Being alive isn't as cut and dry as we like to think it is. We share the same primal motivation that all animals have for life, I guess. We need to hunt to survive (even if that means going to your local grocery store), require shelter from the elements so we don't get sick, and most of all we need to keep our heads in times of crisis if we want to see the sun rise the next day. That's the basic explanation of our existence on earth, as far as I understand it anyway. Orga told me the Oxford dictionary definition of the word before in one of our god-awful past conversations. I won't ever remember it but he could probably spout it off if you asked him to, if you really cared to hear what that thick little book says about life. He probably wouldn't even need to look in the damn thing! God knows how many encyclopedias and dictionaries that guy has absorbed into his brain over the years...
Anyway, my point is living your life sounds simple, but it's not. General survival is a big factor, sure, but that's just scratching the surface of what it really means to live. Because we all have souls, emotions, intricate thoughts and varying intellects, it becomes an added aspect that both enriches our lives and complicates them at the same time. Communication, relationships, a sense of community and connection; those things are just as vital to us as breathing, or eating food. Take any one of those aforementioned things away and we become nothing more than husks searching for our next meal. We go back to being what we once were – mere animals. I should know. I've lived like that my entire life.
I come, I go, and those who are left in my wake are either suffering or dead. I show no pity, feel no remorse, and I dole out no forgiveness to the foes that pile up against me. I am a brutal monster, a scientific creation bred to do nothing but destroy life and crush souls. I can't even begin to count how many people I've killed, good people, simply because a man in a baby blue suit told me to. I probably would have done it anyway, even if that asshole hadn't made it an order. That was a fact that never bothered me before. I could kill indiscriminately – it didn't matter if you were old or young, female, married... You didn't have to tell me who I'd be killing, or why I was required to kill them. Explanations never did modify the outcome, whether I was inclined to listen or not.
My hand was steady; it never trembled. Not even when faced with pleading, childlike eyes.
So, if you asked me right now what the names were of all those people I splattered on the walls of earth and space, I couldn't tell you. I was never interested in the creature behind the name. All that mattered was watching their final moments, their last gasps of breath, seeing for myself what it was like to be released from a hell that you consciously put yourself in. Yeah, I'm the prime example of how a human can be morphed into a thoughtless, life-extinguishing beast.
Now that I think about it, I've been a pretty morbid fucker so far. Maybe that isn't too surprising to those who know me well. Orga has often told me that I'm an easy bastard to please – just point me in the right direction, put a gun in my hands and off I go with a smile on my face. I have no idea if he was just fucking with me or if he was actually serious, but I get the feeling it was a little of both. I can't blame him for saying that. I won't ever tell him this to his face, but he's always been right about me. From the moment all three of us were first introduced to each other, Orga took one look at me and knew completely what I was about. He's a lot smarter than Crot and I give him credit for. But, then again, maybe I'm just too easy to read. I mean, what's to know other than I lived to kill and killed to live? When I wasn't busy annihilating all of the people who were lining up to get a good shot at me, I listened to my walkman so that I wouldn't have to listen to the idle chatter of a civilization that I never belonged to in the first place. That was the extent of my reality for a long time – kill, music, eat, shit and sleep. I have to say, I'm not an extremely complex guy.
But then something happened to me that greatly influenced the way I thought about my tiny little world. In fact, this seemingly insignificant random circumstance forced me to take a damn good look at myself and wonder if I still really wanted to be this way. I can see it in my mind's eye, almost like it happened yesterday. Two years ago, on this very day...
