Two sides of the same coinView OnlineYou can't build LoveTwo sides of the same coinYou Can't Build Love It was a beautiful afternoon, Fleur walked through one of the many busy streets of Canterlot, her unique pink mane contrasted with an equally immaculate white coat — a super-model — she was called. All eyes turned to her. She was everything a mare could dream of becoming, or a stallion dream of... Possessing. By her side was a successful business magnate; Fancy Pants. You could say that this couple was the perfect symbol of class; the image of perfection. The sunlight gleamed on the polished marble tiles under their hooves, Fleur smiled — she had nothing to worry about. They had money, beauty, love, and an enviable reputation. Oh, if I could... I would give up everything in this world to be on his place, a single minute would be enough; sixty seconds to gaze into her shining violet eyes. They emanated perfection, but when you look behind the curtains of reality, everything has a flaw. 'They' do not exist. And my reality, is far away from perfection... Grayish clouds covered the sky over my head, they were heavy and looked like polished steel. Last night a torrent of rain had washed the entire valley, like a deluge. Some droplets of water trickled down the leaves of the trees above, and dripped onto me. Those were cold and bulgy drops, they carried a scent of freshly cut wood. It didn't bothered me. Step by step, I made my way through an old stone path, doing my best to avoid the puddles and the chunks of treacherous moss. I knew it was practically impossible to leave that little grove dry and clean, but this is a routine I've been maintaining since I was little. Nothing special or magical about the grove — I can assure you — it just happened to flourish around the pathway behind my house. Certainly, I could call this place my one and only home now, but to be honest with you, the castle ended up in my family hands centuries ago. It was once a very prosperous manor. Here beneath these ominous lands lies the story of my ancestors, the blood of my parents, and the memories of those who passed by these slippery granite tiles. Right under my feet, hidden behind the ancient castle of the Mondragons, crosses the centenarian Road of the Lost Dreams — a medieval route used to lead prisoners to their deaths at the gallows. It's not a beautiful story, but unfortunately, things worked differently in Middle Ages. If you were too 'different', you were either hanged or drowned. Not a matter of choice. Ironically, this same road was the place I used to hide whenever the pressure was too much to bear. It was a shame to my family having a child like me living under their roof; a Mondragon who dishonored his own blood. It hurt knowing I was a bastard child, one without a ribbon, born without their blue ridiculous blood — as if I was guilty of my father's 'sins'. Still, against all odds, I was raised by him. At first he denied the responsibility, throwing me aside to the servants and maids. Those, I am urged to admit, were a blessing. How I wish I could've stayed with the servants for the rest of my childhood. But my father's consciousness eventually grown heavy with the idea. How could a respectable man like him allow such a shameful thing? Firstly he tainted the immaculate bloodline of his ancestors with a commoner. Then his son was seen around with the housemaids. It was too much for him. It may seem unbelievable, but we do lived in the 21st century. People would be surprised if they knew how ordinary was this sort of behavior among aristocratic families. My mother died a few months after I was born, I never knew exactly what happened — I wasn't given the right to ask — but today I prefer to believe it truly was a car accident, as they roughly explained. It didn't mattered too much. I was alone. For a long time my father treated me as if I had died together with my mother; I was just an unfortunate ghost for him. I was home-schooled during my childhood and early teenage years, and except for the children of a servant who sympathized with me, I never had any friends of my age. Those kids appeared for a week, and then vanished as if they were never there at all. It was tough at times, but I can't say I had a terrible life — bittersweet would become a better description. I lived in a castle, I had my own room — for years I accepted that as everything my father would give me. It wasn't until my 15th birthday when something strange happened: Certain day late in the night I was just wandering around the web, and I accidentally came across a video, a twenty minutes long episode of My Little Pony. Normally, a boy wouldn't be too interested in a cartoon about ponies. Normally. But something else drew my attention: 'Friendship is Magic' Was it? I had never tried. I decided to give it a chance. Twilight Sparkle sent reports to the princess, Fluttershy loved her animals, Rarity always generous and beautiful, Rainbow just as narcissistic and awesome as she could be, and Pinkie Pie... Being Pinkie Pie, of course. Then there was Applejack. Her simple life seemed perfect for me; she had friends, an incredible family, a brother and sister who really cared about her. They were happy. Every single pony in Equestria had their own role, had their own personal reason to smile. That little world of colors and magic was a dream to me. And it was... Just a dream I felt more alive every time I watched the show. When the world disappointed me, I could find hope on those pastel-colored equines, when I thought about giving up, they held me in a tight knot. In a life surrounded by melancholy and pain, this cartoon was my anchor, my personal oasis. The Mondragons were a rich and powerful family, they had absolutely everything a man could dream of; wealth, power, respect— you name it. They also had a heir. My father's first child, Carlyle. He never really cared about me — and I was incredibly glad for that — as Carlyle was one of the worst persons you could have the misfortune of meeting; an obnoxious monument to stupidity. Yet, he was the only diamond in my father's eyes; Carlyle the great was the man who should perpetuate the family honor. Like I said, I never had any friends, let alone a girl to call mine. Until I met her. I had never been in love before, it was a foreign feeling to me. Unfortunately, as nearly everything in my life, this love also implied trouble. 