Audience, I present to you the biggest post on the Philosocom Blog as of yet -- a tale I wrote called "The Demon Philosopher", one of my proudest stories I ever wrote, now available as a blog post. Feel free to share this post if you enjoyed the story. Enjoy!
I have lived for many years. I have experienced so many things, yet I have never experienced such a thing in my life; something drastic, ugly and desperate such as philosophy. Hell, I only knew this term and definition only few weeks ago. You can say that I’m not a very intelligent person, and I must agree. I have lived a monotonous life of a poor farmer, doing the same crafts repeatedly, with no actual sight of the future. I just did not think about all these big stuffs called philosophy Hell, I do not know how to read nor write, someone else do these difficult stuffs for me as I speak.
Well, I wanted to record some of my thoughts before fate shall take me away from this world. You see, I have lived the life of a sane person, a very ignorant one, to be exact. My lord far in his manor demanded me to make wheat and fruits, and that’s what I did; that’s what I did under the order of him and his son and his grandson. I’m a very old and poor man, who didn’t see the lands beyond the territories of my lords. I barely know something beyond agriculture.
However, it all seem to change long time ago. In the distant past, I have started to have what wiser people than me call “hallucinations” although I cannot differ between them and daydreams. It happened to be irregularly and inconsistently. I started to see an awful creature, hybrid of some sort, looking directly at me with their enormous eyes and ugly face, and starting to ask me questions no one asked me before, including myself. For some reason, their name is “Monkrilla”, and it seems that only I can see them. My family thinks I’m crazy, but I don’t care. I can see this abomination staring deep into my soul and talking about things which are beyond my old and unused mind. They consume me and draining my sanity away from my reach, not caring at all that they make me suffer.
The first question that Monkrilla abomination asked me was: “What is the meaning of life?” And I, what could I say to them? All I know is my farming skills, my rulers, my family and the land which I harvest. Thus, I answered back with a question of my own: “Why should I care what is the meaning of life?”
The creature, made of iron, rotten meat and spikes, answered me back with yet another answer, with their deep, twisted and terrible voice: “For what do you live?”
I lost my mind with frustration. They just didn’t let go and continue with my life, but why should I complain? Do I have any self-respect for myself, an ego of some sort? I am a filthy peasant, who was humiliated countless times by people powerful than me, all my life!
That heretic, despicable demon seems to hear my own thoughts. I could feel it by the movement of their metallic, dusty eyes and gigantic eyebrows. I felt penetrated. “My name is Monkrilla, the philosopher of the underworld”, they declared slowly. “Think about the questions I asked you, fragile mortal. We shall meet again, sometime else.”
And they disappeared into nothingness, making return to my earthly, filthy and clueless reality. I asked my excuse of a wife if she heard what I heard, but all she said is that she saw me talking to myself. She thinks I’m nuts, but I swear in my lord I’ve seen the horrible thing. Yet nobody seems to care.
And so, the days went by and my family begun to keep their distance from me, as I tried fruitlessly to ask them the questions the demon asked me, but all they did was laugh and mock me, the head of the family of three generations. I’ve seen them talking about me behind my back, telling each other that I’ve gone crazy and giggle as I harvest the wheat and slaughter the pigs. But I guess I am used to it with all of the respect that I never had neither by others, and neither by myself.
At times, the demon appeared when I went to sleep. In those dreams I felt so hot, so sweaty and so humid more than I’d ever been under the cruel sun. The atmosphere was yellow, and rusty, and terribly stinking. I wanted to have some fresh air but only dirt and smoke entered my lungs, and the giant demon just sat there in their throne made of earth and stared me from above, as if I am to be judged for sins I never been aware of doing.
“Fragile mortal”, they said. “Why is it that you live?”
I didn’t have any answer, but I tried to improvise, “my lord, I am alive because my parents made me, and because I survived all these years in my harsh life.”
“No, no, fragile mortal”, they denied my answer. “That is what I already know from simply looking at your tiny and old body. What is the purpose of your existence?”