I stood there in the doorway with my shoulder leaning against the wooden frame, disinterestedly watching individual droplets of rain hit the sidewalk. My headphones were on, as they always are whenever I'm required to go into town for anything, and my brain was preoccupied with the same thought that always seemed to hit me as Orga, Crot and I waited for our taxi to pick us up: what the fuck am I doing here? Not here as in this particular area in the darker part of town, or here as in the Safeway building I was standing in, where I had ended up paying for all of the groceries that Orga was forever placing in my capable arms (Crot could never be bothered to lift a finger for anything useful, that lazy fuck), but... what the hell am I doing here, living this abused life in this very universe? Every moment that I had to myself, when I wasn't busy ignoring all life in general or killing mass waves of Gundam pilots, I had to wonder what my existence truly meant. I could see millions of civilians going on with their lives - buying their groceries like me, or chatting it up with someone - and for some reason it seemed like their mundane lives actually held more purpose than my own.
At least they know what they're living for, I would think seethingly to myself. At least they know what it is to feel.
When I bled from serious wounds, or when I screamed for hours during my withdrawals, I couldn't even acknowledge that I was feeling it anymore. Numbness accompanied everything I experienced no matter whether it was physical or emotional, pleasure or pain. As a result of that, the definitive line that separated the principles of good and evil for every other sane person was so blurred in my case that, even if I wanted to look for it, I'd have had less success finding it than a drunk driver trying to remember his last act after a complete blackout. If anything I could stagger upon a good deed by accident and possibly make one stranger's life a little bit brighter; but even so, I still wouldn't have been able to understand that it was a wholly good thing I had just done. I was too far gone to be fixed; destined to become nothing greater than a dim-witted, bloodthirsty zombie that neither felt anything, nor cared about the moral scruples of humanity.
Zombie. A creature that is human in form, but beastly in nature. Sounded fitting, at least. Especially since I had no clue what I even was anymore. Could I be counted as under the classification of human at this point?
Meh, it didn't really matter if I was or wasn't. All anyone would ever see when they looked into my eyes was a murderous monstrosity in a human body; that was all I'd ever be, all that society would allow me to be. I had long since come to terms with that demon, and embraced it with resignation. But the one thing that continued to eat away at my mind with all the inevitability of a potent cancer, the solitary concern that I couldn't seem to ignore, was the evasive answer to that one question.
What is my purpose, then? Why am I here? What could a fucked up asshole like me offer the world?
Maybe I was put here to kill people. It seemed to be the one thing that I was truly good at. Orga, and Crot too for that matter, had repeatedly told me over the course of my service that I brought an entirely fresh, new aspect to the art of Gundam-slaughter and were always urging me to keep at it. Of course, it was possible that they were only spouting that bullshit to keep me from losing my touch out there and consequently putting us all in the path of Azrael's rage; but then again, maybe this really was my calling. I killed more enemies during the course of five battles than most soldiers did in an entire tour of duty - not to mention I pulled through with minimal damage to my Gundam and myself.
Hm. I guess I should give credit where it's due, though. My badass performance out in the field was all thanks to the incredibly dangerous and agonizing lab work that led to me becoming a Biological CPU. I would never have acquired those mad skills if they hadn't of... Heh, done extremely confidential shit that I'll be gutted for if I even hint at it to anybody else. Oh, and they trained me to fight since I was a kid. That probably helped my victories in battle along a great deal, too. I learned how to kill with all kinds of weapons - fists, Gundams, inanimate objects... Yep, baby me was fine tuned into a flawless instrument of death, even way back when my bones were as brittle as cardboard. Which is part of the reason why I assumed that this was my mission in life. Just a little nugget of info for you people out there who actually give a fuck.
But I digress. Let's just sum it up by saying I handled myself exceedingly well. None of my opponents could hold a candle to me out there.
It was a cold, hard fact that no other soldier on our team could do what I did – other than Orga and Crot. Not to blow my own ego out of proportion or anything, but even though all three of us had been brought on board the Archangel with the same intention in mind – to become Azrael's living weapons – those two jokers paled in comparison to me with regard to proficiency in a mobile suit... in my opinion anyway. We all went through the same torture, but I blossomed more than they did. Maybe my unstable personality made me a better contender, who knows. Eventually we had the very first rocky conversation about how they kind of sucked at everything; which, every time I brought it up from then on, pissed them off beyond the normal levels. Not to say that they didn't do their part – once in a while the odd Gundam went down due to Orga or Crot's efforts; but, needless to say, mostly it was me doing all the work. I guess it would have made sense if someone put a bumper sticker on my car that said, "Doesn't play well with others."
