A Signpost

The bar was empty except for a young man in his mid-twenties. He was wearing a white shirt with "I Am One" written in bold red letters. His jeans were the color of fading gray and his dark hair which looked unkempt gave him an ethereal look that made the ones who happened to notice him with a puzzled expression.

The man sat there contemplating about many things as he usually did. It was the only thing he could do when he was drinking. He thought about how the rapid decline of everything and everyone in the world which was what obsessed him ever since. The twisting and turning of the gears inside his head couldn't give him any answer and so, he drank some more.

A few moments passed until a newcomer came into the scene. A boy perhaps a couple of years younger than him came into the bar and asked for beer. He showed the bartender his driver's license when he was asked for proof of age. After checking, the bartender gave him his drink.

Now there were two.

"How's it going?" The boy's voice shook him out of his reverie. It had a certain slur to it and he knew the boy couldn't handle his drink.

He looked at the boy for the first time and he felt the latter tremble briefly under his gaze. "Fine."

"I'm sorry to bother you." There was a tremor in his voice that showed plainly how nervous he was. "It's just that I have no one to talk to."

There was something about this conversation that reminded him of the devil who he met by chance in a pub in France. The only difference is he was the boy.

"Then talk." He raised his glass to the boy.

"Okay, I'm Frank by the way." The boy held his hand out and the man with the disheveled look took it.

"Desmond."

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Frank was a fresh college graduate, only twenty and he was facing the same thing that every human being does in life, an existential crisis.

"I know I have to get a job and shit. Hell, it's the only way to go for me." He was on his second bottle while Desmond was on his third glass of whisky. "Most of my friends already have jobs and here I am still trying to look for one. It's funny. But there's this feeling of being left behind, you know what I mean?" He looked at him, eyes pleading.

"People outgrow each other." He began and drank the remains in his glass and ordered for another. "People create relationships out of sheer necessity and call it friendship."

"That's some deep shit." The boy Frank laughed and shook his head. "But some of it is true I guess. I don't hear from them anymore." He took a drink from his bottle. "Sometimes I think about the memories we've shared and there's nothing there but a cold image of the past."

"You've become a signpost for them."

"Am I suppose to know what that means?"

Desmond smiled and the boy saw there was no humor in it. "A signpost stands and gives the traveller direction yet he himself remains unchanged and unmoved from where he stands."

The boy felt like he was slapped and Desmond could see him hold tears of rage, anger and sadness. The boy drank some more until there was nothing left in the bottle. "I wish I wasn't but I guess that's what I am. A face to forget no matter how hard I try to be remembered."

"Can you really blame them?"

"No, I guess not. But sometimes I feel angry with them, but mostly with myself. Maybe I just didn't do enough to keep things afloat." He checked his wallet and didn't like what he saw and put it back in his pocket. "Well, that's it for me."

Desmond ordered another beer for the kid who tried to decline but was helpless to do so. "Thanks for the beer." He murmured and took a sip.

"We hurt the ones we love the most. The least we could do is do it once and leave them than stay and have them deal with our shit."

They were both silent for a while.

"I thought about killing myself the other day." The boy's voice was cold and determined. "I'm tired of struggling and squirming and not amounting to anything." He exhaled slowly like he was carrying something heavy. "I wish I wasn't me, sometimes I wish the ground would swallow me and relieve me of the pain."

"I have a friend, the only one I have left who told me that men who wallow in self-pity are the ones who have drank more than their fair share from the fountain of dreams."

"That's one hell of a friend." The boy looked interested. "I don't know about the last bit about dreams though."

"Dreams are what keeps us alive, responsibility is what kills us the most. The responsibility to our family, to our friends, to the world and to everyone." He looked at the kid trying to convey the feeling that he has grown quite familiar with all throughout the decades of his immortality. "You feel shackled and burdened by many things, but most of it come from the innermost chambers of yourself."

"I don't really have a dream and I guess that's what's wrong or maybe I just can't swallow the shit they feed me. I don't know." He shook his head and grinned. "In the end, it doesn't really matter what happens when you're dead."

"Give it time." He drank and ordered another shot. "You'll change eventually, either for better or for worse."

"I'll think about it." He sounded unconvinced but there was a desperation in his eyes that Desmond knew that can only be quench through false hopes and promises of things getting better. "As it stands, I don't think I'll have people in my life anymore."

"What makes you say that?" He asked.

"I'm tired of dealing with them." He grinned ruefully. "The effort of having to keep relationships intact even if it's a losing battle takes a toll and I'm done with all of that." He took another sip from his drink. "I've been scrolling through my social media accounts lately and it doesn't really help but fuck me in the head. Like people smashing you with contents of their lives, sharing memes, quotes and so much shit content is gonna make things better. I tell you, I feel like the whole damn thing that's suppose to unite us only serves to make others feel small and alone. It's all so fake, plastic and without any integrity whatsoever." He smashed at the bar with a fist lacking strength and conviction. "They don't understand how it makes a person feel insecure and unfit for anything."

