~Memoir of a Broken Warrior~

I've never felt as alone as I do now. Not my childhood seclusion or my various experiences as prisoner of war can compare to the emptiness surrounding me. It's amazing how fragile dear sanity is. I have torn to shreds whatever ties I had remaining, that connected me to reality. Now, all I have is a nightmare and delicate shards of a shattered dream to plague my thoughts at night.

It was never my intention to destroy those around me. I may have been a lost cause but, I never sought to be the downfall of the people I cherished most. When I think about the damages that resulted from my exodus, I curse myself and beg to whatever entity that will listen to take it all back. The secrets I shared can never be unspoken; the scars I have carved on this world will never mend. It is because of my mistakes that I am so cold now. The fall of everything I held dear, rest solely on my shoulders.

All I've ever longed for is to protect the innocent lives entrusted to me. My job was to defend those who could not defend themselves. I was a soldier, dedicated to upholding honor and morals. It was always my dream to do just that; to be a hero. But…monsters like me can't be a hero. All my life, I strolled along believing I was normal; believing I was human. But I was born a monster, spawned from man's selfish desire to play God in a laboratory. I was genetically altered before I was born; a product of a race to create a perfect life-form by harnessing the powers of an ancient calamity's cells. For about twenty five years, I was oblivious to my origins.

I lived in a country town that thrived off of the sales of its most abundant crop: apples. It was a simple town with good-hearted people. A lot of them had to struggle to get by, resorting to thievery when their rations run dry. My one and only true friend was one of those hungry thieves. After my birth, I was handed into the custody of the wealthiest landowner in the town. I was monitored every day of my life but, I never thought anything of it. I was a naive child in that town. I never understood all the eyes on me.

I hated that house; that "family." I was a prisoner in that mansion, never being allowed out of line. The strict guidelines that had been written out for my life didn't stop me from having a voice, though. As I developed a conscious and became aware of my status, I became more rebellious. I ran away a lot, just to know what it felt like to bend the bars of my cage. This never blew over well with my "parents" or the scientist that had "created" me. Not that I cared. I never had any compassion for them. My foster parents never loved me – and I didn't blame them. Why love someone that wasn't really your son? But…then again…why adopt one if you weren't going to like it? It was a favor to the professor, I suppose. I was lead to believe he was a close family friend – that was why he was around so much. That didn't explain why he was constantly examining me, like I was his pet. No one cared about my discomfort. I was expected to keep my mouth shut and do as they all instructed.

The only relief I found from the oppressive atmosphere in that lonely house on the hill was in the serene orchards spreading around the town. Whenever I snuck out to spite my various guardians, I always fled to the quiet comfort of the apple trees. My favorite place was laying in the golden wisps of grass, dappled by warm sunlight through twisting white boughs and rustling leaves. It was the closest to heaven I have ever reached; laying there, feeling the breeze tug at my hair and burying myself in the delicate pages of my adored book. I have always been obsessed with the words from those stanzas, always struggling to decipher their meaning. I spent hours isolating myself under the apple trees, milling over every sentence and marveling in the beauty of it all. I fell in love through those pages. I fell in love with the artistry, the intrigue, the tragic hero battling his inner demons, and the mysterious goddess that descended to make him her champion.

If I hadn't stumbled upon that neglected copy in my father's study, I would have been lost long before now. The only thing keeping me going nowadays is that enticing story. I have nothing else. My only friend is dead and it's my own fault. I grew up with him. I shared everything with him, even my secret paradise in the orchards that I had reserved for myself and my poetry. He taught me so much and every time I felt myself going crazy with the stress of being perfect in that house, he made me smile. He brought out the best in me and encouraged me to "embrace my dreams."

That's what he always told me. His unending wisdom and limitless patience awed me. I admired him for that and I wished I had some kind of calm, memorable words to offer him in return. He was always a better friend to me than I was to him. I've always been selfish. I strove for attention and glory. He constantly warned me that my arrogance would be the death of me. If only I had actually taken his frequent advice to heart. I was stubborn. It's my weakest link, although I've never admitted it until recently. Whether it was denying my superiors my attention or obsessing about being right, my stubbornness never ceased to get me into trouble. My friend was always there for me though. No matter what I said or did, or how much I under-appreciated him, he remained steadfast and loyal to me. Regardless of my self-absorbed nature, I like to think that I offered him the same respect.

