God of the Game

“So, what do you think?” I asked, sitting open-legged in a private screening, wearing a turquoise turtleneck sweater under an ash grey suede suit.

“I would have delved more into Jimmy. I think the audience would appreciate that.” Vesper commented. He was in the Gestapo uniform I last I saw him in, looking very much the bit like Christoph Waltz.

“I mean, there’s so much dialogue and drama around his character; makes you curious, you want to know more about him, his view of the afterlife. But you never get to see it. Not even at the end...not even after the credits!” Pause. Then Vesper added, “Personally, he’s my favourite character.”

“But that’s the whole idea,” I butted, “the story is about Sharon, not Jimmy. If it is, and the audience immersed into Jimmy’s iconic stature, she would never truly be free. Regardless her father, lover, viewer, or even critics, Sharon will always, even in death, be under the tyrannical domination of men.”

Vesper pondered while I continued my defence, “Besides, you know I don’t fancy CG in my films, even though it’s better than the real thing nowadays.

“That’s the problem, actually; I mean, our imagination is doubtlessly limited. If I show you a mind blowing action sequence, or a stupendously beautiful otherworld, that will be all your entire mind comprehends. Especially for mortals; anything outside their dimension and all they see is the movies. Imagination kaput!” I motioned with my arm.

“Sad, but some gods may consider this a good thing.”

“Yah, if yer paranoid! A control freak or something. There’s so much more out there other than the world you paint for them.

“Take Avatar for example...” I said, bringing up cinema history.

“Speaking of Avatar, did you hear the news?” Vesper cut in.

“What news? I was busy filming.”

“More like looping. Looping in Esotoria lane,” he laughed, changing topic.

“Looping?” I gave him a quizzical stare.

“Alright, you better come clean,” slapping my hands, I stated after a silent moment.

“Remember our conversation in your Horny Hound?”

I nodded, “The one you festered and Trekz transformed into a potted plant, and Jai-I...heh, what happened to Jai-I? Got a letter from him...”

“Will come to that later,” Vesper interrupted, more to avoid the subject of his humiliation than honest concern for Jai-I. “We were casually discussing Esotoria Lane and AXXion...”

“Heh, by the way, did I get to AXXion?”

“Stop being such an interrupting prick,” he scolded, “No you didn’t. You didn’t get to AXXion. You were just looping in Esotoria Lane.”

My mouth hung halfway opened. He motioned for me to shut up with a zipping stroke. “Now yer going to ask, ‘What then is AXXion?’”

“What then is AXXi...?”

Vesper shrugged.

“Are you going for mind-reading classes?” I pointed my finger, “I hate it when people creep inside my head. Having Jahr doing it to me is bad enough. Now even my close friend... Wait, Jahr’s giving mind-reading classes?”

Vesper’s eyebrows did the talking.

“Cool,” I said, “I’d missed a lot, haven’t I? So then, anyway, what is AXXion?”

“AXXion is the same as Ichabod.”

“?????”

The Evening Star smiled one of his terrible smiles.

“Yer telling me to stick to topic, aren’t you?” I interpreted. “Okay, what do you mean by looping in Esotoria Lane?”

“Looping in Esotoria Lane means you’re just passing back and forth through mortal life. Your ex-mortal life for you, that is. From birth to death, then to birth till death again; on and on and on in repetitive cycles. Nothing changes; it’s the same life, the same events blah blah blah, born on the same date, by the same mother, same way of demise at the same time, etcetera.

“Why, you ask, do you do this eternal recurrence?”

I scratched my scalp knowing he’s in there again.

“Simple. Many things pass us by each time; lost memories, insignificant occasions, white conversational noises; it can be the same life with the same things happening, but each time going through it, we gather a bit more, we see a little more. We also take out the rubbish, remove the unwanted, the undesirable which weighs us down. We find out what’s at the side, what’s at our peripheral vision. We realize little morsels here and there, we collect bit by bit for a finale; and I have to say what you’ve done with Sharon’s story, your story, has really done well for your soul. Your anima, her animus, revealed; it’s beautiful.”

It’s true. I feel a changed man, closer to godhood. Like a burden’s been lifted, a sin, an era erased with its curses, and now only blessings are ahead. At the back, skulking away from Vesper’s tentacles, I wondered how long it’d last.

“Going round and round, looping, you’ve found the perfect truth, the perfect tale that’s befitting of your experiences, your desires, your hidden secrets locked up from the whole world, and even from yourself; a story of your life that truly, truly expresses who you really, really are. With your past settled, your future awaits. Well done.”

“But I never got to AXXion?”

Vesper shook his head. “You don’t want to go there,” he said.

I took what he’d expounded in, stealthily wondering why I would not want to go there in particular. Was it because despite the ornate web of Sharon’s tale, I’d desperately excluded certain characters that could have spoiled the storyline?

It’s easy to love oneself; but what about loving another? One you cannot control. You see, whatever evil (or good) Sharon did, it’s calculated. It’s predetermined. It may seem random, but I’d already scripted the entire storyboard. Sharon dealt with my inner struggles in a controlled environment. She’s my placebo. Hopefully I am all that ails me. Fool myself to get the desired results. Set the compass right, and regardless hell or high water, stay the course and attain the star of divinehood.

But what if an external factor charges in? A for real ex-lover that could affect the volatile balance of things. And I think that’s what Vesper’s keeping from me, my own AXXion, to face things as they really are. And yes, no doubt, after a few drinks, a few more rounds of drunken dares and mindless, violent, sexual games, I inexorably must brave the damned and search out who, or what, the hell this Ichabod is.