Let's begin...

Once upon a time -

Fairytale? Oh dear me, if you think this ends with a happily ever after, you are sadly mistaken; for real stories are not set in a specific time, nor do they have an ending. And neither does this old, dark tale.

Which starts on a gloomy evening.

But let me begin by such a typical storyteller way:

Once upon a time, there are two, well to put it simply, men. One is mysterious. His age is impossible to tell. With eyes so dark that when you stare into them, it seems like you are falling into a deep pit, an endless tunnel; only when you avert your gaze are you able to snap out of that illusion. He is not a frightening aged man, and certainly not the creepy kind that lingers around in shadowed alleys, but there is this feeling you cannot quite put a word to it. For he seems far too wise for any age, and that is alarming. The closest thing to describe it is probably having a Déjà vu, like you answer the door to a stranger and finds him familiar. You don't know much about him, but when he looks at you, you have this chilly sensation that he knows all about your past and secrets. But the word 'terrifying' does not come to your mind, for you know, deep down, he is a kind soul. A gentleman. And what does this lonely gentleman do? Wander around the world endlessly and memorize every detail. Sit on a bench on an autumn morning, watching ripples form on a lake, with a bird on one hand and a squirrel on the other. With such wise, sorrowful eyes... eyes older than time itself. During springtime, he makes regular visits to hospitals, for what reason, no one knows. But he often stays for a day or half, and sometimes does not leave until dawn without much of a doze. And at other times, he can be spotted under the weak sunlight, looking fragile as he stands, staring calmly ahead in a graveyard while harsh winds blow hard on him. Nevertheless, he is never seen in summer. Some assumes he feels vulnerable to his bones to be under such extreme heat, that he has to hide from these willful spirits. But the truth does not fully reveal itself above the surface. It's true he is weakest in summer, and that he does not feel well in the piercing heat but he does enjoy watching other people living with it as part of their lives. He longs to join them, but he knows he can't, so he just shies away until the weather is cooler and colder - and that, he can bear.

The other is, perhaps, the opposite. He is a young fellow, with grins and silly pranks he pulls on all day. He is, of course, mischievous - anyone who sees him on first sight is able to tell straightaway. He is as cunning as a fox, and what is more, he gets away from all sorts of danger he puts himself to, and walks away like he hasn't a care for the world.

Do you believe in fate? I'd say not. Fate is a blind fellow who walks foolishly into stone walls. I believe a better metaphor would be that fate is an empty car, parked on a street somewhere, waiting for someone to get on and be driven. So how these two men got together, I honestly don't understand. But I remember how they met, for I have a better memory than anyone... I am a storyteller after all.

It was a gloomy evening. The barman sold his last beer and started to flip the wooden chairs onto the tables. He was on his way to the storeroom to get a mop when he heard a noise, a crash. It was loud, like a bomb explosion, and echoes in the still air like after a fired gunshot. He was out of the bar at once, and found in front of him a horrifying scene. Damaged metals, bodies covered in blood. There was no doubt about it - a dreadful car accident had occured. The engines were set ablaze, and the flames flared and flicked its tongue hungrily against everything in sight.

Six hundred sixty-six seconds later, a nurse pulled a sheet over a body. Apparently, the blame for the terrible accident was the driver, who was drunk at that time. As a consequence (or perhaps, as a punishment), he died.

The old man was in the hospital that night, he was up against the window to see if the driver was alive, but he didn't make it, so he slowly went back to his chair, sighing as he sat down, wearing an impassive face as he stared at the wall opposite him. He didn't look away until a man walked by, and with a hoarse voice, he cried out.

“You knew, didn't you?”

The man stopped, his back against him. He was wearing a long, red cloak. Crimson red. For a second, no one spoke. He seemed to wager whether to reply or not, but then he spoke cooly, “I did.”

“And still, you seduced him.”

“It was a test." It was a statement. He said it simply, his tone neither grave nor does it imply anything.

“A test?" The old man echoed quietly.

“To qualify. No one knows one's true nature until he faces a temptation. Life is a test itself. Is this metaphor not fitting?”He turned and faced him with a relaxed expression, but when the other stayed silent, he smiled -or rather, smirked- and went on. "I see. You had your test not a while ago. How did it go?”

The old man shot him a glare. “You know as well as I do. He could not be saved.”

“And why is that?”

“He was burned alive. Those flames–” he stopped abruptly, as comprehension overwhelmed him. “Ah, those flames...” he moaned, shaking his head.

“He brought upon himself.” The young man finished for him, nodding sternly once.

For another second, neither spoke.

“It could be avoidable, but no one defeats death.” There was a sudden strange gleam in his eyes. Only now did the elderly notice those eyes. Eyes that had black sclera with red irises.

Death's plan. They seemed to say. There's always a plan. Then, they started to flicker. Darker, lighter and darker again. His eyes burning, so fierce, like flames; such intensity, they set ablaze, like flames. Skipping in, stepping out; and stepping in, and skipping out. A tease, not daring, but welcoming you. Dark figures dancing around a circle, and there within was the fire. Flickering, dancing, flickering...

“Let us not discuss this matter anymore. Spring is near, and there's much to do.”

His velvet-like voice seemed to break his concentration, his experience told him something wasn't right, and he forced himself to look away. “Well. You are my contrary. What's there that is necessary to do?”

“Ah, you'd think so." He took a seat next to him. "Well, let me ask you a question: do you have faith in humans?”

Staring straight ahead, he answered. "Sometimes.”

“And what do you think of tests?”

“They have their values... Why do you ask?” he inquired, careful not to lock gaze with him again.

“Hmm.” The other pondered for a moment, appearing to try to come up with an idea, but really, he was just searching for words. “I have an idea.”

Doesn't he always. Then the words floated back to him: There's always a plan.“What of it?” This spoken warily.

“Well, I can give you what you want...” This with a grin.

“I am truly tired, but I'm quite certain I'll not agree to it."

“Such a disappointment. Then let's play a game.”

“A game.” He repeated dully with narrowed eyes. Only he would find life a game, but not him, for he had always taken things seriously, and that's only because he had seen too much.

“Yes, Life's game.” He glanced up.

Maybe he had always taken things a bit too seriously.

That's reasonable though, he thought, since it has already begun.

And so, they made a deal.

Note: The mentioned number 'six hundred sixty six' is associated with the devil.
It wouldn't be as obvious if I used 11.1 minutes later instead, would it?

Story either complete, or I can make this a prologue.

Comments?