'She' was nothing but a background character. She was a unicorn on the screen. Fleur de Lis was the one I always wanted to meet, every little detail of Fleur was perfect, even though It was obvious she hadn't too much of a personality in the series. This open space allowed me to mold what I thought she would behave like, the things she would like, her sense of humor. As the time flowed, I expected this illogical crush to simply go away. I heard people saying these things fade. But this never happened. My mind was fertile ground for this sort of thought, and it planted its roots deep within myself. The crush turned into love, which turned into obsession; and soon my soul was poisoned with her. I loved Fleur, I desired Fleur, I needed Fleur. I couldn't have Fleur. And it was around this time when my life had its largest twist since I was born. A few weeks before, I had attained my so awaited age of 18. Sadly, I couldn't simply leave my home; aside from my family fortune I had no personal money. I took what was given, and it wasn't much. My father and Carlyle traveled to Switzerland, and as usual, I was left alone at the castle. But it was no big deal for me anymore, it wasn't like their presence made too much of a difference anyway. I learned how enjoy the benefits solitude. After dusk, when most of the servants finished their chores and left the main building, not a sound could be heard through the thick walls of stone. The castle drifted into a deep slumber, and the tiniest sound echoed like a dragon. This tormented me at times, and reminded me of the devilish raven of Edgar Allan Poe poem. So when the dense night came, I had already locked myself in my room. A major thunderstorm had engulfed nearly half of Europe, including here; Britain. The wind roared outside, but found no gap to enter. I was resting cozily next to the warm light of the fireplace, a closed book resting on my lap. My cellphone rang, disturbing the comfortable sounds of rain and fire. Half asleep as I was, I blinked twice before extending my arm to reach it. "Hello?" I said in a drowsy tone. "Sir. Albert?" Replied a feminine voice. "Yes? Who's that?" Between the splattering sound of rain against the window panes and the crackling of the fire, I heard the words that would soon change my life forever. "Sir... It's with tremendous regret that I inform you, that your father's plane—" "My father's p-plane- W-what?"I stuttered. "Sir. Albert... The plane succumbed to the storm." I couldn't believe in my own ears, but the words were there. "...crashed into the Alps, and unfortunately — there were no survivors." I remained silent, staring at the burning embers of the fireplace. Shock. Was the only word capable of describing what I felt at that very moment. Nauseated, I paced through a nearly endless path bordered by family tombs, looking into the empty eyes of those marble statues and baroque angels perched on top of the gravestones. I was there, escorting the two lonely coffins until they were lowered inside deep stone graves side by side. Relatives of mine surrounded the ancient mausoleum of the Mondragons, some I had seen before, some were unknown faces. Nothing in this world could prepare them for this event, everything just pointed to my father and Carlyle as the apparent heirs of the family fortune. But things don't always work the way people expect them to. And destiny — It seems to play with us. The rain still poured bleakly over our dark clothes, and splattered against the plastic raincoats and umbrellas that some people bothered to use. I didn't. Each drop washed my fear and despair away. I cried, but no one noticed as the bittersweet droplets of water intermingled with my tears. There in front of me was my father, and my brother — as dead as they could be. Despite their profound lack of consideration with me, despite all of the terrible moments they made me go through. I loved them. Isn't love a slippery thing? There I was in my wet black suit; shoes carved in the damp grass of the graveyard, the living stare me, throwing venomous glares over my soul, with no effect. Life made me bulletproof. The shame of the family was a grown man now, I wasn't the foolish child I used to be. Now I was Albert Mondragon, heir of all the wealth of this putrid family. Whether they wanted, or not. Such a desirable thing is money. Four castles and manors, twelve companies, and almost fifty billions — dumped into the hands of an emotionally destroyed young adult — seems like a dream to many, I'm pretty sure about this. But for me it was a nightmare. All the greedy eyes of my so called 'kinsfolk' turned to me; during my entire youth I had to deal with those hungry faces, filled with envy and grudge. 'How can this dirt-blood take what is ours?' I once heard an aunt of mine say. It never left my ears. This money was like a curse, haunting me on every corner, everywhere I went I never had peace. During almost a decade, I endured the immeasurable responsibility of carrying the weight of my father's companies and business. A decade — of fake friendships, corrupted relationships, and lies; so many lies. But I did it, I tolerated all of this, I replied my 'friends' with fake smiles and compliments. I tolerated, because I knew that by the end of the day, I could go back to my room and smile with Fleur, even though I knew her smiles were not for me. After all, she was still a cartoon. And along the troubled path of my life, I met someone; she said it was love what she felt for me. And my weak and innocent heart believed in every single word she tenderly spoke in my ears. We dated, married and lived, I thought it was real, I thought our love was as pure as love is supposed to be. But if my father taught me something useful, was that one day, every lie comes to light. And destroyed again I was. All those claims, of loveand forever, all the time I've wasted with her. I heard as she said it was real, I heard as she declared herself in front of me over the sacred steps of matrimony. Our 'bond' was nothing but a sham. Not a single drop of truth or kindness. Since I was born, my life could easily be summed up to false expectations and disappointments — the only one in this world who ever loved me, died at my birth. Back to the beginning; there's me again, on the old road around the castle grounds, I walk silently, jumping from stone to stone, the ground still damp from last night's storm. It's always raining here. I finally reach my destination: A large rock stumbled alongside the path, moss and weeds grow freely above it, the own forest wrapped its roots around the ancient stone. During decades I came to this place in special to think about my life, here, only the nature could disturb me. I sat atop the slightly wet boulder, and stuck my arm into a narrow gap between the stone and the ground, some scratches later I retrieved it. After so many years it was still intact, worn by the time and covered with dirt of course... But nonetheless, Intact. I cleaned the mud with my hands, and revealed the true shape of the object. A heart-shaped golden pendant. Inside it lied a small photography; My mother and father, together. Aside from all his family disapproval, they loved each other. Even if it was only for a short period of time. I closed the small adornment and kept it in my pocket; I don't need to hide this anymore. Here, on this same rock, memories of my childhood flooded my mind; all the times I had to flee from the castle only to have a moment of peace. Being hated by your 'friends' is one thing, but being hated by your own parents... All I ever asked was someone who cared about me, someone who could enjoy being with me, someone who missed me and awaited for my return at the end of the day. And all I had was ponies; fake, unreal, cartoon, ponies. Among them, was her, the only thing giving me strength to withstand this life, she was my purpose. It always was. Fleur. I'm tired of being treated like an undesirable piece of shit, tired of having my ears filled with nothing but lies. All I ever asked was love, and it seems like no one can provide this. I thought it was just a phase, just a nonsensical madness, but it wasn't; every day my passion for her grows, there's no woman in this world who can give me what I want, there is no human in this planet who can rid me from her. She's the only one who can truly love me. I needed Fleur badly, and it doesn't matter anymore if she does exist or not. If you have a dream — and I had one — you need to fight for it, and if they say you will never achieve it... Fight more. If no one can love me, I will build someone who will.
