as hunger pains me and thirst dries me; my mind loses its chains. I travel far in the darkness to some distant star, and I see the truth. I exist in a five novel series, the first two revealed, the remaining three still obscure. I see that my entire life, the entire lives of everyone else, is only one timeline, one dimension in many. The different dimensions reveal themselves to me as infinite branches on a tree.
I can only make out a few of them. One branch is mine; I see the pharaoh Atem’s life three thousand years ago, his journey in the mid nineties and my journey in the two thousands. The rest is dark. I see an alternate timeline, one even stranger than the first; I see Atem’s modern journey, then the pointless duels of a boy named Judai at a Duel Academy, then Yusei battling his rival, Jack Atlas, in a duel while on motorcycles, then Yuya going to a Barian dimension, then Yuya travelling through four dimensions? This has gone too far!
Each of Yuya’s four dimensions is a timeline in itself. The first one I already described to you, the Standard Dimension. The second is an alternate “GX Dimension” or Fusion Dimension, the third an alternate “5Ds Dimension” or Synchro Dimension, and the fourth a “Zexal Dimension” or Xyz Dimension where the mad scientist Z-one defeats Yusei, banishing Synchro monsters. Still there are others. I see a “Dark Dimension” where the archfiend Bakura destroys the Pharoah, shrouding the world in darkness and hellfire. And yet another, a “POVerse Dimension” that, like mine, follows Atem’s journey, then follows the exploits of three Saints; Mathias, Maximus, and James, and later Ivy. Did the Saints I know travel dimensions? And for why?
To even more insane revelations: I discover all the dimensions I envisioned are titled “Yugioh” in other dimensions, and in those dimensions they’re fictions, franchises created to sell children’s trading cards to stupid boys. Not unlike the way Yugioh cards are sold in my domain. Is there an overlord of dimensions? Yes! I sense a strong guiding force behind all “Yugioh dimensions”. I see a light above the tree. I climb to reach it, eager to see the face of the most sublime being of creation.
I arrive at a small, dank basement. A fat, foul-smelling man sits behind his outdated computer. He is pale as death, his face covered by blistering pimples and an unwashed beard that looks like untrimmed pubic hair, his unwashed long hair tied back in a ponytail. The beast wears a large black shirt with a ThunderCats logo, drenched in his armpit sweat and dotted with Cheeto crumbs, and khaki shorts. On his feet he wears two thick knee socks and sandals. The basement is as repulsive as the man. His desk is strewn over with empty Dorito backs and empty soft drink cans he peed in to avoid leaving his basement to go to the bathroom. His basement was littered with action figures and other collectibles, but most strikingly with an entire plush collection of My Little Pony toys. And did they have holes in their butts similar to those in flashlights?
This man is Orochi the Basement Dweller. He is our dimensional overlord. Nothing in my life is more horrible than this revelation. Orochi keeps all the Yugioh dimensions as an online game he plays with his friends, all as disgusting as he is. I ponder if I have free will as a kind of NPC or if I am Orochi’s puppet but I did not solve this mystery. Something distracts Orochi from his game. Some random women online criticized him for his sexist views. Orochi tips his fedora, squints his small, mean-spirited eyes, and clenches his small mouth. He throws an invective at her, hammering away at the keyboard with stubby fingers tainted orange.
So this is my revelation. I turn to you, dear reader, to speak to you for the first time. I am an odd person, I never had an easy life, and I don’t like many morals. I try my hardest to be as strong as I can. You may not agree with what I believe in or my methods but you must at least respect me for my will and effort. You cannot deny those things. I often feel I must justify my actions, justify my entire life, and even justify my existence in some way, even though I’m very good at pretending otherwise. I am brash but I conceal much. How much? Maybe you will find out.
