He wasn't dead, but he was close. He touched the icy blue scar atop his forehead that trickled down his nose and splitting into a river of two running across his cheeks.
'Why did I follow him? Why did I let him do what he did? I vowed to wreak my vengeance against him, but I failed.' He growled and dug his short nails into his skin, letting them sink deeper, creating little pools of blood. 'Why hadn't Hiei killed me when I gave him the chance? I gave him the chance to spill blood, the very blood he wanted to kill, I was practically lying mercilessly at his feet and he turned away!' His nails sank deeper, the blood gushing out and trickling down his wrist. He let go. Burying his face in his hands he wept. Salty tears met the sticky warmth and together they ran freely down his cheeks, cascading into each other. 'Why is my life just a question? Why is everything answered with, countered with, retorted with, and asked with why? Why must everything be full of questions?' Disgusted with himself he stood up placing one hand on the stonewall to support himself. The sickly sweet smell of mildew and rotting stone swallowed his senses. The faint sound of dripping water echoed off the walls. Yet he stood there, the once mighty axe wielder now alone and miserable leaning on an inanimate object for support when before he relied on no one to support him.
Hatred is the monster living in my closet, waiting to consume me. Hatred is the blood that flows through me, the one that pulses throughout my body. It flows like a river through my veins, frosting my heart and chilling my blood. Hatred eats away at my soul, laughing, dancing, grinning. But it is also the one that never lets me forget why I was put on this miserable planet. It fills me with energy when others have long been down. It revives and renews me when others have long been defeated and have given up.
He wasn't dead, but his soul was being eaten up.
He wasn't dead, but all hope that ever lingered there, died.
He wasn't dead, but he was close.
The remains of the stadium were being worn away. Long since being used, it gave up hope of surviving. The walls were pale and trickling tears. It was rotting away, just like his soul. The walls sighed and the doors groaned. Getting old and becoming forgotten was wretched. The seats that once were adorned with life now became decked out in leftover trash, tumbling dust balls and rotting, crumbling metal. Bui took a glance at the arena; the brick was still in pieces, chunks still broken up, still sore from so many years of abuse. He gave a small smile in knowing that he felt the same, that someone or something at least shared his pain. His smile grew as he remembered that it was him who caused this destruction, it was he who marred the arena into something unusable. He smiled in knowing that it was he who caused Hiei to become what he is. He frowned. Hiei hadn't killed him, yet he simply turned his back on him saying that it was his job--- to do so. I gave him a chance to spill blood, the very blood he wanted to kill, I was practically lying mercilessly at his feet and he turned away!
He made his way out of the arena, taking once last glance at it he sighed. He knew he would never come back here again, never see the blood of a fight etched into his hands, and never again experience the rush of a true battle. He sat just outside the worn stadium, digging his nails into his cheeks letting the warmth of the sweet sticky substance wash over him; he began to weep. Salty tears met the sticky warmth and together they ran freely down his cheeks, cascading into each other.
He wasn't dead, but he was close...oh so close.
--- Meaning Hiei told Bui that it was Bui's job to kill himself, and that Hiei wouldn't do it.