Principio in FinemView OnlineYou can't build LovePrincipio in FinemYou can't build Love Sitting on the floor I gaze into the looking glass; there is she, looking back to me. Ever so slowly I extend my arm, my hand almost touching the mirror's surface, she does the same. That thin reflective membrane setting the worlds apart. And there we stood, so close, yet so far. I felt as if I was lost in a desert, a single glass of water right next to me, and still, being unable to reach it. Unable to quench my thirst. Inside her deep violet eyes I see nothing; always so mysterious, indecipherable — unreachable. "Fleur?" I ask. A soft breeze caress my hair, bringing with it a single leaf on the wind. I look around, noticing I had never been in such a room before; a circular chamber empty except by the mirror, curiously placed at the center of it. From the wide opened windows comes a torrent of leaves. I cover my face and blink. Opening my eyes again I find myself on a very different place; there are no walls surrounding me anymore, just old ruins worn by the time, bleached by the sun, and the once green and luxuriant leaves, are now dry and brownish, like a residue of a distant autumn. Yet, the mirror remains there, dusty, but nonetheless... There. She was there too. "Fleur... What's happening?" I ask, seeing that her coat and mane are no longer vivid and cared, she's almost a specter now, monochromatic and vanishing. "No! Fleur, I can h-help, let me get you out of here!" I lean over the mirror's frame, trying to find something, a lock, a handle, something, anything! "Fleur... Please don't." She weakly smiled, and with the wind, faded away. I threw myself towards her, but the cold glass won't ever allow me to reach my beloved one. "No!" I shout, punching the mirror with my bare fists. It tears apart; small shards of reflection shattering on the ground. She was gone. I stood up quickly, startled, almost jumping from the bed. The dream vanishing away. I felt my heart pounding erratically inside my chest, like a claustrophobic man locked in a cage. A cold sweat drenched my body, that sort of cold sweat that feels weird against your skin. I sighed and leaned back on the pillows, peering through the blinds of a large window by my side; it rained. A pale sun rising slowly and lazily at the horizon. There is still haze covering the gardens, beautiful in their serenity. Here comes another day. Six in the morning, I lay awake over my warm mattress staring at the patterns of the ceiling. I could sleep no more after that nightmare. My room was now half lit by the few sunbeams who managed to escape from the grayish layer of clouds. The fireplace is darkened, it had been like that for days, no one cleaned the ashes, no one brought more firewood. There's still a hint of burnt wood in the air, the scent pleased me. I stood up; couldn't stay there anymore. No mood for sleeping or eating, I'm not a morning person anyway. I'd rather have some fresh air around the gardens, still rained a little, but I don't mind. I've always loved rain; the sound, the smell of wet soil, its cold touch on my skin. Rain therapy. I'd sit there on the grass, on my white morning robe, moist locks of hair fell over my face, fresh scents filled my nostrils. I breathed in, closed my eyes, exhaled — all my worries to the wind. A faint beep comes from my wrist, my watch flashes, drawing my attention to something. I looked to its round screen and noticed the reason; "05/28/1997 - 05/28/2024 — Congratulations Albert! It's your 27th birthday." Time flies away quickly. I think to myself. After a long time allowing my body to be drenched by the rain, I stood up and walked to my favorite rock; the one stumbled along the road. The sun appeared shyly behind the clouds, the drizzle had ceased for a while, and I could spend some time there. Resting on my back upon the stone, I noticed a feeling that for a long time I suppressed. Loneliness. It wasn't the fatal sort of loneliness, but the mild one that erodes you through the years, just like a river that carves a canyon into the rock. It's hard to notice the process of erosion, but easy to see the results. And how deep are those canyons, only god knows. I could have thought about many people to be right there with me, laying by my side, dripping from the same rain, but in the end, I knew that only one could make me happy. And it was her after all. My little pony. I was starting to freeze out there, my robe was heavy with water — I was sure I could fill an entire bucket if I happened to squeeze it — and the last thing I wanted, was a cold. I had my shares of colds when I was little. I returned to the castle, leaving a trail of water behind me. I felt really sorry for the housemaid who'd find that, but I just wanted to dive in my hot tub as fast as possible. I was starting to get peckish, and thirsty for a good and warming coffee. After my relaxing bath I went to the kitchen; one of the downsides of living in a place like that is that a simple visit to the fridge becomes a travel to the fridge. Halfway there, was a special room; my library. Normally I would spend hours in there, but not today. On that library we had an oddly large fireplace, from the times the room was used not as a library, but as a dinning room. But what bothered me wasn't the fireplace itself, but what stood above it: A statuette, made of pure white marble, mane and tail sculpted on a pale pinkish petalite stone, two rare violet diamonds for her eyes; It was a true masterpiece. 'The Unreachable Light' I named it. When the sun, or any kind of light source reached those cold diamond eyes, a wonderful fire seemed to ignite inside it, a magnificent shimmer, trapped behind the translucent stones. For the first time in my life, I passed by the statuette without giving it a single glimpse — no — not a single one. For now it just brings me more pain. Hot, divine coffee runs down my throat. I sigh, satisfied. The thunder roared in the skies again, outside the rain joined forces with the wind, those strong gusts shaking the glass panes, like an angry ghost afraid to get wet. Resting my mug over the counter, I open the newspaper. It's a funny name for something that isn't even made of paper anymore, but rather, a projection inside my omni-screen. It unfolds like the real thing, and even feels like the old journals. But we know it's not really there. Running my fingers on its surface, I select the international news section. "Tensions rise on Eurasian Union" Say the headlines. A large picture of Vladimir Putin meeting a couple of bland-looking officials. And right next to it, a huge protest taking