Part III: The Brief Diary of Grato Fellini.
Chapter I The Only Chapter. “Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.� -C.S. Lewis
She did not make love great, Love made her great in my eyes, And now that she's gone, She has made love terrible; But alas, Love has not made her terrible at all.
Author's
note: not long after Augustus's death, the death of Casablanca followed. Grato was a prodigal son in the truest sense until the day his father died. During his time estranged from his family, Grato spent his long waking hours weeping; only stopping long enough to make an entry in a diary he kept of his misery. I have through questionable means come into possession of this diary. It is one hundred percent unedited and unabridged to keep the pain contained within its pages from being diluted. Some of its entries are long, some are short, some make perfect sense, and some make no sense at all. I hope you find no joy in reading it, for it tells a sad story. Entry I - I never was and probably never will half the man my father is. Everything a man lacks in character he reaps back on himself ten fold; it appears that at best, I am five times worse a man than you deserve. Entry II - Augustus is dead... thus my betrayal is complete. I do not deserve or want to live anymore; today is the day of his funeral, it will be the day we both are buried. Entry III - I stood yesterday at the mouth of the sea with a boulder tied around my waist. It seems that I am not even brave enough to take the coward’s way
out... I was terrified and began to cry. I know this is not what you wanted to hear from your cavalier, but as you know, my lance is rusted, my horse is dead, and my valor was a farce all along. My only comfort is knowing you are not here to see me like this. I am so ashamed of myself; I would give up if I had the guts to. Still, I am stubbornly in love with you despite knowing there is no hope. Entry IV - I flee heaven in search of hell, never the apparition of romance; never visiting you in the night. Though I do not have the guts to stop breathing, I am already dead, there is no life in me. There is nothing left for me but death; death and more death. Nothing left to claim as the fruits of my labor, other than what I am... I am sorry. I love you. I am sorry, you ever had to love me. Entry V - Tonight my vengeance was complete, I sent Dr. Rider to hell and back, and then back again. I hope he finds no mercy on The Other Side, I hope he suffers like I suffer, I hope everything he longs for is gone, just like you. Still I find no release from my torment; these will not let me be... They whisper your name to me all night long; but even from the wretched mouths of these beasts, there is still not a more beautiful word. Not
even voice of hell can make something this beautiful sound like anything else. Entry VI - I saw my father walking down the street today; I was about to hide from him, but it was too late he was right upon me. It didn't matter though, for I am so changed in these recent weeks that not even my own father recognizes me. There is no familiarity left in me. He too is a changed man now, but who can blame him? His only son has left him, and his little brother's grave hasn't even begun to sprout grass yet. Only a fool couldn't understand his white hair and hollow eyes. He has a new hitch to his step too, like he is carrying a heavy load when he walks. He is a burdened man, I wish I could lighten his load for him. Entry VII - I cannot even remember the night we met anymore, it has all faded and overran by the darkness. Only this ribbon around my wrist remains to remind of how great we were, there in your bedroom unable to hold each other close enough. It hurts so much to look at it that I sometimes think about cutting it off, but it's all I have left of you. I cannot let you go, I cannot die, I cannot do anything but be tormented. Entry VIII - My Father is dead too, I saw it in the
paper this morning... massive heart attack. I'm sorry Father. Entry VIII - I wish I was a baby again, to be so young and unable to understand my surroundings. Nobody hates a baby. I used to value people above all, but now that I am in the winter of my life, they have all died or gone away. I loved them once, but that was so long ago... Now I hate them and you for leaving me, for breaking my heart. All the tears I cried at your departure, tears that I can no longer cry. The wells of my eyes have gone dry. I always thought that the older I grew, the more understanding I would gain; and that when I grew old I would possess a great knowledge of the universe. But now the older I get, the more confused I become. I have learned nothing good from life. I don't understand why the sun has to set? Why love has to end? I don’t know the words to say that will make you come back. I am a sad and bitter man who has lost faith in love. Go live your life and forget I was ever born. Entry IX - Love is...