“My lord, my purpose is to make sure my master is satisfied with the resources I make for them.”
“Is that so…” they slowly replied. “then why are they demanding you to make more of these resources with every season? They do not seem to be satisfied if they ask you for more. If that is your purpose in this universe, then you have failed to accomplish it, tiny mortal.”
“How do you know all of this? From where do you have all this high wisdom?!” Are they following me, or my current master?
“Insignificant mortal”, he called my identity which I agree with. “I have the wisdom of countless years stored in the depths of my brain. I am here and everywhere, watching and learning and hopelessly not finding any answers to my questions of philosophy. I have asked countless of other insignificant mortals and gods about the meaning of existence, and they, like you, were not sure about the validity of their answers, if they answered in the first place. We are all going to oblivion.” I didn’t care at all about the magnitude of the issue. I just wanted to make sure that they will leave me alone for good.
“In an ideal yet suffocating reality,” they lectured me. “no mortal and immortal would abandon the great philosophical questions, regardless of the void they indicate. Because I wish to live according to such hypothetical reality, as these questions shall eternally haunt me, I shall eternally haunt you and plenty of others, until the inner void shall be fulfilled!”
For some reason, I thought they might laugh hysterically, but their facial expression was more serious than my family’s disdain towards little poor me. “My lord, I am a simple man. What void is your highness is speaking of?”
The demon left a deep sigh which shook my internal organs. “Simple-minded mortals can be much happier than those whose mind goes in the depths of thought. Mortal, you are now my minion. Succumb to my rule and swear allegiance to me, and I shall grant your life in exchange. Refuse, and you shall suffocate deep in my hauntings.”
In this dream, I have done a fatal mistake, a mistake which I highly regret. “Why should I succumb to a monstrosity like you, my lord? I have succumbed enough in this life. O, my lord, when would this slavery end? By death? This is the first time I come to think about it, but I never knew what freedom is. Haven’t I done enough in long life in service to others, as a slave? When will I have the time to be free?!”
“‘free?” The demon mocked me, and seem to grow bigger and bigger within every second of my feeling of horror. “There is no such thing as freedom in the mortal life, but death. Death is the liberator. Do you wish to die? I wouldn’t be surprised if thou approved. Even the wealthiest of all succumbs to the laws of existence. Succumb is only natural in a universe where the strong use, if not abuse, the weak. Thus, I ought to ask again. Do you wish to die? You do not know the torment of death, regardless of its chronological length of process.”
“I do not understand, my lord-”
“Do, you, wish, to die? Even an ignorant like you, I believe, can understand this simple question, regardless of way. I am much more powerful than you, and I need a net of minions as my representatives to the mortal world. Perhaps one day you pathetic weaklings can give relief to my existential suffering. You see, old man, I am a philosopher, and I need people such as you to serve me, as the harvesters of life’s essence. I need the meaning of life in order to survive, like all of us who are not practically suicidal. Minion, swear your allegiance to me, and the continuation of your life can be granted. With you under my command, I can massively expand your lifespan. I understand the look in your face, mortal. You run a pathetic and allegedly inescapable existence. No one cares about you, not even the people your wife gave birth to. They laugh at you and place you in deep shame. The more you shall sink into shame, the deeper your subconscious would torture you as a compensation to your meaninglessness. If thou shall recognize that you are my minion by swearing your oath to me, I can prevent your slowly incoming decline, as long as you shall ponder the grand philosophical questions, for even with mere pondering, you grant me the life-force I require to function and to thrive. I shall ask you for the final time, minion: do you wish to die? I can speed your death, and death shall consume you quickly than you may anticipate. Declare the recognition of your minionship to me!”
I gradually became more tired, more filled with unease moisture. I wanted to die, but for a reason I cannot explain, I have filled their command and submitted with a servant’s dignity to them, to Monkrilla, the God of wisdom and stench.