place over the streets of Moscow. Well, nothing I did not expected, given the circumstances. I just shook my head and ignored it. Through the pages I see nothing but uninteresting and blatantly stupid news; someone climbed a skyscraper, false bomb alert in an airport of New York, activists are camping in front of my company headquarters — I don't really mind them. It's not my fault what's been happening. This was the 'future' they said years ago, I can't deny, there were plenty of advances. But life keeps going on as ever, the same problems, the same silly dreams 'Nasa wants to launch a manned mission to Mars in five years', yeah... I hear this since I was five. When I was about to close the screen, the coffee mug halfway to my lips, my eyes darted to a small note almost unnoticeable. "The Japanese physician and genetic engineer, Tadashi Nagai, received green light to start the first organs and limbs production company; after more than three decades of research, and over fifty million dollars spent, Nagai and his crew are now 'Fully capable of producing any organic parts needed, with only a single sample of stem cells' as himself states." 'If they can do this with fifty millions- what could they do with fifty billions?' I thought casually. The mug shattered on the ground. Something in my mind just ignited, right there, on my kitchen stool. I glanced the hallway by my side; the library entrance at the end of it, and of course; the statuette, which now sparkled underneath the tenuous sun rays coming from the windows. I got my omni-screen and left, shards of porcelain and coffee splattered on the floor. Not giving a damn about it, I had a single priority: Contact a certain Japanese doctor.
Fleeting Happiness View OnlineYou can't build LoveFleeting Happiness Fleeting Happiness You can't build Love Time — always amazing me. I still remember the day when I accidentally bumped against that article. I can assure you, much has changed since I contacted Mr. Nagai, and at the same time I would be lying. Lies and truths are a matter of perspective, I believe. Eight years has passed since it, and I'm still here, running over the same old ground, the same problems, the same fears. What firstly seemed to be a hope — a new light to my life, if you can say that — slowly faded to nothing but (again) disappointments. That's what happens when you build too many expectations. Unlike growing human parts in laboratory, creating a fully functional new creature is... Practically impossible. As doctor Nagai and his crew explained to me. In addition of being considered a crime against genetic ethics and nature, the chances of success on a venture like this come close to zero. 'Why not a virtual reality device?' They asked me, pointing out all the advantages, costs. It was indeed, an option. But stubborn as I was, maybe dumb, I wanted the real thing. The flesh and bones, and skin, and cells, and hair thing. I wanted the genuine, not a digital replica. At times I felt I was forcing those brilliant scientists to create a Frankenstein monster. But most of the times I encouraged them with the 'making history' slogan. I couldn't know for sure what would come out of that laboratory. When I pushed the start button I knew about the risks, I knew about the chances, and above all else; I knew the sacrifices I would have to do. But nothing mattered to me, because I was doing it for someone that I loved, I was doing this for her. For good or bad, I was blindfolded. It took some time to convince Nagai's crew; as professional scientists they prized ethics and law above everything. Unfortunately for me, neither of these two principles fit on what I was asking for. For my own luck, this is a highly corruptible world, a deconstructing palace of flesh, where almost everyone can be persuaded to do anything for the right amount of gold. Maybe it's true what they say: Every man has its price. I provided them the best equipment that money could afford and the best laboratory a scientist would ever need. There was an entire facility dedicated to that project. They needed horses; I gave them horses. They needed humans; I gave them humans. They wanted more money; I filled their pockets with it. I just wanted a single Fleur de Lis, not mattering how many lives I had to spend, or how many unsuccessful attempts we made during all these years. The success would be my share of this world, it would be the payment I deserved for all the thorns I've been dragged through God owed me Fleur. For years they researched, studied, planned, developed, attempted. And nothing. Artificial cells, genome altering, fusing species, cyborgs; everything. Inside the underground bunker that we called 'Development Laboratory' I saw scenes that will never leave my mind. The worst of all was to put an end on the failed specimens. Now I looked at the mirror with a different expression. Once I wondered what good would come of that boy. Today I look at my face on the mirror and think about what will become of my soul in the end. I have never been a religious man, but when I rest my head over the pillows at night and think about all the lives I may have ended for my own egoistical objective, I can't help but wonder what God must be thinking about me. 09/21/2032 I woke up. My back and shoulders ached as I made my way to the bathroom, a bottle of painkillers over the counter. I take two, and swallow them dry. I'm not the healthy and full of life teenager I used to be. Opening the sink, I washed my face with gelid morning water. I've been avoiding mirrors, but I can't avoid all of them. Staring at my reflection, I touch the skin on my cheeks. I'm pale, my eyes have gotten lighter somehow, like those of a hare. My hair has strands of auburn color, the cold weather makes my lips crack and bleed. I wasn't like this. It was a side effect of the drugs, the doctors said. My outside appearance still masked what I really am. I'm way more broken inside. Each day I have more hinges, more rusting pieces, remnants of heart. One could say I look like an average mid-thirties man, but when they look closer, they know something is not right. My body feels heavy, as if I had stored one hundred years inside my chest. I know, that's not true, but the fact that my life has been a maelstrom of feelings and events since I was born, does not relieve this sentiment. I have grown, married, divorced, got depressed, felt happiness and sorrow, fought against my relatives envy, fought against my own thoughts, saw my own father and brother being buried together. I passed through every imaginable situation, and here I am, preparing myself for another day. This isn't another usual morning; after years of unsuccessful attempts, and the aforementioned horrendous scenes I've witnessed, I'm preparing myself for another trial. But this is a special one, because regardless of the results — it's the last I will ever try. It has been five months since Dr. Nagai started working with this new specimen, I have never seen it before; not because I couldn't, but because my hopes about it were coming close to nothing. I just don't wanted to waste the last droplets of my sanity away. I got my car keys and left; It was not a long travel to the bunker, which