Stacey's Fanfic - Final

Beware of the Steppenwolf: Epilogue

I am Harry Heller. I am the Steppenwolf. I have two souls within me, always at war.

Carefully, I placed the last of my books into the bookshelf. It sat there in perfect finality. I clasped my hands together in anticipation. I sat down, then immediately stood up again. There was a languid feeling about that day that I could not conquer, as if such lethargy inhabited the air itself. I looked at my books, I ran my finger over their spines, and thought of the joy they had given me, and all they had taken away from me. I once had a family life and social ambitions, but when these left me I lived a life ruled by intellect. These books have saved and ruined me.

I took residence among the middle-class, just like last time and countless times before that. The respectable office-workers, the perfectly kept flowerbeds, the quiet order of the bourgeois life; I found it all so curious. I like to be near the bourgeoisie, it comforts me to observe their polite conversations and tidy houses. It interests me because I am so far removed from that world, I am a mere morbid hermit and I stand outside of convention. Most days I wake at noon and read all day long, I drink a bottle of wine and read some more. I have no taste for modern conveniences, terrible music, terrible art, terrible terrible. It is of no use to me as a wolf of the Steppes.

I sometimes wonder what became of my manuscript, that literary revolt from reality. When I was writing the manuscript, it felt right to obscure the truth in favour of metaphor and fantasy. There are more important things than facts. I think of those events often, though I believe they have not changed me, in fact, they have left me the same two-fold creature. After the madness and the dancing and the music stopped, there was nothing for me there. I am a broken man, as I was before. I am only glad that for once I felt something tangible. There were fleeting moments of happiness of the likes I have never felt before. I have happy memories of Hermine, of Pablo, of Maria, even of my humble landlady. They all taught me something about something.

It has been said that people have any number of individual souls, and I may be a fool for believing that I have only two. In my Hermine, there were 27 souls: a socialite, a misanthrope, a lover, a fighter, a comedy, a tragedy, a bird, a beast, and so it goes on. I have two souls; a wolf and a man who are constantly at odds with each other. Human Harry lives within a civilized world, made up of thoughts and emotions. He is a reasonable man with hopes and desires. The Steppenwolf represents the animalistic; the savage and unkind, the fervent and blood thirsty nature of a steppe wolf. While these two personas exist, I can never rest. There is an irresolvable struggle for power that neither ever wins, so I can never be wholly wolf or wholly man. I am stuck with this self-made dualism forever.

I needed some fresh air. The new rooms I had chosen were stifling, or perhaps it were my thoughts that were stifling. Either way, I picked up my coat from the floor and threw it on. I greeted the world on a sunny day in Spring, everything was blooming, so it seemed. I stopped when I reached the bridge, and watched the river flow underneath it. I thought about life and I thought about death, and I found neither to be particularly endearing. I shifted uncomfortably and then continued my walk down the avenue.

When I reached the town centre, there was a parade of sorts taking place. I pushed passed crowds of people to discover that it was a National Socialist parade. I scowled in disgust. I watched as they marched, marched endlessly and mercilessly. I turned around and proceeded to elbow my way out of the multitudes of those mindless cretins. It is not hard to see why I do not belong among the bourgeois, and those who think that war is necessary.

When I returned home, I opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass for myself. I thought of what was to come and of what should be done, but I could not think. All I could fathom was that moment, so I did all that I could do, I took a sip of wine and picked up a book. No matter what takes place in the future, I had this moment with my wine and my book, and please know that I was content.

Think of my story, friends, and do not despair.