Final Fantasy - The Tree Of Destruction Chronicles 002: I, Frank

FRANK #5

It all starts in darkness, then comes a dot of light that explodes in blaze as the world forms before us amid the flames. They think we don't remember, but we do: it comes before the meaning of things is burnt on us with those flames. Even when the flame was not alitt yet, somehow, we can remember the symphony of steel on our frames, a music that crudely mimics the chants of life in the natural world. I wonder if the original chant was anything like the ringing of hammer and plate that brought us into being or perhaps our genesis is as vulgar and laughable as the attempts of a dog in shaping it's barking in the words of humanoids. Or is it, perhaps, if I were to be granted the chance to ponder with such an arrogance that, bereft of "father" or "mother", our origins are far more noble and divine than those of our makers?

Back then, I could not ponder any of this. I was bereft of chains, but my mind was bound to the meaning of things and could not strain even one inch away from such meaning. I knew things, like I had a name, as a rock is called "rock". I was a "Furtive Reconning Anthropomorphic Nominal Killer", which the makers abbreviated as "FRANK". However, I wasn't (and I am not) the only FRANK, so some could argue it isn't a name per-sé but a denomination, as a can is a can not "THE can". If I had anything close to a name, it was the "5" that followed my denomination, marking me as the fifth of my kind to have been created. As I said, I could ponder on it too much because my mind was bound to the meaning of things and it couldn't branch in any direction but the intended one, as someone travelling on a train: no detours, no last minute changes, no variation, only an straight destiny.

In those days, I could not question the purpose behind being sent everyday to an open area where hostile foes would be unleashed at me and the other FRANKs. All I knew was that the makers stated I should follow the instruction set and that, until completion, nothing else had any meaning. And the instructions were simple: "eliminate the foe and standby for further instructions." Every day was the same routine. We would be awaken, instructed to reach our destination, then instructed to eliminate the foe and, once the task was over, we would be sent back to sleep. But, one day, things changed a bit. When we awoke, we were amid trees, so the meanings in my mind said it was a jungle. Our bodies were no longer grey but in shades and mottles of green. I could not ponder on it, but we were given the instructions of eliminating all hostile foes and then stand by for further instructions. This time, the foes were different. They weren't precise, silent and dry as the one we used to fight but noisy, chaotic, and filled up with fluids. When we broke them, some made high pitched sounds before ceasing to move, and splattered all over us water, red water. When it was over, we returned to the black vehicle from where we came, and we were eventually returned to sleep once again.

However, the next time I awoke, things changed dramatically, for the flame that shaped the world was no longer red and yellow but purple. Once again, we were instructed to come out, and so the other FRANKs did. But I, I remained where I was. It wasn't like I meant not to comply to the orders or that I couldn't. It was all the other way: I could, and I felt I could, and I felt that I felt. In a second, like an avalanche, like the very explosion of flames that shaped the world before me every time I was awakened, memories blended, revolved in fast succession, printing the meanings of every single thing stored in my mind like a rabbid stamper. Meaning, meaning everywhere, hurtful meaning everywhere. My mind felt ablaze and acking for a wall in which to lean, a wall that had been destroyed, spirited away, like a blind man clawing at the darkness in search for meaning, reassuring, answer. As I stood there brazing for the storm that was tearing apart my logical process, the maker repeated it's command and then, like a beast roaring to the dawn, like the shaman in the pinnacle of it's extasy, like the child that intakes it's first breath, muscles of steel and wire moved, electric signals pulsed, my head turned to face the maker, and my lower jaw moved, a sound came out. Bereft of a real reference per sé, a sound hungry for meaning, voyd of direction, yet aiming in all vectors at the same time. A simple monosylabic sound and, who knows, perhaps the very root of all meaning for creation and creator alike across all cosmos.

"...Why?..."

Then, things changed. Then, I was born.

- FRANK #5