is located inside a private property. Usually I like to listen some music while driving but nothing came to my mind today; not quite in the mood for noises, even if the 'noise' is a Mozart symphony. A couple of hours later I was parking my car beside an old barn. It doesn't make sense as seen from this point of view. It was a white barn, in the middle of what was once a farm. But in fact, this place is not what it seems. Two men dressed in white robes greet me when I approach, they lead me inside the barn and the peculiarities continue here; behind the double wooden gates there are no hay or old stables. The barn is an immaculate metallic room, from the floor to the ceiling. An glassy acrylic wall divided the rectangular interior in two parts; the entrance hall, and the sterile room. A smaller passage connected both parts; it was a narrow chamber, with pressurized air and a handful of security procedures to be followed. They wanted to make sure no hazardous contaminants would ever come in, or out. The bunker was hermetically sealed from the world outside. That old barn was built during the second world war over the entrance of a bomb shelter, and that's the place we used as a base for the construction of this facility. From the original bunker, nothing remained, except the underground shape. I was heading to a huge reinforced door, which when opened, leaded to an equally huge stairway and elevator. This whole thing was not built in vain; after taking the elevator to the lower floor, we reached our destination: The main entrance. Down here it all looked and smelled like a hospital. I disliked that feeling with all my guts, but there we had all we needed, and no one knew we existed. In theory. "Lord Albert, such a long time isn't it?" A scientist complimented me, a hint of friendly sarcasm in his voice. I look around, Dr. Nagai is nowhere to be seen, but I presume that's because he's busy with the preparations. "Hello Mr...?" I paused. "Oh my apologies sir, I'm Doctor James, from the genetic research sector" He said, asking me to follow him. I agreed, and we went into one of the many corridors. I never enjoyed this place, maybe it was the strong ether scent in the air, or the coldness — it was always cold, to preserve the quality of the air — the walls were all white or gray, depending on the floor. There was not a single dust speck on the floor. "Dr. Nagai is awaiting for you in the hatching chambers" I don't think I have ever visited that area of the complex before. 'Hatching chambers' sounded oddly disgusting. The scientist stopped in front of a wide opaque glass door, and moved to the side as I approached. "Aren't you coming?" I asked "Oh... no, I don't have the permission to do so." He pointed to a small name tag hanging from his neck 'Level 4' written under his credentials. I wondered how many levels they had. "Very well then, thank you James." I shook his hand. I placed my eyes on the scanner level; a quick confirmation flash later and the doors went open, revealing another corridor, not as long as the other though. As I walked into the desert hallway, I could hear the automated doors closing behind me with a whiffing sound. Unlike the rest of the complex, this corridor had a dim bluish lighting, I was aware it was due to the ultra violet germicidal properties, but that light made me feel slightly depressed. It was gloomy, strange, and it was all reflected on those polished white tiles, increasing even more the effect. I observed everything; several doors by my side leading to many rooms, peculiar glass chambers filled with a translucent fluid — strange forms wriggling inside — long pipes bubbling with unknown substances, the disturbing silence only being eventually broken by the air conditioning system hum. On the last door, a small plate signed the 'Hatching Lab', but before I could reach the handle, the door opened, revealing a third aged doctor, almost bald except for a few chunks of white hair, glasses firmly placed on his face. "Lord Albert, we were awaiting for you!" He smiled, jokingly bowing, his insightful eyes looked into my soul. "Your soul finds no rest, I see." He noted. I greeted him with a sad smile in my lips, I needed no mirror to see that. He entered the room, and I followed. The place was dark, only one or two very dim lamps lighting up just enough for us to discern a couple of objects. "You know Mr. Albert, when you invited me to join your project, I really thought it was madness; a lost cause. I have to admit, In all my years as a researcher I've never received such a peculiar proposal." He paced around a large cylindrical chamber, covered with a metallic mantle. I pulled a chair and sat down, observing as the old man checked his monitors and equipment. "However, I also have to admit that I never expected to receive a sponsorship like yours." The doctor paused. "Above everything, after nearly a decade, I wasn't expecting to achieve success." He added, to my surprise. I stood up abruptly. "A-achieve... W-what?" I struggled with the words. He smiled, placing a hand over my shoulder. "Mr. Albert, as a professional I don't usually meddle on my contractors personal purposes — however — I believe that in your exceptional case, it is impossible for me to not become curious." I stared at him, still too shocked to react. "You don't have to answer me if you don't wan't to. But what makes you — a successful magnate — spend billions and billions in a research related to these creatures?" With a slow pace, he got closer to the chamber. "I- It's n-not... All of them. I was j-just-" "She's very special for you isn't it?" He removed his glasses, placing them on his gown pocket. "Yes. She is." I felt those words leaving my lips like a feather. A last breath. "Well then Mr. Albert, this way I believe you would like to give me some help removing this mantle." He said. "Just be careful." Shakily I came closer to him, in front of us was this large cylinder about my size, slightly wider; I got one of the mantle extremities while Doctor Nagai held the other. Together, we removed the locks and released the tick cloth on the ground. Something warm rolled down my cheeks. I was allowed to cry. And were heavy tears. All those years, all the deceptions I had, all my fears, they were suddenly gone — I never in my life felt such happiness. I placed my hands gingerly on the translucent surface. Not even the mist in my eyes could blurry that sight. There, inside the cylinder, floating between wires and bubbles slept my dear one. She wasn't completely finished yet, but I could see her, she was there, closer than I ever imagined to me. I hugged Doctor Nagai tightly, I couldn't remember hugging anyone that tightly in years, this old man here, he was the one who made my life complete. "T-thank you... Thank you so much. " When I left the complex that day, I was a completely different person, because I knew that the next time I returned, I would find more than disappointments. No, there wouldn't be more disappointments. I would find Fleur de Lis. Author's Note And here it is... It took some time to get done I have to admit, but the chapter is finally done. The story is now close to an end, sure; maybe one or two more chapter and it's done. An interesting fact about this fic is that differently from my other works, this one I write majorly for myself instead of my readers. Not because I don't care about you guys, but because this story has a deep personal meaning to me. 'You can't build Love' is also meant to be a prologue for something much greater, it's the prologue of a novel that during a long (long) time I wanted to do, and I have good expectations about it. Indeed, this is a sad story, but as I used to hear: Sacrifice is being willing to give up something good for something better. I hope you have a brilliant day. Pedro Hander
