Strange Man at the Gate

In the core of his being, he also found a goldfish swimming in a crimson pool. It was a large pool and the fish was the only fish in the pool, and as it swam the pool got more crimsoned, as thought blood was steadily added to it. Frank watched the godfish swimming about frantically, wagging its tail in panic, shaking its head in a hysterical attempt to take in the dwindling oxygen. And then as the pool got thicker and thicker, and as it moved from light pink to dark red, the goldfish stopped swimming. It was dying. Then Frank reached forth and dipped his hand into the pool, and he grapped the goldfish by its head and pulled it out of the pool which had now turned into blood. At first, the goldfish waggged its tail and shook its body in relief as it took in precious oxygen. But it soon realized that he had been taken away from one kind of death onto another. Tbe golfish died his Frank hand. And Frank watched it, unsure what this meant. Unsure if the goldfish represented his own life. But this picture he saw at the base of his being made him understand one thing, that one way or another, death was inevitable. He was going to die one day. But that wasn't really why he had looked deep inside of himself. He had looked deep inside because he wanted to discover if he was really scared to die. His experience underwater had taught him to cling to life, that no matter how much he desired death than life, that the clarity of near-death experience would make him understand how much of a fool he was. That as long as he took in oxygen and breathed out carbon dioxide, things were bound to change, in any direction at all. That had filled with him with the love for life, and the loathing for death. But now he wanted to discover whether he was really scared to die, so he looked a little deeper.

Now, deep inside his core, he saw himself in a very great expanse. It was vast that he could not see the edges or the ending because the edges merged with the horizon. That was vast the place was. But he realized there was very little gravity. He was floating but not really floating. He was bouyed by something underneath. It took him a while to realise that that thing was density. Damn. He was underwater again, and boy, was he being carried by the waves! And that moment, he began to feel enormous fear. But this time, the fear mixed with anger and became something different entirely.

He remembered the words of his father when his father was dying: "You must be strong, my son."

Quickly, Frank left the core of his mind where he had been for the last 15 minutes trying to discover things unknown to him. It was clear now. He was scared of death. Scared because he would fail his father if he allowed his enemies to have the last laugh. Scared because his first destiny had been destroyed and he had yet to know what the future had in store for him. Scared because it would mean that he was the most idiotic person with the most senseless existence in the world if he died now, or if he allowed his enemies to kill him. Scared because, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew things might change for him, that one day he could stumbled upon the answers to his existential crisis and find his place in life and begin to live as a normal human being in this world, that the curse might be lifted someday and that love might find its way back into his heart, especially his love for Sharon—which wouldn't be contingent upon her death or perceived death. Scared because he had been through hell and he deserved some form of compensation from life. And, heck, even a reward!

But how was he to know that it never rains but it pours? How was he to know that a compensation or a reward would never come and that as he thought himself a hunter in the endless hunt, he was regarded by hundreds of powerful people as a prey that must be hunted? How was he know to know that greater troubles awaited him from the places and people he never expected?

Well, he was to get an inkling of that Great Drama that would determine the complexion of his life for years to come.

As he turned around and started back into the house, leaving his tools on tbe floor and the tending of his flowers uncompleted, he heard a voice emanating from beyond the gate of his compound. At first, he thought it was one of those women who had shops close to his house outside, but the voice he heard was a masculine one and it was thick with something ominous. Frank wanted to ignore it because whoever the owner of the voice could be, they could not harm him in any way. And if it was the mysterious old man—well, it couldn't be the told man. That voice did not not sound like the old man's voice.

But then, like a thunderbolt, the voice rose in an angry pitch, piercing the air.

"Open this goddamned gate!"

Frank was bemused and amused at the same time. He brought his wrist up and checked the time on his wristwatch. It said 6:10 P.M. Armed robbers or bandits did not come by this time, so who was that?

"Don't me remind you again, Frank!"

Damn. The person knew his name. Excitement rose within Frank. A human enemy was at the gate and he had no idea that death awaited him. Frank smiled widely. He could feel the euphoria rising. Yes, this was what he lived for. The joy was always transient but it was something. By God, it was something.

"Sing, little bird, sing!" Frank crowed, and then started walking towards the gate. He had the brightest smile on his face. Killing an enemy on New Year's Day was the best gift he could give himself.

"You are wasting my time, Frank."

Frank stopped dead in his tracks. Goddamn. There had been a change in that voice, from a loud masculine voice to a gentle feminine voice. What was happening? Was it more than one person there? Were they many? Well, it didn't matter—they would all die!

Frank opened the gate but was bewildered to find no one there. His eyes darted about the street and saw a few people moving about. No one was looking at his direction. And then it occurred to him—damn! Immortals were here.

"Good to see you again, Frank," a voice said behind him.

Someone had gotten to compound already. Only an immortal could do that. Frank stiffened. The voice wasn't the old man's voice. He recognized the voice as coming from someone he knew very well, someone he had killed. He turned ever so slowly around and fresh paroxysms of fear overwhelmed him when when he saw that the person was none other than Leonardo Marco Rossi!