When I reached age eighteen, I was finally free to go where I saw fit. I packed up my clothes, books, and manuscripts, pestered my best friend to get out of bed, and went off to pursue my dream: to be a hero. I was sick of how I was disregarded in that town, like I was stray animal. I was ready for something more; for something worthwhile. I wanted to serve the world, like the hero in my book. My freedom was bittersweet, however. The scientist that practically lived with me insisted upon joining the two of us in the capital city. The city was run by an electric power company and the elite group of soldiers I craved to be a part of, reported directly to the president of the corporation. My good friend had many reservations about becoming a soldier. He never was one for violence. He would have preferred to remain in the country and help his mother harvest apples. Despite this, he still accompanied me. I made it no secret that I would be thrilled if we became soldiers together but, it wasn't my monotonous persuading that triggered his decision to come with me. Whereas, my goal was to serve the planet, his was to defend his friends. Although I was to prideful for rescuing, I wasn't about to deny him his dream. He was my best friend, after all.

I should have stayed out of that city. My true misery was born there. Everything was running perfectly for the longest time. I went through training regularly and focused on reaching the highest, most prestigious title for a soldier: First Class. The day I graduated from the lower barracks and into my desired title was the happiest moment of my life. I had finally been acknowledged for my feats and had finally gained the respect I had been deprived from for so long. I was on top of the world. Nothing could drag me down from my high…nothing but the man I idolized. One of the things that fueled my pursuit of glory was my admiration for the corporation's most esteemed general. Everyone knew who he was. Everyone respected him and everyone feared him. He was the most fearsome weapon at the company's disposal. He was always ahead of me; always stealing the spotlight. I don't know if he enjoyed the attention rewarded to him but, whether he did or not, I was jealous.

My new title and recognition was not enough to satisfy my pride. I longed to surpass him. I wanted to be him. I honed my senses for hours every night in preparation to challenge him one day. The day I was finally provided my chance to prove myself against him, was the day my life fell into mayhem. Our battle got out of control. The two of use ended up attempting to eradicate each other as opposed to beating the other into submission (it took a lot to get a soldier down). I left the fight with a bad gash in my shoulder that I brushed off as "just a scrape." But, my mothering friend wouldn't allow me such easy avoidance from the hospital. My wound wasn't healing properly and I was given no choice but to be admitted. I was beyond irritated when my doctor just so happened to be the professor that had been stalking me all my life.

It was in that hospital room that my true identity was revealed to me after so long. The professor kept hinting at something every time he inspected me. He would look at me like I had shamed him by getting hurt like that. Through my sedated haze, I watched him pace the room, stooping over documents and muttering, "Failure," over and over again. Being incapable of coherent thought throughout most of my stay in that white room, I assume he was referring to "failure to heal" or something like that. I was in denial. It was clear on his face and in his gestures that something was not right with me. I wanted to pretend nothing was wrong; that I would heal and return to my duties like nothing had happened. As days continued to slip by where I wasted away in that stark white room, I refused to be kept in the dark any longer. When I broke past the fog of sedatives, I demanded answers to why my stay in the hospital was so prolonged. With a condescending sneer, he told me what I was and how I came to be. He said I wasn't human and that I was a failed experiment.

My world fell apart. My entire existence was proven to be a lie. I was not human; I was a monster. I had a monster's abilities and a monster's appendages. I was cursed with a crooked black wing and a body that slowly began to degrade. The injury I had sustained in that battle, had triggered a rapid decomposition of myself and the wing – this goddamn manifestation of all my suffering – burst from my back the instant I was aware of my identity. Every time it unfurls, I am staggered with an agony like a thousand bullets pounding into my flesh. The weight of the world was as light as a feather in comparison to the burden now crushing down upon me. I couldn't be a soldier if I was a monster. Monster's thirst for destruction and domination; I could never be a hero. All my honor…all my dreams…they were gone.

I was broken. I still am a broken excuse of a man. I can never be the same, reckless, runaway youth from the country. I can never have the same life of striving for perfection and seeking out adventure. My best friend - the only person that ever understood me…He's gone; gone to join the rest of the angels in heaven. I was not the only result of that mad scientist's project. My dear friend was branded with similar powers. He was the project's crowning achievement though. His body did not decay; he wasn't a failure. It was nothing to be proud of. I knew it would break his heart if I told him about our heritage but, I couldn't keep the truth from him. I owed it to him after all the honesty he showed me. I regret ever telling him. It cost him his life.