Still, that answer didn't quite feel right either. There existed reasons why people killed other people, as poorly justifiable as some of them were, and those reasons gave them purpose. What was my reason? Because killing is all I've ever known? Because pain and violence are the only things I understand, the two single things I can honestly relate to?
Fuck that. Those reasons are simply my reality. They aren't reasons at all.
Most of the time I never had a fucking reason. I was told to go out there with guns blazing, otherwise I'd be facing a world of hurt (as if I wasn't already living in my own special hellhole). And so I did. I followed orders, like a good soldier does. There was nothing else for it. I needed to do what my superiors said in order to live. Survival, that's all it was. I'd never thought about it like that before. For so long I'd figured that bloodshed was all I'd ever needed to be happy. It made me happy... didn't it?
At least they know what they're living for. At least they know what it is to feel.
Then something occurred to me. It hit me with a brilliant flash that was so intense that I had to suck in a sharp breath. I was looking for more than just a reason to live, wasn't I? I was trying to reconnect with whatever humanness still resided within me and if none could be found, I was eager to try to recreate it somehow. That's why I tolerated those two annoying comrades of mine, and tried to have shitty conversations with them when it was convenient. That was why I dragged myself into town every so often and observed people around me with such vigor. I wanted to see and breathe and feel everything that everyone else felt. I needed to live my own life on my own terms, needed to be in control of my destiny. Basically I wanted to be human again; and once that happened, the rest would naturally just fall into place, right?
The only problem was that I had no fucking idea where to start. Orga and Crot, peculiar idiots though they were, showed more emotion and principle than I did. Those two were more complete, more human, than I had ever been. Why should they have what I lacked and so desperately wanted? Why were they allowed the vaguest glimpse of a shadow while I was left bereft without a clue to lead the way? Why them... and why not me? I considered asking Orga for advice briefly, and then decided against it. He had no motivation to want to help me, and I wasn't fond of talking to him anyway. But, really...
Who else could I turn to?
Using my peripherals, I saw both Orga and Crot turn their heads to look behind us, but I kept my gaze pointed ahead. The rain continued to fall heavily onto the roof, dribbling in constant streams over the edge and onto the cement, yet I heard none of it. My brain was still figuring out what to do about my predicament as heavy drumbeats slammed against my ears. What did it mean to be human? Could something so valuable be reclaimed after being absent from my notice for so long? Was it even worth a try if I had no help, no guidance whatsoever, from anyone?
Again I noticed out of the corner of my eye Orga and Crot, and they were talking and waving their arms at me, vying for my attention. I proceeded to ignore their protests, wanting them to think that they were rendered mute by my loud music. It wasn't so much of a lie; I honestly couldn't hear a word they were yelling. But then I felt a hand lightly tap my shoulder and I stiffened. Orga and Crot weren't behind me right now, but obviously someone else was. I had never liked being in close proximity with people, especially strangers; so I whipped around, totally prepared to rip a strip off of whoever had dared to come within one foot of me, and stared straight into deep blue eyes that silenced me instantly.
There was a woman standing there, her one hand clutching the handles of at least five grocery bags as her free hand recoiled from the abruptness of my movement, and her expression was so serenely apologetic that I couldn't bring myself to rail at her. She had long, wavy brown hair that swirled over her shoulders like liquid chocolate and hung in perfect curls just above her breasts, and a slightly rounded, slender face that only looked lovelier with every smile she tossed my way. Her lips were moving but I couldn't hear any of what she said until she carefully reached up, standing on her tippy toes, and slid my headphones off of my head, letting them hang loosely around my neck. Her fingers had barely touched my skin, yet the sensations that followed in the wake of such slight contact confused me. My heart started to race, my throat dried up, and every single thought that I had suddenly centered on her. Who was she, where was she from, where was she going to now...? I found myself wanting to know everything about her based on just one look at her. I couldn't possibly begin to understand what was happening to me, and for the first time in my entire life I was terrified.