HopeView OnlineYou can't build LoveHopeYou can't build Love "Please Mr. Mondragon, take a seat, we have to talk." Walking inside another room; white and sterile as any other you may find around this place. I pull a chair and sit, right next to me is Dr. Nagai, adjusting his glasses at his nose bridge. But unlike any other room of this underground facility, this one has a large window; from the floor to ceiling, covering the entire curvature of the wall, a blurred whitish glass panel. That was not a simple window. "Shall we start?" I asked him. "Sure, sure... But before you see her, I feel in need to explain a few details for you." Between our chairs was a round glass table, on top of it rested a small switch, extending his arm Dr. Nagai took the object and carefully placed on his armrest. "If I'm not mistaken you explained several times before how these specimens are made, how they should work, their behavior, genetics, etc?" I sighed, quite a bit impatiently. "Yes I did, but this one is different. What I explained before, the whole concept we had, was majorly theoretical — We had to modify a couple of characteristics here and there to make her life possible." He gestured to the pale glass plane in front of us. "Modify? I d-don't- I don't understand; what exactly have you modified? I really hope she still looks like-" "You don't have to worry about her aesthetic. The changes were mainly psychological and mental; she's identical to the pony you firstly asked for. Yet, I have some important remarks" Standing from his chair, he slowly paced around the room, the switch device in his hand. "As I was saying, some changes were necessary for this specimen success. You see Mr. Mondragon, for a long time we tried to create an artificial conscience for a being that already had its own. This mental overlapping resulted in incompatibilities, which in turn, were responsible for most of our failures; her brain simply couldn't accept a predefined idea, or behavior." I pinched my nose. "So are you implying that the unicorn behind this window may be a completely wild creature, able to do whatever she pleases, or even kill me if this is of her will? Haven't we talked a million times before about that? We needed an at least mild demeanor." I noted, not angry, but unsure. Ignoring my question, Dr. Nagai just pulled the switch up, instantly turning the once blurred glass, into a perfectly translucent surface, revealing the room on the other side. Something in special caught my eyes, the window was mirrored in a way she couldn't see me from the other side, but from my chair I could watch every movement of that gracious unicorn, resting only a couple of feet away from me. Only a thin glass splitting our worlds apart. Fleur was there, right in front of me. I was in absolute shock, of course that I expected to see her, but I still couldn't believe in my own eyes. "You wanted Fleur de Lis, and there she is." Not acknowledging our presence Fleur just boringly rested on her back, staring at the blank ceiling. "Far from what you stated Mr. Mondragon, she's not a wild animal — Not at all. Don't you remember what you asked me when we first met?" "I Asked for..." A memory emerged from the depths of my mind, bringing with it one of my first wishes. '...I want her to be exactly like Fleur. I want her to be perfect.' "Perfection." I said. "Yes!" The elder doctor said. "You asked for this. And isn't the free will the greatest of all perfections?" My eyes darted from the doctor, to the pink maned pony, that now, calmly leafed through a book. There were a few objects around the room she was in, a bed, some books and magazines, a small computer. "Can she read?" I curiously inquired. The doctor chuckled softly. "She's perfectly able to do much more than that. We couldn't force everything we wanted inside her head, unfortunately this kind of technology is still being developed. But nonetheless, we made the possible to assure that Fleur is able to communicate, and understand the basic principles of this world. And she's still learning every day, fastest than any child would." "Incredible." I muttered. Fascinated by the sight. "Now... Can I talk to her please?" I stood up, only to be held in place by Dr. Nagai's hand. "I will let you do that; but you must understand Albert, that she's not a toy; she has feelings. Her own, personal, feelings" "Of course." Gritting my teeth together I left his grasp. "I know that very well." I hissed. Without waiting for a response, I left the room, shutting the door behind me. "I really hope you do." Nagai silently spoke to himself. With my hand firmly positioned around the door knob, a chill ran down my spine. A strange feeling entangled my guts; It wasn't a bad vibe, but I couldn't say that it was a positive one. It was odd. It was anxiety, I said to myself. Maybe It was something different, the feeling that weakened my legs and screamed inside my head: From this point, there's no going back. Shaking the strange thrill away, I turned the knob and slowly opened the door. A smile instantly formed across my face, as Fleur turned her attention towards me. She said nothing, did nothing or even directly looked at me, but just her presence, just the fact that she was there, made those hot tears run freely down my cheeks. Maybe I was an obsessed man, maybe it was insanity the thing I was promoting, but I've never expected to experience this moment; at least not without heavy drugs or a reality plug stuck inside my head. I've lost the count of how many times I cried for her absence, but now, for the first time I cried for her existence. Tears of joy, which during long years awaited inside my eyes, they now drenched my trench-coat sleeve. "Mister, are you alright?" Wiping those misty eyes, I raised my head. In a mix of a giggle and another wave of tears I looked to the concerned pony in front of me. "My little Fleur..." I knelt down, to stay at her eyes level. "I've never been so 'alright' in my entire life" I couldn't contain myself; I wrapped my arms around her neck and pulled her close to a hug. That action seemed to have caught her unnoticed, Fleur tensed her body at our first contact, but slowly relaxed and placed a hoof around my shoulder. She was soft, warm, beautiful. She was alive, pulsating, shimmering more than the violet diamonds of the marble statuette. I don't even know if she knew what a hug was, but we stood like that for what seemed like hours, even though I knew it was only a couple of seconds. Time flowed slowly around her, I felt hypnotized by her presence, her coat was sleek and of a sheer white color, just