A Gift from God
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Masami Kurumada.
It was during the night of Christmas eve. I was walking about in the downtown area on my day off that day. The city lights decorated the skyscrapers, illuminating the night sky with millions of multicoloured bulbs.
Right in the heart of the city, stood a tall Christmas tree wrapped in a cocoon of decorations. I sat down on one of the wooden benches and watched the sea of people come and go.
Humans are the worst monster. They are eternally plagued by greed and vengeance. In my line of work, all you see is the darkest side of people. They are willing to sacrifice anything to fulfill their own selfishness.
I'm not a saint myself. I'm an assassin. I take lives. Countless of them. I find no satisfaction nor remorse doing it. Everyday goes by like a dull routine repeating itself over and over again. I don't care whose side I'm on, as long as the payment's good, I'm willing to take any job regardless of the risks.
Saying that I have lost faith in humanity would be an understatement.
A tall man sat down on the bench next to me, interrupting my thoughts. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched him warily. He was wearing a black fedora and a grey trench-coat over a black suit.
"Bennu Kagaho, I presume?" The stranger asked with his raspy voice.
I vaguely remember it, but I knew that I've heard it somewhere. If he knew me, then nothing good would come out of it.
"You've gotten the wrong person." I said, reaching for my gun.
The man didn't look convinced at all. He made no sound as he inconspicuously reached inside his coat. In a split second, he drew out a 9mm pistol equipped with a silencer and pulled the trigger before I had enough time to draw mine.
The bullet pierced me in the chest, missing my heart by an inch. My instinct kicked in, and I did the first thing that crossed my mind. I pulled out my revolver, shot him once, and ran like hell.
I heard the man roared behind me as several more bullets flew passed me and one happened to grace my thigh. The sound of the gunshot I made was enough to set the crowds on panic, making it easier for me to throw off my pursuer.
Neither did I care who he was nor who sent him. Even though assassination is basically my everyday job, I avoid taking other's life unless absolutely necessary. Who knows what would happen if I were to kill this man.
I hid behind a dumpster, took a syringe of morphine from my breast pocket and injected it into my chest to numb the pain.
After navigating through labyrinths of alleys and narrow streets, and ended up in an unfamiliar part of town, which was probably the slum. I must have been running for at least an hour.
It's been decades since I last stepped foot in this dump. Uneven asphalt road, dilapidated apartment buildings, garbage littering the side of the street, rusted pipes, and the distinctive smell of rotten corpse.
Ignoring all of them, I kept on walking and came across an abandoned-looking church.
Through the dim illumination, I could hardly make out any details. It didn't have the elaborate design like the ones in the urban area, nor the impressive heights, but it was as good a shelter as any.
Without giving it a second thought, I went inside the church. The door opened with a long creak. Every step of my boots echoed across the ominous room. I walked to the end of the room and sat crossed leg on the dusty floor.
Three hours before the morphine wore off.
When my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see thousands, maybe millions, of angels on the walls. At the heart of the church, stood a massive one cradling cross shaped graves between its wings.
Each and every single one of them was drawn with such detail and precision. What strike me as odd was the fact that all of the angels looked like the victim of famine. There were men and woman, the elderly and the young, starved to their skulls. Yet they had a look of happiness in their .
Weird, but then again, I know next to nothing when comes to art.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps caught my attention. I drew out my revolver and checked the bullets. There were still five rounds and I had some spares in my back pocket. More than enough to defend myself.
I crouched behind the altar as the door creaked open. The sound immediate ceased. I craned my neck and peered past the dark room to see a small figure with long golden hair.
"I saw you running into this church bleeding," he said.
Judging from his voice, he must be a young boy.
"Don't worry. People come here to seek help all the time. I won't hurt you."
He walked across the room towards me, as if he knew exactly where I was. He must have followed the trail of my blood. I cussed myself for my carelessness.
Seeing as he wasn't much of a threat, I sheathed my gun and drew a thin blade from my boot. I held my breath and listened to his footsteps as he approached.
The moment he was close enough, I leaped out and held the blade to his throat. I must have ripped my wound in the process because I could see my blood soaking through the cloth like a tiny stream. If I hadn't had my painkiller with me, this would have been a total nightmare.
"Who are you, and why are you here?" I asked.
"My name is Alone," he said. "I came here because I saw you bleeding out as you were running down the streets. Let me help you."
Despite the situation he was in, the boy was relatively calm. Which was suspiciously odd.
"Did anybody else see me?" I asked
"There's only me here," he said. "Even if somebody did, they couldn't care less about another body turning up in the streets."