"Sorry to bother you sir, but I need to slip past you. My cab's waiting for me," she said with another friendly smile, pointing in the direction of a yellow taxi that was parked a few feet away. Hurriedly I stepped aside, frantically fighting in my head for the right words to keep the conversation flowing.
"Right, no problem," I replied awkwardly, holding my own paper bags close against my chest as she strode through the doorway. An uncomfortable silence followed those three words, and I began to wish that I had just kept my damn mouth shut. No doubt she probably thought I was some shy, timid fool. How badly I wanted to prove myself otherwise to her...
Since when did I give a shit about what others thought of me anyway?
Our eyes met again as she passed, and she smiled. I wanted to smile back, but wasn't quite sure how. After thanking me for letting her by, she turned and began to walk over to the cab. I wanted to say something, anything, to keep her here a bit longer, but nothing came to mind as her hair swayed casually back and forth along her back. I could hear Orga and Crot snickering quietly behind me, but I was beyond caring what they were doing. All that mattered in that moment was getting her to stay with me, even if just for an instant. Later I would berate myself for not being more gentlemanly and offering to help carry her bags, especially since there were many and she seemed to be having trouble carrying them. And I would be even more pissed after I came to realize that doing that could have opened the door for conversation wider; but of course at that time I had no clue how to be either chivalrous or talkative, and my mind was drawing a complete blank every time I tried to think of anything logical.
Whenever I opened my mouth in an attempt to draw her attention back to me, I forcefully snapped it shut again with a frown. What made me think that she would ever want to spend time with such an undesirable freak like me? I butchered thousands of people daily and didn't give any consideration to it afterwards... what kind of respectable person would want to be with someone like that?
She started to run towards the car as she left the protection of the canopy, exposing herself to the pelting rain, and I miserably watched her sprint out of my life. Oddly enough, my heart felt like it was being stomped on, broken and coughing up blood. She had destroyed me without even knowing me. But what really hurt the most was the torturous truth that I had just unveiled, the damning consequence of lifting the lid off of Pandora's Box. I had never been remorseful about my actions previously until I saw those eyes, and this sudden dejection had formed because I realized in that frozen moment that murderers weren't entitled to any kind of happiness whatsoever.
In no movie did any cold-blooded killer ride off into the sunset with the girl of his dreams.
As I was standing there in the doorway, before I'd known of her existence, I had unrealistically thought that I deserved to be human again, and to know my purpose in life; but who's to say that I deserved anything at all? All of those people that had lost their lives so that I could further mine... they weren't like me, I knew they weren't. Listening to them talk on the communicator on our open channel during battle, I remembered thinking, What a bunch of overemotional hussies. But now I saw that they should have gotten more than what I gave them. They, at least, had conflictions about killing others and were only doing it to protect the things they loved, be it their country or their families, or even their freedom. They had a reason to fight; they had a purpose and they were struggling to defend it. And even though nothing in the world should justify the act of killing another human being... if there were any kind of excuse out there that could come close to representing a valid cause for performing that act, theirs was easily of more merit than mine. I took lives because they could be taken, and that was all. I had stolen life from people who had feelings and ideals that far outmatched any that I could have imagined for myself. What fucking right did I have to play the harbinger of death to them? Yes, we were at war, but that didn't mean that I had to show such a pitiful lack of respect to all of the soldiers who had pried themselves away from the arms of loved ones, who had left the safety and peace of their homes behind, in order to fight on their behalf. Even if I was doing it out of my desire to survive, there really was no excuse for my cold-bloodedness.