I am almost at the end of my life. I am ready to expire. – A light approaches me, so bright, sweet, and warm. I see her: her body, her face, and her radiant soul most of all. Sophia! I reach out to her with my one free arm but she floats one inch too far away. She sings to me, and at last I understand. I must still fight, if not myself than for Sophia. And for Yukio. I won’t let Sophia be harmed. She will live, not die like my mother did. And somewhere down that path I will be able to fight for myself again and things, I hope, will work out.
Sophia sings to me, hope ignites inside of me. I push against the rock and dirt above me. My body strains and collapses. I am so weak from hunger and thirst. I am ready to give up but I repeat Sophia’s music in my head over and over again, letting the same melody play at different times, letting them collide together. I push against the rock and dirt again, straining with all might. I push – my strength and Sophia’s song swells, doubles over itself again and again as an infinite canon – I never look back.
I pushed just enough rocks out of the way and I slither out from under the ruins. You do not have to be a great person, just a person. I am free.
Maya blindly crawled through a small tunnel, scratching her already battered body terribly. She wanted water more than anything else but she found only ancient dead dirt in her mouth. She pushed through a tiny door and entered.
A whole new chamber opened to her. It was as vast as a cathedral, and alive! Strangely, the entire tomb was full of lush plants and moss, full of the murmur of insects, and in the middle a sparkling wide pool over forty feet wide and thirty feet deep. The pool was so clear you could clearly see the bottom. She saw a large streak of light from high above, light that passed from the surface through an extremely long thin tunnel to light up the entire chamber. This was a “living” tomb.
Before Maya could do anything she felt her body nag her acutely since she had not relieved herself in three days. Seized this pressure more than anything else, Maya relieved herself of her load in a bush. “You, reader, may be offended.” Maya explained to you. “Yes, I soiled an ancient tomb but I would’ve exploded if I didn’t piss and shit just now. The needs of the living are greater than the needs of the dead.” I hope the reader will be mature enough to at least consider her extreme situation.
Done with her absurd philosophy, Maya stripped naked and jumped into the sparkling pool. She swallowed all the water she could while she swam to wash herself clean to the point she almost drowned. Then she saw a chest at the very bottom of the pool. She dove into the deep, only to resurface. It was too deep.
She felt an urgent need to get the chest below at all costs. She had an idea. She tied herself to a heavy stone with a vine, then hurled the stone into the pool. She sank deep down with the stone, untying herself at the very bottom. She seized the chest, which was felt as light as air. Maya dragged herself and her treasure to the surface, bursting on shore, coughing out the water in her lungs.
After a rest, she opened the chest. Inside laid a single book. The cover was blank, made of cheap leather. How odd. She opened it, the pages inside glittering as emerald; perhaps they were razor thin sheets of women emerald? She saw the hieroglyphs inscribed in each page, which could be hieratic text. It was the Book of Isis.
Maya couldn’t believe it. It was hers. Seized by more curiosity, she explored the tomb some more, approaching an open sarcophagus of limestone. No body or coffin lay within. The Book of Isis was the real body, the real find, as it were. But how did Pegasus ever find this place to dispose of his precious book? Maya imagined he didn’t find it at all. He probably at most read a few cryptic instructions of where to dump his Book. He must have found what looked like a dried up well and simply tossed it all the way down here. No one really knew.
She felt the walls of the tomb for a way out, and find one she did. She crawled through another tiny tunnel, then climbed up that tunnel for over thirty feet, then fell down a secret door from the ceiling. She noticed it was the emerald tomb she dueled Heishin. She noticed another tiny door, and crawled through it, reaching the very bottom steps of another tomb.
She climbed up the large but very steep tunnel above, electric lights now leading her the way. The rocks and dirt were very loose. A dislodged stone almost broke her leg. She ascended the one hundred and ninety four meter tunnel, reaching near the surface in the tombs large chambers. She realized she was in the tomb of Seti I, the father of the Great Ramses. She climbed to the surface, meeting the sun’s delightful rays and the sweet air at last, oblivious to all the tourists she frightened. She offered Sophia, or rather the love she felt for Sophia, her thanks.