And see he did. Matter of fact, he saw so hard that no one could see the face of god for the next eighty two years.

It all begin when Violinus met the eight-year-old Johnathan Schaft.

One fine, dark evening when the sun had just finished melting away into the far waters of the horizon beyond the everstetching rice firelds, when the eight-year-old Johnny boy was running home through the raised roads between the paddies, approching out from the dark veil of the night, from behind the invisible, black horizon of the thick, glaring forest crawls out a hideous, puss filled, spinal fluid drained human like being whose nose was the arch of a cretinous insect's back. If you were to mention his name to anyone from the Era of Kum, neither his nose nor his ugly limp would be mentioned not only because by the very first ray of the bright, orange furred sun he morphed into the most beautiful man to have ever walked the-- man! Calling this subhuman monster a man is spitting in the face of every male who had the balls to face their fate head one with inflated chests and wide, broad, brave shoulders because this mass of twisted ideas deceived his own fate almost every time it confronted him-- but because more crooked than his nose was that twisted mind of his which is believed to have forged by the world's first dung beetle in the lowest pile of scum and stuffed deep into a hundred year old rotting corpse with a dead dear's dick. And yet he deserves his glory as a part of history for he sold his soul to the beauty of art.

"Boya."

Resonates a deep, soothing, fatherlike voice of a man behind the little Johnny's ears.

At first unable to pinpoint the direction of this heavenly voice, little Johnny boy, though pulled to a slower pace, continues on his way home.

"Johnny boy."

Johnarthan Schaft definitely heard the voice this time. But let's face it. Dude's no taller than my ankle. There's no way he's got the balls to stop and ponder what sub-mythical monster form his dead grandmother's tales is trying sell a rice ball to him. So, he ignores this call for halt and soars on through the blinding night like a blind bat.

"Longus Schlongus Hardus Cockus!"

Was it fear or the sheer command to revere, whatever it was, it surely froze the frail, little legs like the plague of silence that takes over the fluttering flags in a dead battlefield and mortifies their souls.

"How desperate I have been to tell you. Tell you the truth of your life. The truth of your blood. The truth of what you are worth and what you are worthy of. How miserably long have I crawled through the cracks of time and generation to find you your justice. How long have I wanted your skin. The skin that's gonna turn the wheels of time and belief, facts and hearts, nations and gods like a wet bag of white, rich cotton and bear down the weight of their sins."

Finally, making his grand crawl into the last rays of dying sun, he morphs and de-morphs with every fluttering shadow and light like a reflection of the fiery ball in the cool gaze of water and stands in front of little Johnny like a haze in one's own dream. Poor Johnny. He must have felt like he was grasping at something far beyond the thin curtains of reality.

"How long I have waited since you last said "So long, my kid. So long." And right after cursing me into immortality too."

Whatever rage it was boiling inside him must have seeped out like the puss from his eyeballs, for he extends his decaying claws at Johnathan's supple cheeks...

"You, filthy, cruel, unheartly bastard hoof of a bear! A boar has much love for her child than you had pity on my wounds."

...but soon withdraws having snapped back to his senses like the clear, tight, glowing skin that creeps out on his hand under the orange light.

By some chance of Jove, the sun, for the next extending periods of time that crawls slower than a turtle's pace, shines its brightest like a lamp that burns its remaining fuel of glamor in the last moments of its service before it gives in to the suffocating hold of the dark. And as a result, Violinus appears in his most dizzying form of beauty and sways the child's heart like a ashes in a wind.

"Oh, you poor thing. What has led you stranded in the middle of this ungodly hour of the day where it's neither day nor bright. It's the most dangerous time on earth. It's a time when you cannot even trust the shadows under your feet, for they might disappear only to grow all around you, bigger than you and swallow you whole at any moment of hope's treacherous defeat. So quite it's gonna get before the fangs and claws leap from behind that you can hear your own heartbeat....even hundred years from now."

Viloinus caresses the boy's soul as he caresses the back of his head, trying to buy Johnny's heart and sell hid idea of a caring, old mother who, with a goodnight's kiss, puts Johnny to bed.

"Say, is you name Johnathan Schaft? Or is it Longus Schlongus Hardus Cockus? No. It couldn't be the latter. That comes after you put the queen to rest. Say, your mother must be waiting for you back home with great angst and fear filled tears. Is your mother alive? You wanna know why she's dead? I know it. I know it all. I know why she'll not be back to see you grow up to be the strong warrior you are going to be. Do you know why? Do you want me to tell why? Answer me, boy!"

"Yes"

"Yes. Yes, you do. Fine. I'll tell you. But you have to be a brave little one. It's a knife in the knee."

Johnny's legs give up and Viloinus stands back up straight to loom over the boy's head.

"Afraid, are you? Despair? Lonely?"

And what do you know. Like a serpent snapping at the kite that's out making its scales its dinner, Johnny whips a hard fist right to Violinus's crotch. But since Violinus is a ballless ape, he doesn't feel it.

"Rage! That's my boy. You sprout quick."

Volinus kneels down to little Johnny and gives offers his face like a bag of rice.

"Hit me again. I didn't feel a thing when you hit me then. I was no human. Make me one, Johnny boy. Hit me. Hit me! I killed you mother, goddammit. Hit me!"

Whew! You would be surprised buy Johnny makes that fine, fresh, beautiful skin of Violinus bleed. And right under his nose too. What a swing! Nonetheless, Violinus has got what he wanted. He wipes the satin red off his lips as he uses those very lips to string more threads of plot into this innocent soul.

"You pack a wallop there, my boy. Just like the good old days."

Johnny, still filled with rage, jumps and kicks and bites at Violinus but Violinus holds him back. But yet it's too much of a chaos for even Violinus to weave his words into the kids hear. So, he slaps back. And what do you know? Child abuse works! Johnny shuts the fuck up and starts listening to Violinus while the snot and tears drool from his nose and eyes, mix into a vague fluid and seep into his lips and drips from his chin.

"I killed your mother and that boils your blood. And you, despite how naive and new you are, know exactly what to do. You must have that pulsating impulse satisfied, not forgotten. You must drive that sharp, stinging blade of vengeance right through my heart."

If he ever had one, that stinking jerk!

"You can't calm you nerve by swinging blind fists at my jaw and breaking your knuckles in return. No. You must grow strong, braver than you are, and above all that, more hotter and filled with rage. But never wiser. Wise people tend to forget their thirst. They satisfy it with the millions lies they tell themselves everyday about peace and brotherhood. No, not you. You must, keep it. Nurture it. Grow tall and big. Only then can you slit my throat and drink my blood like I drank you mothers right off of her neck. I remember it clear as daylight. I sucked that young, beautiful blood off her veins like honey out of a bee hive. And you must too do the same to me. So, promise son. Promise me that one day you'll come for me. Promise me so that you can find that soul I stole from you. Promise me so that I can live as a human among humans until you stick these futile hands of yours right through my chest and pull out my lungs. Promise me so that I can leave here now and return when you are ripe and ready. Promise me, my boy. Promise me!"

Though all that furious, little Johnny can manage to get out through his mouth is a collection of gibberrish rage, it's enough of a scream through his heart into Violinus's empty soul to deafen any god's ears.

Sattisfied, with the sun, Violinus dissolves back into the dark and leaves little Johnny with bigger ambitions and hightened passion. A passion for blood. A passion for unseen glory. A passion for the day he gets to taste the blood of the most beautiful man to have ever lived. The man who supposedly snatched the bossoms of his loving mother away from him and let him rot an orphan without love.

"I will."