“Your new lord is pleased with your obedience. Now, minion, your life shall be forever changed, but I shall not tell you how exactly. You shall observe it yourself, for wisdom comes from misery, and stench succeeds momentary purity.”
My fatal mistake was that I refused to die, and instead, my lifespan has been increased significantly, but my family and the lord’s manor – they all died in flames. I watched them from afar, knowing the price of my sacrifice. From now on I will know more than I would wished I had known in my previous and pathetic life. I am reborn out of my own hidden fear of death, from an earthly minion to a minion of dark divinity; a choice in which I regret even today.
Indeed, I do very regret selling my soul to a demon, especially one as my lord and demon philosopher Monkrilla. I constantly went hungry and had trouble sleeping, since I had no place to go to, as I always wandered around the lands. I wandered without knowing what exactly do I search for, and my new lord did not bother to further explain the exact mission as their minion. What I did know is that they were always present and always watching me, as if I had a foreign eye inside me.
And so, I lived as hermit in the uncivilized fields. Even though it was the first time I ever went out of my former lord’s dominion, I never actually saw anyone in my journeys. I have climbed hills and mountains, froze in winter’s cold in a desolated cave, hunted birds and fish and drank from rivers. It seems that I have lost the sight of every human but me. Indeed, it was torture, and I was never used to such seclusion. I always had the commune life of a large family, sweating together in the fields and eating bread in our tiny hut which was not even ours completely, but the manor’s lord’s. Never in my life I knew such murderous silence, such deep craving for another human being. Perhaps my demon master led my journey, as they had their powers over the earth and over my life specifically. My frustration grew strong and bold with each passing day, as I confronted the meaningless of life, as I simply strolled around the remote lands without knowing why. I could’ve betrayed my master, but then they would’ve probably executed me, even though I had nothing to lose, and still I was afraid of dying regardless of my age. In fact, I don’t know what my age is anymore. In my previous life I knew I had some kind of meaning, or at least this was my illusion. I knew I had to harvest a certain amount of food and send it to the earthly lord’s castle, and as a reward I shall get to survive. But this! I knew nothing, and I still know nothing of my journey. I knew I was such a tiny man in comparison to my former lord and their manor, but only when I ventured out of the territory which I never gone out before, only then I realized how insignificant is my existence. The world is so big, so tremendous! How come it can be so infinite? I could walk for days and even weeks, and I would still not return to the previous locations from the opposite direction. I had this strange fear that one day I shall reach the end of the world, and stare deep into the underworld, however I had voices which told me that the world is not flat but round. Indeed, my own psychotic voices were my only companions, as I did not even hear once from my master since they set the manor on fire and decimated everything.
One day I collapsed on the earth in what seem to be an endless grassland. I collapsed and cried, because I did not know where I was heading, or why I was heading to that direction. Master Monkrilla was right; it is so difficult to be a deep person, while life was happier when you were a simple-minded individual. I do not understand to this day how I become so wise just because I were alone for so long, and had these thoughts I never encountered before. What I was certain about is, that I wanted my former life’s back. I did not want to think all of these complex thoughts as they raced through my fragile mind. I lied there like a corpse, and transmitted my energy to the earth to contain. For the first time in my life I felt actual love to my wife, whose marriage with me was arranged by tradition, and whose love to me was never existent. I missed my kids in which I taught them the art of harvesting and meat-slaughtering, but never got to play with them or to grant them love. I even miss my former lord in which I never got to see in my own life, making his image godly-like. I felt the urge to thank him for giving me a place to live and an occupation to do. What person was he? I shall never know, for he died in the depths of extreme heat, along with the rest of the manor. It was an enormous fire. I laughed when my face was directed to the irritating weed and grass, because I wondered how ironic is that a life-time work can begone in a matter of few minutes by the invalidity. After some time I got rejuvenated and continued in my endless-appearing journey of one’s own.
