Saints
First the colors.
Then the humans.
Then the leftover humans.
Prologue
Here is an absolute fact:
You are going to die. The question is when, and how. What not to question, is my presence at the time.
In all truthfulness, I will attempt to be cheerful about this topic, but people have developed a hindrance to me. I could say that I'm offended, but I would be lying. They will know me soon enough. After all, I can be patient. I can be agreeable. Just don't expect me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.
Normally, my schedule doesn't allow vacations, yet here I will explain my loophole. Colors. Yes, colors. Simple, don't you think? Well, you're wrong. Colors are not simple.
On my routes, carrying a soul in each arm, there's always a color to be found. I like the royal blue, personally. Deep, deep blue. Rarely have I spotted a human observing color as in-depth as I have. I suppose, when you have all of the vacation time in the world, you never even notice. Well, I have no official vacation time. My saving grace so to speak is the colors I see at the moment. For that moment, I study them, finding peace. Then back to work.
What I don't like to look at, are the humans. Rather, the ''leftover'' ones. As I work and take care of each, delicate wisp of former life, I cannot look at them. The survivors. In all of my stubbornness, I sometimes fail. It makes sense, though. I mean, in a serious situation like this, it is hard to ignore the sorrow that bleeds through each poor of the leftovers. It surrounds you, crawling towards you when you back away. Heartbreaking. Strangling.
I try to make the best of it when I do fail. I look for the special ones. The ones who interest me. The ones I follow.
Overall, this is really a small story. A pick from a handful. That, and among other things:
-A brother and sister
-Smoke
-A crumbling earth
-Some fanatical gangsters
-And quite a lot of guns