Notes: Yay for stream of consciousness writing. Irvine stormed into my attempt to handwrite a chapter for Shattered a few months back and demanded to be heard instead. Just found the notebook that it was in today. The flow of thoughts is a bit on the random side...
The smell never comes off. Months after the kill it lingers. Scrub until my palms are raw. A futile ritual to be completed several times a day. Does she notice it when I hold her? Maybe not. Her hands are soft and delicate. Can't tell that they wield a weapon capable of snapping a man's neck. That those tiny fingers can do it just as easily without it. Still I fear that I pollute her when I touch her, corrupt the innocence that she somehow retains.
The blood on my hands reeks of gunpowder. Guns are my life. Guns are my slow death. How could I ever explain to a future child that mommy and daddy are killers for hire? Sold to the highest bidder on a regular basis. Travel across the world to kill a stranger in cold blood. Come home only to be shipped out the next day to do it again. I will not taint an innocent child by bringing them into this. How many families have I destroyed over the years? Babies left without parents. Millions of tears shed because of bullets I fired.
Dammit I was still a child myself when Garden Faculty put the assassination orders in my hands. We are taught to think of the target as just that, a bullseye. Not a person with dreams, families, or feelings. Dehumanize them. Dehumanize ourselves.
This time the target was a familiar face. The closest thing to a mother I ever had. Someone I could not and would not kill, but orders are orders. Why didn't Squall and the others remember when they saw her? Matron was still there, somewhere underneath the guise of the evil sorceress. The so-called Guardian Forces must gorge themselves on everything pleasant in the minds they inhabit, leaving nothing but the bitter tasting memories...
The horny male persona is nothing more than a mask. Distracts me from the harsh reality of what I do and keeps people from getting close. I let her in though. She sees me without the mask and swagger. And still she stays. Maybe someone like me is capable of being loved.
But I don't deserve it.