Someday I developed this conspiracy theory, which its expression in my self-talking ensured me my near execution. What if Master Monkrilla manipulated me? What if he deceived me by telling me they need this essence of meaning in order to survive? Given the fact I always felt I’m being watched since I left the manor’s crumbling ruins, and considering I never found any meaning (at least, not in self-conscious) – what if I am nothing more than entertainment for them to fight the boredom found in immortality? Ancient immortals have seen it all! If they indeed seen it all, shouldn’t immortals know what is the meaning of life, or know that life has no meaning? Why would an immortal being enslave a mortal to go on a journey they probably already did in one of their hundreds of thousands of years? Immortals have nothing to lose when they experience everything, and given my master is a god, how could they be dead, and if they are everywhere as they claim, why would they need me in the first place?!
After years and years of strolling in the remote lands of nothingness, my desire for living had ensured me my own death. In fact, I only delayed my incoming execution, but ultimately made it inevitable by my increasing intellect in my solitary journey of cold, hunger, thirst and silence. In my final day on the ground I sensed of my incoming demise. I was very hungry that day, but I was tired even though I just woke up. I have begun to lose my stability, and I fell on the rocky ground, injuring my body in a level that prevent me to stand up independently. Since no one came to aid me, as I did not see anyone since the manor’s destruction, I lied there uncomfortably, wishing to get more sleep.
When I woke up, I found myself in the depths of Master Monkrilla’s throne room in the underworld. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been there in my dreams.
“Well done, my minion”, said the demon god with his rusty voice, their hands slowly clap and create shockwaves in the humid air. “You succeeded to find the meaning of life. Yes, yes. We both know the meaning of life, my dear minion. If there is something which is universal to all living beings, is that they eventually die, mortals and immortals as one. While immortals can live forever, someday we all shall lose our sanity after we experienced everything possible. We immortals can write books, visit all the places in the world, talk with all the people, kill and give birth. But eventually we grow tiresome out of those futile activities, and become sick from the disease which is boredom. You are right, mortal. I used you as my tool since I was bored. I have nothing to be ashamed of, as I am above good and evil.”
“Really, master? Do you truly think you are the exception just because you are immortal, a demon and a god?”, I replied angrily to the one who granted me the gift of increasing and arousing intellect.
“Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, which can exist beyond countless generations. Even if we die, the opinion still exist, even if unknown by anyone else. Opinions are the only things, besides the void, which can never collapse. They can only be created, and live a truly infinite existence in the depths of the universal void.
“Now, enough. Since I got quite attached to you and to your intelligent, I feel guilty letting you live for so long. You see, my servant, I believe that the concept of overdose, regardless its type, is dangerous and life-threatening. I’m afraid that giving the fact you are becoming wiser and wiser as years go on in your solitude, your fragile mind may crumble due to an overdose of uncompromising, unthreatened intellect. I am evident of that phenomenon deep inside you, as I observed your thoughts with my eye, and I let my loyal historian and author, Recordptile, record each and every one of your thoughts since you left your dead lord’s manor. Recordptile! Bring the books!”
A huge platform with mountains of books arrived from the ceiling by chains of iron. No space of that platform has remained, and when I looked up I couldn’t see the ending of these books. With the terrifying sound of the demon’s fist on the throne, the platform slowly went up again, and disappeared in the darkness above. Alongside the hideous demon stood a tall and muscular reptile, wielding a sharp sword, and a large black quill in their pocket. They had a silver-plate armor, like that of a knight, and a spiked kettle helm. They looked both intellectual and combatative.
The demon master spoke once again. “For your own safety, you should be executed, but beforehand, Recordptile shall record your final thoughts. After you have finished recording all you have to say to the next generations, you shall be mercifully killed. Recordptile, escort this proper minion and write whatever he got to say. Then, execute him.”
The reptile warrior nodded obediently. A hidden entrance has been opened immediately, leading to a dark, narrow corridor. For the first time, I saw Master Monkrilla smiling with satisfaction, hideous like they always are.
Perhaps their smile was the outcome of my own personal success; a potential indication that my life did not go into waste.