Desmond almost laughed but didn't. He knew exactly how the boy felt. "You would rather see it all end."

"Not really. Mostly I want the end for me, not for everyone. What do I know about them? Nothing. If they are so deprived of the world that they can't get enough of it, then that's their life to live. As for me, there's nothing worth living for." Now Desmond did smile and the boy saw it. "What's funny?"

"You." When the boy gave him a bewildered look, he began to explain. "Let me tell you a tale.

I used to believe that if my life was a story, that it'd be a tragedy. I played my role well. I shunned people and delved in the art of writing. I disliked as you say, the way things looked too plastic, artificial. So there I was writing down stories after stories not really caring whether they would be published. As long as I could write, it was enough. My parents thought that I had become a hermit and in a way, I was. Soon, they gave up on me and focused on my younger brother instead.

So there I was, writing during the day and reading during the night. It was a cycle my life had grown accustomed to and I liked it. I did talk to people every now and then but it was only when I had to. They didn't interest me one bit and the worst part of it all is that I already knew what they were going to say before the conversation even began. I had this gift in reading people even though I've never been much of a conversationalist.

Most of them I realized had nothing to say. They were dead things, marching to the same beat without hope of liberation. I couldn't blame them, that was one of the things I learned from early on. I envy their sense of comfort and belonging. In a sense, it would've been better if I was born like them but I wasn't. So there I was, a hermit in his cave, writing down whatever came into my head.

Then came one fateful day, I met someone. He changed my life as he would change the lives of many others like me. We met in a pub. He came out like a dark figure in a Shakespear play. He told me he had read my stories and thought they were good for publication. It shocked me though since I've never shown any of them to anyone.

Then he says to me, 'I'm the devil.' Even to this day I can still remember the way he said it, his voice like silk, almost seductive."

"Hold on, the devil?"Disbelief was written in the boy's face.

"Let me finish the story and you can judge it for what it's worth." He ordered another shot. By this time the glases on the table had began to rack up.

"Sorry." The boy said in a quiet voice. "Please continue."

He gave him a disarming smile and continued.

"My faith had always been shaky and filled with many doubts and perhaps that was a part of my nature but on that day I became a believer.

'The devil? How can that be? You're a man.' I said to him.

'Appearances can be quite deceiving as you well know.'

Then I asked him what he wanted from me.

'I'm offering you a contract that would grant you all that you desire in this world and then some.' He gave ma piece of parchment that seemed to glow with a darkness all on its own and it was that piece of parchment that made me believe that he was what he said he was and the fear that came after the realization almost struck me dead but the words had a certain attraction to it that overrode the fear and turned it to what I can only surmise as lust.

'What would you ask for in exhange?' It was the question that I knew would seal my fate.

'Your mortality.'

At first I couldn't understand what he wanted, my mortality? I had thought it would be my soul but it was what he asked for. He left me to think it over though I could've told you that he didn't need to do that. My mind was made up. Immortality and everything that I desired in this world. What more can a mere mortal ask for? It was like cheating God in a way.

And so I made the deal with the devil, Mephistopheles.

You never really know greed and lust until you have access to an unlimited fulfillment of both and that was what I had. Money and sex. That's what it all came down to. I had it all. All the pleasures in the world that I desired I obtained.

Immortality had given me a different point of view in life. I could take things for granted and never really care much for whatever was happening in the world. I couldn't be killed and I could never die.

Years passed on, my parents died, my brother died and everyone I knew died. That's when the madness began.

The world changed and I stood there watching like a signpost and I knew that the worldly pleasures which used to fill the gaping hole in my chest would no longer fulfill their purpose.

So I tried a new direction hoping against hope that I'd find something else to fill my endless years. I tried to change the world using all the material wealth that I had to finance whatever endeavor I thought would be meaningful for mankind. But none of them worked and those which almost worked were stopped by interference from opposing parties. In short, there was nothing I can do to keep myself busy or to keep my demons at bay.

For years, I had thought that I had cheated God. As it turns out, it was me who got cheated over. Death was the only cure to my loneliness and I couldn't have it. I tried over the years. Drowning didn't work, always I would wake up on the shore. Bullets wouldn't hit me, somehow they would change direction mid-air. Swords were pretty useless, they couldn't penetrate my skin no matter how sharp they were. Even lightning, the wrath of the heavens itself did nothing to scratch me.

So I drank.

It was an endless cycle of fading in and out in the world and I couldn't care less what happened as long as I was left out of it. The mansion which I lived in at the time had become a coffin where a dead man slept and woke up every day. My servants didn't mind, they were getting more than what they worked for and then some. At least everything looked decent except for me.

It went on like this for as long as I can remember until one day my maker came once more dressed in velvet. I was on my bed reeking of alcohol and I thought he was a dream, beautiful and terrifying.

'So you've found a new hobby.' He laughed. 'Quite a downgrade from the sex and the parties.'

