Shinra Vignettes: Reeve
By Tini
Spy
Liar
Traitor
Trickster
Joker
Jester
Puck
Devil
Reeve
It’s easy to be lost.
I should know, I’ve been lost my whole life. I’ve had my feet on
the ground, my head in the clouds. I’m a dreamer, the kind that lets
his thoughts run away, the kind that longs to follow them.
It’s easy to want to be lost.
If I were lost, the Slums couldn’t find me, their voices couldn’t
scream at my soul.
My job is lies. The title, the pretty gold-embossed words on my business
card say “Head of Urban Development and Design.” In short, I keep
the slums folks happy.
In short.
My job is deception, making Shin-Ra look good. Shin-Ra gives the people hell,
I’m the SOB who has to make ‘em like it.
I stand here on my balcony, the rain pelting a devil’s face with
angel’s tears, looking down over Shin-Ra’s precious empire.
It makes me sick.
They’ve taken fools, promised them paradise, and instead given them
the seven sectors of Midgar, the seven circles of Hell. I pity them, and
yet I lack the true power to change their lives. I can’t cease the flames
of hell, I can merely turn down the heat.
I let myself be manipulated. I was a puppet, to a puppet, against a puppet.
I still don’t know which. I took a child captive, hid behind a toy,
and very possibly caused the death of one of the greatest Turks ever known.
But I betrayed no one. Though I assisted those with radical ideas, my true
loyalty lay with my paycheck. That’s right, Scarlet’s a whore,
Heidegger’s a psychopath, and Palmer’s a fat ass, but they make
powerful allies when the shit hits the fan.
Besides, eight wide eyed innocents with their eyes on the prize don’t
stand a chance against cold steel in blue suits. I’ve fought a Turk,
it isn’t a pleasant experience. They fight raw.
Contrary to popular belief, the death of a young, rash, immature president
is little more than a minor setback in the scheme of things.
So while I am a corporate puppet, with little power of my own, the power
I pull from my puppeteer gives me the ability to destroy buildings, cities,
lives.
And I do destroy lives.
Every fuckin’ day.
While being part of the problem comes naturally, being part of the solution
is an impossibility. My strings don’t pull well that way, I’m not
that type of marionette.
People don’t understand my lack of devotion sometimes, and I try to
tell them: I’m merely a shell of a man, a mold to be filled with whatever
niche needs filling, be it an angel, a demon, or a little black cat.
And the rain soaks me straight through to my empty bones, but I don’t
complain, because right now I need to be filled, and right now it’s
doing the trick.
And here I stand, wondering if my middle name is Hypocrisy and my last name
is Deceit, because that’s what they say about me, and I can’t help
but want them to be right.
Things are so much easier that way.
~fin~