2 – 10 – 02
Rent
"You?! What do you want?!"
There he stands, arms crossed, giving his shoulder to the world. Pushing away because he was pushed away harder, shoving back with all his pain and misery. There he stands, alone where he was once together. A shattered individual. Hating because there is nothing else to be done.
"Ain't you got somethin' better to do?"
Craving power because there is nothing to do. Seeking retribution because there is nothing to do. Searching, hating, and shunning, because there is no real purpose, no real reason to do anything else. As a matter of fact, there is no real reason to be anymore.
"Look, I've got more important
things to do with my time!"
Curiously
aggressive, then curiously passive.
Loves his hate and hates all love that comes his way. Hates it because he wants
it so much. Pitiful indeed, but
pity is perhaps inappropriate in this case.
Approach cautiously. Approach
persistently. It will get the job done.
"Are you gonna follow me all day?!"
Staring off into the city, who
knows what his thoughts drift to.
Perhaps they bring back cold memories of a darker past. Darker than one cares to
remember. Yet through the
darkness one can still see it all. It is
still bright enough to see all the horror, though you remain hidden in the
shadows. Someone is waiting. Someone is wanting. Time, time, time. But who can wait? Certainly not him. And will it be in time?
"Ah whatever. Maybe you can learn somethin' from me!"
Look into his eyes. There is something in there, deep and hidden. In everyone there is hidden that seed of darkness upon which one clutches to and blames the world. For some, it is easily discarded and the flowers bloom once more. But for others, it festers and grows. Soon enough, there is a jungle, and lost in it, the one—the self.
Look at him again, with his arms crossed. He shivers in the wind. He glances at the expansive moon and rubs his shoulders. Turning away, he looks far, far away, beyond the range of any eyes or man-made instrument. So far, indeed, but still there. Still there just upon the horizon. A glimmer, a sparkle of light. You could reach out and pinch it even, hold it in your hands and watch it glow, if one were so inclined. If one, though maybe not you, were so inclined.
So cold...
Look at him, standing on the roof. Look at him watching and following the children. Look at him bury himself deep into a hole, hating because hate is easy. Hating because hate hides the pain, for now. Broken and shattered, he gathers up all the little pieces of himself and casts them into a fire. Let him forge himself anew through fires indeed, though more success he might have if he were to delicately reassemble the fragments...
"I...I...ah never mind!"
Swim to the surface from the deep blue. It is strange that feeling one gets when surrounded by an aqueous tomb. Up, you see the turbulent sparkle of light. Push and push against the water, reaching for that surface, so that you may release the bad air inside. Trying to break through to the surface so you may breathe once more. It is strange that feeling one gets when one is just deep enough. Deep enough to realize that the surface may be out of reach. Deep enough to feel your mortality.
"Go away! Just go away!"
Look at him crumble. He clutches his legs as if to keep himself warm. He rocks back and forth like the comforting lilt of a mother. He is holding back the flood, but his levees are overflowing. There is nothing left. He can't hide the pain anymore. He is broken, and knows it. He is broken, and knows soon the world will know it. Hate cannot comfort anymore than the scratching of an open wound. The scab has fallen, and now we must suffer. Suffer, but for our own good.
It's not fair...
Why this one? Why not another? Pain and misery are so indiscriminant. The world is too big to live alone, and the burden of life is too heavy to bear alone. People were meant to be together. The pieces that scatter and fall, that fragment from the whole—they must be picked up or they will be blown in the wind.
[Everything will be alright, Impmon.]
Look as he sobs in her arms. Does he even see her face? Does he see her smile as she strokes him gently? Does he feel the warmth of her body as he presses close? Time has come through, at last. The waiting is over. The searching is over. Soon, perhaps, the hating will be over. The time to suffer has ended. Now it is the time to heal, and to grow. Like so many petals scattered in the wind, perhaps we may dream of becoming a flower once more.