I gathered myself up and looked at him. The drapes on the curtains were still down. I had specifically ordered my servants not to open them anyway but now Mephistopheles was letting the sun in and I grimaced at the rush of sunlight inside the room.

'What are you doing here?' I asked.

'Looking at you.' He replied and there was the hint of laughter in his eyes. It was condescending and it made me want to hide in a corner. 'Immortality and wealth, look where that got you.' Then he laughed and it was the sound of a nightmare coming to life.

I wept, mostly out of fear but there was something else. Perhaps the dawning realization that my existence was heading for a downfall.

'Do you know what you would've been if I hadn't offered you that contract?' He asked me while I was still crying. 'You would've become a writer. A successful one at that and you would've left a mark in the world that generations and generations of men and women would remember your work.'

I looked at him and perhaps he saw the horror for he laughed.

'Except now, all you have is this.' He gestured at the remains of a bottle of whisky on the floor. 'You had exhanged your dream for this sad excuse of a life.'

The rage was out before I even knew of it's presence. I tried to grab him, wanting to punch through his mocking and self-righteous face to no avail.

'IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!' I screamed at him.

'It was your choice to sign. You made the decision out of your own free will.' He was looking at me with laughter in his eyes. 'You've walked knowingly into this prison and you handed me the key.'

'Why?' I asked him. I didn't really expect him to answer but he did.

'Because I was bored.' It felt like a slap, knowing that there wasn't really much meaning in my suffering and instead of anger or rage, all I found was despair.

'I'm doomed am I?' I had lost the fight and I knew that this would be my burden until the end of time.

'That also, is your choice.' There was something in his voice that altered, I thought it was pity or perhaps it was just my imagination yet he knelt down and brushed the strands of my hair away from my eyes. 'You have time on your side. Your heart is still yours. Your dreams, if you still have them are still yours. Maybe the world has broken you to pieces that there's no hope of salvation for you. All of these possibilities remain in the choices that you will make. It's up to you.'

He left me then and I found myself thinking of things. A lot of things in fact and the possibilities of dreaming once more. So I dreamt.

A few decades pass by and I watched the world change. Though I no longer felt quite so alone, I still was wary of people in general but I could talk to them. There's a certain amount of knowledge to be had in talking to people. I've made plenty of friends in my lifetime though nowadays it's getting harder and harder to do so.

Anyway, a few more years pass by and we met once more, Mephisto and I.

'So you've found something else to occupy yourself haven't you?' He asked. We were seated in a bench in the docks and we listened to the endless crash of the waves in the sea.

'Books and coffee are far more better company than alcohol though the latter is also good with books.' We both laughed. We were silent for a while. The presence of the other was enough. Then finally we said our goodbyes.

This would happen randomly. Once every decade or sometimes twice a year, depending on his mood and everytime we met, we began to understood one another and I realized that even angels die in the arms of demons.

During our last conversation he asked me if I still thought of myself as a signpost.

'Perhaps I still am. In a way, I am still unchanged.'

'Oh, you've changed. You may not have notice but I have.' He replied. 'You've helped plenty of people though I don't say I heartily approve.'

I laughed. 'It's just that when I think about it, I thought that I was nothing more than a tragedy waiting to happen and then when it happened I realized it really isn't romantic. It's just pure utter emptiness and it's an awful feeling to have.'

'Then forget the signpost. You're officially a guide. A guide to those who are lost, to those who may wander from the path they were meant for and head down the wrong side of the map. You might as well set up franchises all around the world and try to salvage what's left of humanity.'

'Do you even think that's possible?'

'If everyone tried to dream of the same thing, then perhaps. But as it stands, no, Lucifer and the rest of hell will have this world for the taking.'

And that's the end of my story."

Frank shook his head vehemently, trying to shake the afterglow of the telling of the tale but to no avail. He could see that he was still lost in it and that made him smile. "So wait, you're an immortal and you're best friends with the devil Mephistopheles? You're lying right?"

"Does it matter?" He asked. "Will a story lose its power if it's founded on nothing but pure creation?"

The boy thought about this and after a few moments smiled. "I guess not. You've got quite a talent for it though. I swear, you had me believing everything."

"So how do you feel about your disposition?" He asked the boy who laughed.

"It's not so bad. Loneliness ain't a bad thing from the looks of it." He sighed. "This might be just a transition but I'm not going to rush things. Maybe try reading like you did, who knows? Maybe I'll realize my dream after reading a few."

This time, Desmond really smiled. "Perhaps. I hope you find your way."

They both knew it was goodbye and the boy felt like crying and he couldn't help it. "Thank you Desmond."

And the man recited a verse, to which the boy and those who had stood where he stood would forever remember in their life. It was a verse he wrote the night the devil officially labelled him as a guide.

"There was once a traveller who was lost

And all that he found was a broken signpost

To which was written

'Here lies the beginning of nowhere

And the path which leads you everywhere."

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