After some considerations, I let go of him and sat under the dim illumination in front the tinted window. If I don't patch my wound up soon, I might get an infection. But before that, I might die from an excessive loss of blood. Usually, I wouldn't trust people as easily as this even if it means that I'd have to die a gruesome death. But something about this boy was simply...different.
The young boy, Alone, pulled out a set of equipments from his messenger bag and begun to clean up my wound before stitching them up. He was strangely good at this. I began to wonder why he would help a random stranger whom he barely knew. Was there anything he could gain from going through all these trouble?
"What's the catch?" I asked.
Without looking up, he said, "Nothing. I just like helping people."
"That can't be it." I scoffed. "For all I know, you could be a serial killer just waiting for the right time to end my life."
"Death is mercy." He said, not even trying to deny my statement. "I could lead you to salvation just like the others. But that's entirely your choice."
So he has killed before. Even after hearing him say that, I couldn't find the strength to end him there and then.
"What do you mean by the others?" I asked.
"Well, I'm sure you have noticed the painting of angels covering the wall," he said. "These angels are the people who came here to seek for salvation."
The blonde gestured at his paintings. "They are my absolute masterpiece. I call them The Lost Canvas."
Knowing that the angels are actually paintings of the dead didn't make it any better. Now I am convinced that this boy was a total psychopath.
"They're...hauntingly beautiful." I said.
He blushed slightly and muttered a thank you. "People often told me that my paintings look surreal and sort of disturbing, yet they give off indescribable feeling of tranquility." He sighed dejectedly. "However, that wasn't what I was trying to convey."
The room darkened as black clouds began to stir and covered the only source of light. From the distance, the sound of thunder rang louder and louder by the seconds. Within minutes, it started pouring.
"What's your name, mister?" He asked.
"Kagaho," I replied.
He pulled out a thin long paintbrush and pointed at an empty spot on the painting. "That's where you'll go, Kagaho-san."
"What makes you so sure that I want to die?"
"I'll give you a clean death. I've done this thousands of times." He replied reassuringly, avoiding my question. "One strike to the brain, and that's it."
I stared at the harmless instrument he was twirling in his hands. His calm exterior was unnervingly eerie. It made me wonder just how horrible his life was.
Considering my current situation, I figured that I might as well get him to open up to me. Who knows what would tick him off. I might die. Like...literally.
"How old are you?" I started.
"I've never really keep a track on it, and I've forgotten my birthday. If I had to guess, I'd say around seventeen."
He didn't even know his own birthday? How miserable could he be...
"What about your family?"
He looked up at the ceilings and smiled. "I gave them the salvation that they've been praying for. I liberated them from their suffering."
"There are no pain, poverty, or starvation in death. No more fear of what the future withholds." He paused briefly. "Death is the ultimate salvation."
Yep, he's definitely a total psychopath with a god complex. What are the chances?
Surely, there must be a less depressing topic.
"Do you have a dream?" I decided to ask
"I do." Alone nodded. "I've always wanted to see the works of art from different parts of the world. Visiting museums and galleries, seeing all the beautiful places and paint them on my canvas..." His voice trailed off.
"Why don't you?" I asked, after a brief pause.
He arched an eyebrow, as if I wasn't seeing the obvious problem. What could possibly be... Of course! He's from the goddamn slum. How could I forget.
"Right. Then...how about this." I was seriously going to regret my decision, but I went and said it anyway, "you don't have to give anymore salvations and come with me."
At that exact moment, lightning flash and the thunder boomed, I could feel the ground shook lightly beneath me. Talk about being dramatic.
"Pardon?" His blue eyes widened.
"I'll make your dream come true." I clarified. "I'll quit being an assassin and we'll go anywhere you want."
A smile curled up his lips. "Really? You'd do that...?" He beamed.
"Yes." I nodded. "I give you my words."
Alone started to tear up at my words and jumped at me. He wrapped his arms around my neck so tightly he almost crushed my throat.
"Thank you," he whispered.
I take back my words. He's not that much of a psycho after all.
I patted his head in reply.
For the first time in years, I could feel another person's heartbeat against mine. It was warm and peaceful for once. That wasn't so bad...
Life is a series of crossroads and choices. Some are life-changing, others are simply inconsequential. On one hand, decisions could be made after a long period of consideration. Years, maybe even decades. On the other hand, it could randomly come off the top of your head, and you just go along with it.
In some cases, you might find yourself at the end of the cliff, where you'll be regretting your previous choices. I've been there once. Instead of jumping off, I chose to take a step back. For years, I wandered around the world aimlessly, until I found him.
A gift from God, named Alone.
-END-