The two of use went rogue, abandoning our trust of the people we served. Turns out, the company funded the use of these rare, excavated cells that made us monstrosities. We held no more respect for them. I didn't know what to do; neither of us did. We held some distance from each other – he was unsure of following after me. My mind was stained with thoughts of vengeance upon the people that had destroyed me. There was nothing else I could do. I had no other purpose in this life. I wanted justice for the cruelty done to me. The professor claimed to know a way of helping me (only when I became a threat to the company paying him) and, foolishly, I believed him. I was desperate for any shred of hope available to me. I allowed him to tag along as I ventured around in search of some place where I wouldn't be found. He pretended to be investigating into a cure for my degrading and acted like he cared about helping me to survive. For a while, it was just me and him – my friend was half with me and half against me. He went off to find answers on his own and no matter how lonely that left me, I could never stop him. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have kept him closer…maybe he'd still be here if I had.

An operative was sent to exterminate the two of us for daring to oppose the corporation. My friend hardly defended himself. He wanted to die the second he found out he wasn't human. I was lost for good after he died. At least with him, I had one other person that felt my pain; one other person I could always count on. After turning on the professor for his ignorance and losing my closest friend, suicide was looking like a pretty good option. I didn't want to be a monster; I never wanted to hurt anyone. I have become the one thing I vowed to kill. Monsters must be slain and it was my duty as a soldier to do so. I was a coward, though. I could never take me own life. My time was dwindling down with my self-decaying anyway. There was also one more thing that offered me some comfort: my obsession; my ancient epic. When I was to distraught about what I had become, I always found that ancient tale resting next to me, just waiting to for me to give it some attention. Just like the summer days beneath the apple trees, the story continued to bring a smile to my face, even in my darkest hour.

I noticed a few things as I found refuge in that story, during my time of need. The hero that I had come to admire; I found myself relating to him more and more. All of a sudden, the story wasn't fantasy anymore. It was history…my history. I was the hero "enduring torment" and "corrupted by vengeance." And the goddess…my beloved goddess…surely if I was the cheated soul, begging for forgiveness for my sins, there had to be a goddess that was listening. A light was suddenly shining in my eyes through all the writhing blackness. It was a desperate, insane notion but, it was all I had. I buried myself in researching the origins of the story and interpreting it to lead me to my salvation.

I have spent years, grasping at delicate strands of glimmering hope. I've clawed through my guilt and my sorrow to search for answers. Although I will always be haunted by the disarray I left my world in, I have struggled past it. My friend will never see his dream come to fruition but, I want to honor his life-long goal. He couldn't save me so, I have to save myself. I made mistakes in choosing to fight against the superior power and it cost me my happiness. I can never take back my flaws but, I can repent by succeeding where I failed.

I stand alone now, looking to the horizon where I can hear the goddess calling to me, whispering my name in the breeze. She has always been around me, humming in the bark of the apple tress and stroking my face through the tickle of swaying grass. I've been destined to seek her; to become her champion. She will guide me to bliss; she will relieve me of my burden. The scars of the past will always remain and I will never be able to undo what was done to me at birth but, once I am relieved from my degradation, I can harness my powers to save the world.

I'm running out of time but, I am close to the answer; to unraveling the mystery of that old tome. The sky is becoming so much clearer to me as I draw closer to saving myself. I will always be damned for the hearts and lives I tore apart with the revelation of my powers. The public knew about the corporation's inhumane experiments and things have never been the same since then. I am still wanted for disobeying orders and going AWOL. But, I have opened the eyes of the innocent people I vowed to protect.

I lost everything. I was lied to; I was looked down on. I was never good enough for anyone or anything – at least not by my standards. My only companion has been my dusty book – the only companion that has lasted with me until this day. My faith in the elusive "goddess" has never wavered. My life belongs to her now. When I receive her recognition and her cleansing kiss, I can start over again. I will never be human – she can't save me from the raven feathers that have become a part of me. I have to bear it. If I can reign over my curse, I can regain my honor. If I can gain control of myself…I can be a hero.

This is my story. This is my passion; my obsession. This is my burden…my curse. This is my dream and my love. This is my life. This…is me.

~Genesis Rhapsodos~

A/N: I hope this wasn't to boring. I actually was assigned to write a memoir in one of my past english classes and I was pleased to hear that I was allowed to do a fictional character - thus why there are no names. :) I wasn't about to risk plagiarism in class. I was actually very pleased with my results, regardless of the anti-dialogue. My goal was to really get into Genesis's character and this is sort of like my prelude to all the plotbunnies for him that I have planned. I implore you all to leave critiques. It'll help to let me know if I'm any good writing for this fandom. Thank you! :)