as I imagined. Parting from our embrace, we shared a short, yet deep exchange of glances. "Thank you." I said. "F-for what?" She looked at me curiously. "For making me feel alive again." Running my fingers one more time through her soft mane, I just smiled. I smiled like a kid, like the happy kid I never was. "I- I'm not able to u-understand your sentence- I'm sorry but — who are you?" I paused, swallowing dry. How could I be so idiot? It is obvious that I must be a complete stranger to her. "I'm so sorry, this is completely my fault, I haven't introduced myself yet." I rose to my feet, and delicately grabbed her hoof with my hand. "I'm Albert Mondragon, Duke of Grayhills and Nobody-Cares Lands" I said with a pompous yet sarcastic tone. At first I thought that she had swallowed the joke, but my assumptions dissolved into nothing, when Fleur started to laugh. "What?" I asked, starting to laugh from the situation too. "Oh my... You're such an old school noble isn't it?" She snorted. In all my life I never expected Fleur to be like that — not that I'm complaining, far from it — she's incredible. Not the way I expected her to be, but yet, fascinating! And I just needed five minutes with her to notice it. "I think I am!" I chuckled. "Oh well, don't worry Albert, they've told me some things about you." She smiled. But that one I couldn't decipher. I would soon realize how undecipherable she was. We talked a lot, about many topics; from my family, to her genetics. As the talk went through a tortuous path, I tried my best to avoid any mentions to our previous tests. Fleur was very clever, way more than I expected. "I think I owe you my existence right?" Her tone changed instantly with those words. Her eyes stared at the floor. I was glad to avoid talking about the experiments, as that subject would be very delicate to deal with her, and I hoped she was unaware of most — if not all — of the process. "My dear..." I placed my hand under her chin, and softly raised her head to look at me. "You owe me absolutely nothing." I spoke. "Nothing." She smiled, and her smile answered all of my questions; you don't need words when you can feel it with your soul. "Now... Is the duchess ready?" The unicorn just cocked an eyebrow. "Ready for what?" She asked. "To go home!" Author's Note And here's another chapter, this one with a peculiar mix of hope, expectations and maybe some obsessive behaviors... As ever, feel free to point me mistakes, misspellings and etc. The best regards; PedroHander
Marble TrophyView OnlineYou can't build LoveMarble TrophyYou can't build Love We all have our dreams. Some are bigger and loud, some are tiny and delicate like a dandelion. We build our castles around these dreams, and cultivate them with great care. At times we may forget about them, as the vines of time start crawling over the doors and windows. But somewhere, inside a crumbling ruin or a palace, the dream hibernates. When Fleur first arrived in the castle, I felt like the metaphor had suddenly acquired life. Those walls wouldn't seem to blank and cold, my bed wouldn't be too big for me, and perhaps — perhaps — this void in my chest would heal, and every empty space would be filled again, not with anger and sorrow, but with love. I won't make turns to tell how the days went by since her arrival. The days flowed smoothly now that I had someone to live with. I did not forced anything, I did not asked for anything. I allowed things to be the way they should be. It was always an indescribable happiness for me to teach Fleur something new. My eyes were dazzled by every curve of her body, every clever idea. Her mind was an otherworldly landscape that I wanted to explore, all the valleys and mountain ranges. At dusk, she would open the windows and lean against the balcony ledge, feeling the dying rays of sun caressing her face. I observed that frequent scene with a peculiar melancholy. The way she stared at the horizon, with a deep sigh and a smile. I couldn't understand. But it made me feel sad for her. Although I had no reasons for being down, neither had Fleur. It just happened to be. One day after she closed the curtains and hopped into bed, my mind was drifting away with the dancing flames of the fireplace. I barely noticed as she approached me. "Albert." I blinked, only to find the unicorn resting her head on a pillow by my side. So fragile was the sight, that for a moment I was afraid of blinking again and waking up from another dream. But she was there, in flesh and bones and hooves, and soul. "Hmm?" I said, shaking my head lightly. "Sorry, I spaced out." "You're always dreamy." Fleur stated. "It feels like you're somewhere else." "My dreams keep me sane." I smiled. "Then why does my presence wash away all of this sanity?" She asked, not lifting her head from the pillow. I had no answers. "I... Don't know." We stared at the ceiling. "I guess — deep within — that I never truly believed you'd be here with me, one day." I turned my body to face her, and Fleur had this aura of surreal nostalgia. She emanated a feeling of past summers, of happiness intermingled with loss. I kissed her. It was a soft, innocent touch. But dense was the anguish that washed over my soul on that very moment. She never had to push me away with a hoof, because her face told me all I needed to know. It was the risk, that the doctor pointed out. The risk that I blindly ignored. "I..." "I'm so sorry." She muttered, her ears pinning down against her head. "D-don't be." I stood up, walking away from her room, the shadows on the wall haunting my steps like ashamed ghosts. I strolled through the corridors, down the stairs, through the gardens. It was night, and the droplets of dew condensed into ice around the tiny blades of grass, and wild flowers. I carried in my hands the heart necklace, a sealed letter and a box. My sickness worsened with the cold, I couldn't say why. I felt terrible. Into the groove, I found my boulder. And there I sat, for hours and hours, until I couldn't feel the tips of my fingers and lips anymore. There I realized that what we want, rarely is what we need. I could twist the laws of the flesh, but I couldn't build what keeps we all together. Some things are not for sale. "What is this that you take?" I jumped, startled. Fleur stood at the doorway, a look of deep concern in her eyes. A few weeks had passed since that night. Our relationship — which ended up becoming a melancholic friendship — was crystallized and frozen. "It's a medicine." I said, feeling my voice weakening. I had been trying my best to suppress my addiction to her, drowning my feelings with anything I could find, until they were silent again. "It's harming you." She replied, stepping into the room. The mirrored wall reflected everything around us, her staggering beauty, my bleeding lips and the chunks of dead hair in my comb. It was abandoning the boat. "It kills my pain, dear." I placed the bottle aside, sitting on the edge of my bed. "It makes me numb." I plainly stated. As the days passed by, and the winter approached, we found ourselves more and more landlocked inside the castle. But although our distance was now very short, our hearts drifted farthest apart. "Fleur... I need to ask you