Rashmond~
It's been two days since then.
This path has never been beautiful. It was always filled with filthy blood and disgust.
Disgust for my own actions, and the disgust I felt when my face didn't contract at the deaths of innocent people.
Somewhere between all the bodies beneath me, I had forgotten that I lived in the skin of one too. That I, was a human too. The concept of emotions, happiness and sadness withered away as bodies upon bodies fell.
From my actions, many families have been pushed into despair. I felt no remorse even then. Their tears, somewhere along the lines, became memeaningless. I never looked back. Not at the people, or those places.
Guns, daggers, blades knifes, swords, riffles all felt the same. Cruel. How could a warm blooded man be a killer and still be aware? Is something I questioned myself late at night.
I never even remembered those faces, I did not think that I was capable of that. I showed no remorse, no cruelty.
I killed because it's the only thing that I have been thought, no... It's the only thing I have learned.
I know that I am weak. Cowardly in fact.
I know that my actions ruined people's lives. Wives and husbands widowed, children orphaned, yet I felt nothing.
But today, after 20 years of pure agony awaiting for the moment to become a human, I felt it. This thing called emotion, blurred my actions, pained my heart and I could not even utter a word.
Is this pain an emotion? Is this misery caused by my own body? This is torture at it's purest form.
My eyes stared at the grave.
Adonis
1996~2015
Without a last name.
Without words of remembrance or adoration.
Those were hurtful but expected.
He would not pay attention to such trivial matters.
But what bothered me was the awful choice of flowers.
Roses. Roses out of all the flowers.
Roses laid out on top of the grave. Thorns. Who could show such incompetence? Then I saw that filthy person.
His teary and face contorted, whiny and crying over the grave. Black clothes and black umbrella. He stood next to the women who showed similar empathy.
"He-He wouldn't do it.... He loved life more than anything. He wanted to live, to help others... He would not do something like this... He would not" The man said, his voice sounded anxious and hideous.
"You seem so troubled," She rubbed his back slowly "He must have been a very good man. Was he your friend?" Her concern was superficial.
It might seem as if she truly cared about this stranger who she had never met. Empathic, She wasn't that.
Each word uttered carefully, prying out information. Slowly figuring out her next question, and followed by a 'caring' sentence.
Artificial emotions seemed so real to people who never questioned. Apparently in their world each and every tear was truthful. They didn't understand why people needed to fake those hurtful emotions.
Lie and truth have intertwined together in this world. Some, who have perfected the art of lies, live in human skin. They bend together with other humans and have degraded the existence of truth itself.
She was one of them.
I knew because I was one of them too.
Cruelty and Aloofnes were in my warm blood. I made companions because I had to. I even have 'friends' in definition because I have to seem normal. I smiled even though it didn't come from my heart, or mind.
Someone did.
He had a smile that came from the soul. Brightening the whole world around him.
His chuckles were tender.
But this world wouldn't let his existence be. Who could stomach such a smile in this crused world?
Hence he had to take his own life.
I wouldn't compare myself with him. He had seen things even I could not stomach at an age when he could not even distinguish between good and evil.
He had a voice, he had a mouth, he could scream, he had not yet learned how to.
Mere thoughts of him dreaded me. It was an emotion. It was my life. I never questioned my fate until I met him.
Unspoken words and unrequited love...
I could not explain these two things to myself. Why such an eyesore of a concept existed? Why one lead to another or why one of them caused the other. I had no such answers, nor the capability to ask those questions.
"Yes... He was my friend. My friend... " He worded those as disgustingly as he looked.
I could not look at him. I would not accept such words. The hidden existence of mine became very clear as blood gushed from his face.
That red made his face bearable to look at. 'Friend' is all that he could come up with. After living a fulfilled life with this friend, being showered with love, caressed with kindness was not enough for him.
After 20 years, I felt rage.
When I with him. For few years. I did not allow myself to feel loved, nor to feel happiness because once I accepted the emotions he made me feel, I would throw everything away for him.
Disgust. Disgust is all I feel now. At myself. At this petty man without a spine. If he had put a bullet through my head when he first saw me this would not have happened.
I stomped at his face until my feet, through my boots, felt his bone crack.
"He wanted you to live... You, the pathetic man that you are. If it was left to me you would be chopped and burned the moment I saw you." I could not stop myself.
"He lived a life with him. Declared your love for him and now this is how you address him?"
Even when all I felt was rage, I did not scream. My humanity is truly questionable.
He should not breathe.
After all his reason to live had perished. His words could not even fool a fool.
Yet it fooled the man, the only person I wanted to save.