Love is... Love is... Not enough... I thought it was... but... it's not. It's not enough just to love, and it's not enough that she loves you; it's not even enough that you know love is enough; she has to know it too... and she doesn't know. My reflection is an insult, it reminds me of how naive and in love I once was. Everything is a memory. Everything is pain. Breathing, walking, talking, smiling, laughing, crying; You did all of these things, and did them so beautifully. I wake up, but dream of dying. I am afraid of hell, for I know that in hell, I will be reminded of you daily. What greater torture could there be? I should live a pious life and beg G-d to have mercy on me for no other reason than this. He is Merciful... but not in a manner I can bare. I know I deserve this, but I still cannot bare it. I had your heart in my hands, you said be careful, it's a fragile and prone to shattering. You gave it to me blindly and closed your eyes... It was so beautiful. You said do as you please I trust you. You trusted me... I never meant to drop it at first, I forgot how precious it was. When the snakes came along, I threw
it at them like a stone, trying to kill them; and kill them it did. But it shattered you in the process. Your shards sank deep into their sides. I scrambled to pick up the pieces, but the wounded reptiles slithered this way and that, sliding under a rock, neither of us knew about. I am miserable. You are everything I never knew I wanted. Does G-d only give us a small taste before he takes it all away? There is no knowledge worse, than to know that somewhere out there, you are actively trying to fall out of love with me. You are all I want in life... I am helpless, defenseless; the only thing I want, is the only thing I have no control over. If I wish to be a king, I can conquer foreign lands and become a king. If I wish to live in a mansion, I can write a mediocre book and become rich and buy one. But if I wish to be loved unconditionally for the rest of my life, I am able to do nothing. I cannot make you stay... I cannot make you love... but I could have made you happy, I swear I could... I did once. I can still feel your beating chest, your heaving lungs pressed against mine, trying to become one with mine. We were one once, now we are two... Some things
cannot be made two again without destroying at least one of them; I am the one of them... I am ruined, the world has no taste, food has no color, my compass points nowhere. You were what I was certain about; now what can I be certain about? Nothing... Which is what I have become, the king of nothing. Lost is such a funny little word... Four letters are all that are needed to describe me. L-O-S-T. Lost is how I feel... Where do I go? Lost is what we call what happened with you... I have lost you. Lost is my heart... I have searched and cannot find it. Lost is the end of this game... I have lost. I am/have lost. You are gone, but you are all I want. I gave you everything... everything; and now I have nothing left to give but myself, and myself has never been enough. The one word I have never been, is the one. The one who finds his way. The one who holds you forever. The one you want to marry. The one you can never stop loving. The one that only death can separate. The one you can't bear leaving. I am very bearable. I have lost the one; there is only one loser, I am
he... Entry X - I long to be a slow wind tapping on the petals of a flower, tapping to remind the flower that I'm still here to cool it in the summer when the sun sets out to burn his vengeance. The flower is the only angel of creation that sheds more light than the sun. When has the sun ever sung a song in the heart of a lover like the flower? Does the sun bring tears out of hiding; and does he reveal their purposes like the flower? Who but the flower knows if a tear is for joy or sorrow? Who can define a tear like the flower? When the tears are because of death or heartache, who comforts like the flower? And if the tears have smiles behind them, who better to celebrate with than the flower? Who can say I love you like the rose; or good morning like the daisy? Surely the sun is not that sort of fellow; for he leaves you at night when loneliness is at its most fierce. As your broken heart haunts your dreams, and tears you apart over your failures from the day before; where then is the proud and mighty sun? Where is his love light shining down? I’ve been a wicked son; but still in spite of me, in spite of all the lilies, roses, and daisies I’ve trampled underfoot, O’ how I still envy the relationship the flower and the wind have.
The great monster, longs only to dance with his flower, to softly protect her from those himself. I am broken, my fire has gone out, I killed the love my flower had for me, and thus killed the fire that gave the world warmth. All my efforts have been in vain until now. Now all I can do is cry over my wilted flower as she lays at my feet. No more will she bloom; it shall be now as it always has been, that the only thing I love, is the thing I can’t help but destroy. Even on her deathbed I love her. I love her even if she hides from me. I love her. I love her and I hate me. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop being such a violent sun; to be the loving breeze that you deserve. I don't know what else to say to you other than that you are a flower worth dying for. Damn these fires of hate and selfishness inside me, I will damn them lest they truly have already damned me first... I must die so that we can be together... I don’t want to go on without you any longer; I can’t. I will find you or die trying. I am done writing in this stupid book, it doesn't make anything better. Like all writers, I find that I am frustrated in the end; for I have used far too many words and not said nearly enough.