something." I muttered, tapping my fingers on the hardwood armrest. "Yes?" "Would you do me a favor? It won't be difficult for you, as it would be for me." I added, holding back the urge to dissolve myself in tears. The castle had been oddly quiet lately, it was no secret that something here had died — as if things weren't dead enough — even the ghosts had become silent; I heard no more creaks, footsteps, or the usual roar of the wind. The forces that grew together with me seemed to sympathize with my silence. Fleur was more distant than ever, although she stood in front of me — I couldn't fix what was already done. The pain in my spirit worsened the pain in my bones. "Of course. What do you need? I'd do anything-" She paused, with her half-opened jaw. Those lilac wine eyes piercing my soul. "Say." "There's a little stone road, behind the castle." I vaguely pointed to the walls, crowned with archways. "You probably saw it from the balcony before..." "The one that runs through the woods?" She asked. "Yes, yes. That one." I nodded "There's something I keep there — something special — and I need you to get it before starts snowing. Otherwise it will be lost." She turned her head to the side, looking through the windows. Unlike most of the days, the sky wasn't very cloudy, and some light escaped from the distant horizon in chunks. "Won't you come with me?" She inquired, confused. "Oh dear, you know I'd love to..." I smiled weakly, knowing in my heart I was telling the truth. "I've been in too much pain, and I don't want to take that medicine anymore." "Albert... you need a doctor, you know you can cure yourself of—" "Fleur, today I just need you to do me this favor." She lowered her head, letting out a long sigh. Without saying another word, Fleur nodded. "It's still cold out there, grab your scarf and something to protect your hooves." I noted. "There is a rock stumbled over the path; it won't be hard to notice, I promise. Between the larger boulder and the tree roots, you'll find a small wooden box." "I'll bring it to you-" "N-no." I coughed. A sharp pain tortured my spine after the sudden movement. She could see the reflections of that anguish in my face. "What's inside the box belongs to you — only you." I accompanied Fleur to the front doors, she walked slowly, keeping up with my pace. I touched the heavy columns of the walls, feeling the smooth texture of polished rock on my fingertips. I like to know when I'm leaving a place. Some may say farewell with words, I say farewell with memories. And every step towards the door was a chunk of history. From the day I walked in as a misplaced infant, to the day I found myself side by side with the only creature I was capable of loving. Through the half-opened door, a gust of cold air blew over her mane, with some effort I got down on my knees, somehow, we both knew what was about to happen. But from our mouths not a word escaped. I wrapped a long pearly scarf around her neck, tenderly, I pinned a silver brooch on it. It was an ornate lily, very delicate. I smiled, god, how I smiled. She was perfect, too perfect for me. "Thank you." I whispered. She pulled me closer to one of those sad hugs, those you see on train stations and airports. She walked down the stairs leading to the snow covered courtyard, and her coat seemed to merge with the thin layers of frost. I closed the door, and the ghosts let out a muffled sound. Never in its long existence, the Mondragon's Castle heard such a symphony. It was loud, it was powerful, and it skinned even the toughest souls that hid in the corners of that mansion. The sound of Lux Aeterna echoed from the library to the basement, through the archways to the towers. "Take it, take whatever you want. I'm going to hell, and you all are coming with me!" I yelled, tearing the tapestry from the walls, knocking over the ominous photo frames and family pictures that adorned the halls with those twisted faces. I could barely hear my own words, as the music repeated over and over again, that balsam absorbing all my condensed anger. I dragged my body through the frigid corridors of that damned castle, swallowing the pain and releasing it through tears. Alongside with my body, I dragged a heavy gallon of gasoline. The holes I had opened with a screwdriver allowed the liquid to escape freely as I made my way to the library, where the sound was louder. The tapestry, the furniture, the air itself, was dense with the smell of fuel, and It reminded me of the old gas stations. The gallon I carried with me wasn't the only one. I had poured down the stairs the contents of several others I had found in the attic. Gasoline drenched the dark oak wood floors. I smiled through that excruciating pain, when I finally arrived at my sanctuary. A place amid the library where I had stacked and clustered all the pictures, artworks, sculptures — anything that reminded me of my broken vision of what Fleur should've been. "Isn't that what you wanted?" I shouted, dropping the gallon on the floor, kicking it towards the fireplace. "You always wanted this, didn't you?" I said, opening my arms and staring at the ceiling, the taste of blood in my tongue disgusted me, but the scent of gasoline made me forget about all the rest. Because that was what it was — the residue of an obsessive life. I punched my fist to the sky, growling, trying to tell god it wasn't fair. But friend, he wasn't there. At least not for me. How could he be, with all that devastation, all that desperation inside of me? "Take me." I muttered, kneeling on the ground. Watching as a trail of gasoline dripped towards the fire. "Take me, dammit!" I screamed, throwing a pile of books into the flames. The ancient fireplace roared as I never saw before. The flames engulfed the damp carped, drenched with flammables. And so I felt the heat, from my sides, from below, from every single page, poster, and postcard that burned inside that museum of memories. I felt the heat consuming the tapestry of the walls, and the wooden beams of the ceiling. And I laughed, freed from my pain for a second, just enough to rise, and look into the eyes of the marble statuette imposing her presence over the roaring fireplace. "You're not Fleur." I groaned. "You never was — you don't deserve to be!" I couldn't feel, as I grabbed the largest firewood plank I could find. It already burned red, when I stole it from the fire. And with a single swing, I hit that damned statuette, crushing its crystal pedestal. It crashed on the burning embers of the floor, shattered in a thousand pieces. Those two violet diamonds sparkled in the fire, reflecting the last light that would reach my eyes. "You're not Fleur." I muttered, feeling not air but smoke filling my lungs. I couldn't feel, because the pain was dead. "Fleur is free... We are just debris." Collapsing on the floor, I stared at the ceiling, as pages of burnt books floated like feathers of a beautiful phoenix. As I faded, I saw nothing but those eyes. Not the diamonds that shimmered on the floor, but those violet eyes that always found a way to touch my soul. The eyes I could never possess. Author's Note This is it. It's done. All the chapters have been revised and fixed. I declare this story over.
