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I was born Vincent Valentine over half a century ago. My father, Damian Valentine, was a gunsmith in the town of Kalm. Kalm, a tiny village I preferred to call Koma in my own thoughts, but again I stray from the point. It was a normal enough childhood, I suppose, but since I have never fully experienced any other childhoods, who am I to claim what is normal? I had enough to eat, was decently clothed, sufficiently educated for a small town, and do not recall my parents ever fighting. I was not a very social child and spent much of my free time drawing, reading, and learning to use with proficiency the works of my father's art. By the time I was 16 I had become restless with the never-changing rustic peace of my birthplace, and, in a fit of adolescent independence, left home to find my path in the big city. Midgar was not a great distance, and towards that modern metropolis I set my feet in hopes of adventure and easy money. Youthful naitivité is a dangerous thing, and were it not for my gunslinging skills I might not have survived that first night, for it seemed nobody greets small town boys at the gate and gives them enough money to rent a place to live. My first year was spent merely trying to survive on the streets, barely earning enough money to provide for my stomach much less get a warm bed for the night. Adventure, I discovered, was much more expensive than I had thought, and money was harder than titanium point bullets. By the middle of my second year in Midgar, I had lost my
small town accent, hardened my muscles, and honed my
shooting skills to sufficient prowess to gain the attention
of a recruiter for the presidential security agency known as
the Turks. I was hardly a political youth and barely knew
the name of the president, however, at last I was assured of
a regular and generous paycheck, and even more importantly,
the opportunity to travel on assignment to exotic locations.
Is it any surprise that I traded in my patched rags for the
black suit and white shirt of the prestigious Turks? I
thrived in this profession, my personality and experience
fit for the work. Aloof arrogance was an act I pulled off
easily while never failing to note the slightest detail that
might compromise the security of a mission, and I rose
steadily through the ranks. By the time I was 20 I was a
lieutenant, I made commander by the age of 25. I earned
these ranks not by playing the game of brown-nosing
politics, but through simply being the best there was. |
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I had not met Dr. Hojo before this assignment. I knew of his reputation for disregarding moral questions for the sake of research, but I must admit this didn't bother me at the time. My first impression of him was that he needed to come out of the lab more often; he was gaunt and pale and highly unattractive. His assistant, Lucretia, however, was quite the opposite: beautiful, graceful, and given to genuine smiling that only seemed to heighten the chilling effect of Dr. Hojo's less-than-sane lipless leer. I, however, was there as a Turk, not as a psychologist, and I chose to take some small comfort in the fact that I would seldom be dealing with him. I set to my assignment with the usual precision, giving duties to those Turks assigned under my command and maintaining the highest security. Within a week I had come to realize this was hardly necessary since nobody ever came near the place except the pilot who delivered the supplies and he always left as soon as possible. I resigned myself to several months of boredom. The closest town, Nibelheim, was one which was nearly the twin of the rustic village I had escaped, with the exception of being on an average day cold and miserable rather than balmy and sleep-inducing. With little to do other than play cards and watch security monitors that never changed, my devotion to duty began to slip away and I started finding my thoughts drifting from my work to the only thing that could truly hold my interest, Dr. Hojo's pretty assistant. At first, it was only glances across the dining hall table, but eventually it occurred to me that more often than not, when I lifted my eyes to look at her, I would see them already fastened on me. Only once during this time did Dr. Hojo join us for dinner, but I recall him watching with a keen interest, his thin lips curling into that sinister smile of his. I chose to ignore this as the perverse pleasures of a creature who would never himself be able to garner the attention of a female. I began to look for reasons to see her, to talk to her. It seems quite pubescent in retrospect, I must have seemed the overt fool to slip into the lab and inform her that there was nothing of note of which to inform her. She took this idiocy graciously, granting me one of those radiant smiles that would carry me through another hour of tedium without her. It was a full month before I worked up the nerve to ask her to go to dinner with me in one of the restaurants in Nibelheim. My wondrous wooing powers reasserted themselves in that I was so shocked she agreed that I asked her again. She repeated her acceptance of the invitation in spite of my bumbling and thus was born the happiest period of my life. Lucretia and I spent more and more time together. I found
she had a wonderful sense of humor as well as intelligence
and beauty, and in her presence I began to open up and
relax, shedding the image so carefully schooled into me as a
Turk. We laughed and talked, accidental brushes of
fingertips became hand-holding, late nights over coffee
became walks in the moonlight, whispered secrets became soft
kisses. Never in all this time did I dare to mention the
word love, as if it were something that would break the
delicate spell I was under and would shatter the dreams that
were rising in my heart. I did not feel it needed to be
said, however, for whenever I looked into her eyes I would
see a reflection of my own feelings in their depths. |
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Once, while speaking to Lucretia in the library, I caught a glimpse of a jar Dr. Hojo was transporting from the antechambers to the main lab. He peered at me over his glasses and from his quiet cackling I could only assume he delighted in my reaction of revulsion to the twisted tissues within the container. It appeared to be an internal organ of some sort, but even one with no training in science like myself could tell it was not of this world. I excused myself quickly and retreated, his mad laughter following me up the stairs. Later I asked Lucretia more about her work. It was wrong of me to do so, I was not authorized for such information, but she haltingly revealed the general idea to me, perhaps in hopes of allaying my obviously growing reservations about Dr. Hojo and his work. They were studying the properties of an alien body that had been discovered frozen in a large crater north of the Great Glacier. She assured me it was not dangerous and held the potential to help all mankind. I inwardly chided myself for my superstitious reservations and assured her I would reveal what I knew to no one. It was the last we spoke of the subject for several weeks. Eventually I could no longer bear the thought of losing Lucretia once this assignment was over. I knew her dedication to science and my career in the Turks would keep us apart, but so resolved was I in my quest for her love that I decided I would quit my profession in order to stay by her side. With this in mind, I purchased a ring and stood below her window, calling up to her to come walk with me as I had a hundred nights before that. As always, she smiled down and told me to meet her at the side entrance. With a trembling hand I checked at least three times to make sure the small velvet box in my pocket had not vanished as I waited for her to appear. By the time she stepped out and closed the door behind her, I was so nervous I failed to note the reservation in her smile. I slipped my hand around hers and as usual we walked up toward the town, making the polite but affectionate conversation of telling each other how our days had gone. At the top of the hill where the moonlight shone like melted silver on the ground I chose my moment, turning to her and presenting the box. "Lucretia," I whispered, my voice sounding hoarse with the overwhelming thought of the joy I anticipated seeing in her eyes, "I love you. I live for you. I cannot bear the thought of being without you. Marry me, my beloved." My anticipation hung in the air as she stared at the ring, then shattered a moment later when pain, not joy, crossed her face. Bursting into tears, she turned and ran back to the mansion without saying a single word. I must have stood there in the middle of the road for minutes, unbelieving and dismayed. Could I have been so wrong about the light in her eyes when she smiled at me? Had I once again been the bumbling fool and hurt the only woman I cared about? |
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Text and Web Layout ©2000
Elisa
Jaraba |
I
do not know why I bother with this. It seems futile to put
my nightmare to paper, to record it for others to share, but
Cid insists that by doing this I may regain some of my
memory of more than simply facts, that I may again learn to
feel, and by feeling claim once more the humanity which was
stolen from me. That I am even listening to Cid Highwind's
advice may be a sign of impending insanity, but who am I to
judge anymore what is insane and what is simply the reality
most choose to live in. However, I digress from the point of
this effort.
