The weird chick with the dick came down from the sky to give me a small glass vial and a message: "You're the only one who can break the final curse."

Then she left. Gods never change, I imagine...

I've been aware of the passing of time. It's been ten years since we came here.

Over that time I've broken the gods' birth-curses on you one by one. But that's doing you little good right now.

It's doing me little good, too. Or at least I think so. I feel thin and growing thinner...maybe this is what dying feels like.

But I don't know. I don't like to think about myself. I'm not thinking of anything except you.

On the up side, I'm never hungry anymore.

The first curse I did away with was that you would die hunted and alone. I can't imagine life without you. Even if the final and strongest curse meant you're going to forget everything. And before now, I wasn't sure there was a way to break that.

You once tried to shoot me with your gun, the temple had let you keep it -- without the bullets of course. There've been no bullets for twenty years. You've only been out of your mind for ten. I still hear it clicking...

The final curse: whenever you see me, you see blood on my hands -- it's the same with everybody else. This is the way the gods decided you would die.

But you know, the worst of it is that you don't even remember my name. You scream at me, you call me "demon" until your voice gives out.

Hidden with you in this faraway forest, I'm just the strange kid who lives with the crazy old man. I've changed to common clothes and every time I drop by the nearest town, the people whisper. You're the crazy old man I live with.

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A few days ago -- in a fit of sobriety, I imagine -- you tried to drown yourself. I heard you calling miles away and I raced home.

Moron. Did you think I wouldn't know?

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I play with the vial. It's nothing special. It's just a glass thing with black liquid in it. I keep it out of your sight.

I snuggle closer because I know you need the warmth. Your old, old hands grip the front of my shirt, "So cold," you sob into my shoulder.

I run my hands across your faded gold hair and you shrink and shiver at the wet sticky trail you think my hands leave.

I cry for you again. I've lost count how many times.

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You open your eyes close to dawn, too weak to even raise your head. You've been spitting up blood on the pillow, and the sheets smell of your mortality. "Thirsty," you mumble.

"Here," I say. And put the vial to your lips. You drink again, trusting the blood you see on my hands.

"Goku," you say.

Then I watch your faded purple eyes close a second time.

Finally I hear a rattle from your throat. You breathe a long sigh and your hands stop trembling.

That took hours. But still a kindness after ten years.

I look down at the vial. I thought I had only a few drops of divine poison left...

Turns out there's still half. Exactly half. I don't know how I understood what that meant. Perhaps the chick with the dick finally thought I was old and smart enough.

I stare at it for a long time.

You're feeling heavier in my arms.

Then I hurry, because I know in my heart that if I don't I will never see you again.

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"Live only for yourself," huh?

You can't expect me to believe that, after all we've been through.

There are some things I would die to do for you.

Listening to your crap isn't one of them.