No... I had no right to anything of that nature, and I had even less of a right to be considered human after all that I'd done. The only thing that I could think of to do to even slightly atone for all of the sins I had committed was to try to change myself so that I could prevent more avoidable tragedies. I wanted to meet these warriors with honor on the fields of battle and recognize the sacrifices that they had made to be there. If at all possible, I wanted to learn what the hell I was fighting for as well. Maybe, if luck allowed me to live through the war, enough time will have passed that I'd be able to earn back my humanity and try to find that blue-eyed beauty again.
I scoffed, turning my lips up in a wry smile despite having to endure the sting of watching the brunette's taxi door slam shut after her. Turns out I was still somewhat human after all, deserving of it or not; but did I really have to learn that in such an agonizingly wretched way?
The taxi rolled out of the parking lot under a curtain of rain and turned onto the street, picking up speed until it carried her out of my sight. Thunder rumbled a short distance away in blackened rain-soaked clouds, heralding the arrival of yet more stormy weather. I hardly even heard it, nor did I jump when a streak of lightning struck one of the nearby trees that had been planted for decoration in the sidewalk. Orga and Crot swore loudly and acted like it hadn't affected them either, but my focus was aimed solely inwards. Believe it or not, I had to fight back an onslaught of tears as this one thought popped into my tormented mind...
She wouldn't remember me, but I would never be able to forget her.
It was so fucking cruel.
That woman, though I didn't get her name, ended up being the most important thing to me and she made me see the flaws not only in my thinking, but in my personality itself. Because of her, I was able to address all of my inadequacies and work towards changing them into something more appealing and meaningful. I soon began to realize that these types of events happen during the course of our lives, whether we want them to or not, and they could alter our perception of who we are, who we can be and who we want to be. If I hadn't run into her at Safeway that day, I would still be the same old asshole that everyone's come to know and hate. My thoughts would never have varied like they did, and I would have simply continued on as a puppet without knowing that I had the ability to modify my own idea of myself. She helped me to discover that I don't want to be the way I am, and that I alone have the power to change it. I'm proud to say that I've progressed far enough in my soul-searching to be able to recognize and accept the regret stemming from what I've been in my past. I still have a long way to go before I'll feel able to reclaim my humanness without thinking that I forsook it and can never pick it back up again, but at least now I know I still have a soul; and this soul of mine yearns for her...
Now only time will tell if we were ever meant to be together...
"Hey Shani, what's that you're writing?"
"Go away, nerdboy."
"I never took you for the type to actually write shit down. You're starting to impress me."
"Fuck off."
"Wow, this actually has some depth to it. Heh, you actually thought about being with that chick you ran into in Safeway? Pfft... You do realize she barely paid you any heed, right? Even if you did manage to bump into her somewhere, she probably wouldn't even recognize your face."
"Do you want me to kill you?"
"How long is this 'diary' entry you're writing, anyway?"
"It's not a diary, it's a journal."
"Sure, whatever you want to call it. Diary, journal... names aren't important."
"Quit your fucking grinning."
"Who's grinning? Not me."
"Yes, you fucking are."
"You know Shani, not every sentence needs to have the word 'fuck' in it."
"It does whenever you're fucking talking to me."
"Oh, what's this...? 'I won't ever tell him this to his face, but he's always been right about me – "
"Fuck no, stop reading! Orga, give that back and get the hell out of here!"
"From the moment all three of us were first introduced to each other, Orga took one look at me and knew completely what I was about. He's a lot smarter than Crot and I give him credit for.' Oh, that is extremely satisfying to hear. It's gratifying to know that you're actually beginning to comprehend the echelon of my intelligence."
"... I hate you so much right now."
"Hate who? What's going on guys?"
"Ah Crot, perfect timing! Come and look at what Shani wrote!"
"... Fuck my life..."