Blood drips.
Drop.
Beads up.
Dribbles down the whitened arm.
Drip.
It falls with small plinking noises into the puddle of water below. Spreading curling vermillion fingers into the surrounding liquid, it imprints its essence into the innocent rain.
Blood.
Hate. Twisted and running in rivulets down my arm, pulsing in fierce beats, scraping at me. Feeling its claws against me, shredding off bits of my soul and heart and stamping them into dust, I feel something like satisfaction.
Drip.
Trickle.
Dribble.
Scream. Scream for me. Wail for this lost little nobody in a cell of bars so thick that a diamond appears a pathetically soft medium, and so dark that every corner of Hell would quake at the shadowed, unending black contained within.
Me.
Me.
Me.
And I'm dripping into a puddle and turning it into a shattered, rippling mirror of scarlet. Shattered pieces of me.
Me.
Which is, of course, the last thing I want to see. Running a furious hand through the puddle, I can obliterate the image, but not the idea.
I still am Me.
Calming, the water regains it's cruel reflection. Perhaps, if you looked from the corner of your eyes, you would see my eyes encased in the ruby color.
Like Kaworu's. Only my eyes are that of a traitor who sinks to his knees. Weak.
I chew off some more flesh. Somehow, I can consume my cowardice. Which leaves me in a cell of my own hate. If I were anyone but Me. If Kaworu had been anyone but Tabris.
WHY?
Tell me, is this the existence you wished to save? What cruel soul would desire for such a broken mankind to survive? Or did you see something else that I never will?
I can't ask you. No one could clamber as deep as you did into the structure of good and evil and come out sane. There is no way I will ever be able to comprehend your decisions and the true meaning of your will.
Dizzily, I lean against the wall for the comfort that I need but don't deserve, and take another sip of my own substance, crimson blood oozing from the borders of my lips for my careless style of drinking. My naked tongue darts out to lap off more.
My mouth observes what I have given it rather than dwell on speaking of unanswerable questions – it declares my blood tangy, salty, and pleasing, with the edge of metal.
And I taste of fear, as well.
Drop.
Beads up.
Dribbles down the whitened arm.
Drip.
It falls with small plinking noises into the puddle of water below. Spreading curling vermillion fingers into the surrounding liquid, it imprints its essence into the innocent rain.
Blood.
Hate. Twisted and running in rivulets down my arm, pulsing in fierce beats, scraping at me. Feeling its claws against me, shredding off bits of my soul and heart and stamping them into dust, I feel something like satisfaction.
Drip.
Trickle.
Dribble.
Scream. Scream for me. Wail for this lost little nobody in a cell of bars so thick that a diamond appears a pathetically soft medium, and so dark that every corner of Hell would quake at the shadowed, unending black contained within.
Me.
Me.
Me.
And I'm dripping into a puddle and turning it into a shattered, rippling mirror of scarlet. Shattered pieces of me.
Me.
Which is, of course, the last thing I want to see. Running a furious hand through the puddle, I can obliterate the image, but not the idea.
I still am Me.
Calming, the water regains it's cruel reflection. Perhaps, if you looked from the corner of your eyes, you would see my eyes encased in the ruby color.
Like Kaworu's. Only my eyes are that of a traitor who sinks to his knees. Weak.
I chew off some more flesh. Somehow, I can consume my cowardice. Which leaves me in a cell of my own hate. If I were anyone but Me. If Kaworu had been anyone but Tabris.
WHY?
Tell me, is this the existence you wished to save? What cruel soul would desire for such a broken mankind to survive? Or did you see something else that I never will?
I can't ask you. No one could clamber as deep as you did into the structure of good and evil and come out sane. There is no way I will ever be able to comprehend your decisions and the true meaning of your will.
Dizzily, I lean against the wall for the comfort that I need but don't deserve, and take another sip of my own substance, crimson blood oozing from the borders of my lips for my careless style of drinking. My naked tongue darts out to lap off more.
My mouth observes what I have given it rather than dwell on speaking of unanswerable questions – it declares my blood tangy, salty, and pleasing, with the edge of metal.
And I taste of fear, as well.