We were enemies. To the black and white of the known world and her mortalities we hated each other. And so we did. Yet it was deeper than that. Between those lines of black there were shades of grey, as there always is, and deep in the grey an array of hidden colors. No one bothered to acknowledge them, to really truly look.

So in this little time I have left, I reflect on those hidden rainbows, like shards of broken crystal, something that could have been beautiful but was broken beyond repair. We hated each other. Yet, again, there was always much more. It is not so much like being dropped, after spinning and twisting, confused, but instead like having watched, for years upon years, through a frosted pane of glass, hindered in sight but still able to see, on some level. After all that has happened, all we have endured, and failed to endure, I'm left here alone, finally. And the only thing I can consider in the end…..

So, what was the point?

He was a challenge. Always defiant, always confident. He would laugh at me, no matter the tactic I tried. He promised me I wouldn't win. He promised me he would take me down. I looked forward to the day that these promises would be fulfilled. But somewhere down this long path he lost his ambition. I don't know how I finally broke him. I'm not quite sure which cruel whispered words, or small act of torture shattered the fierce resistance in those brilliant eyes.

I watched his friends worry over him. The way they wrung their hands, whispered behind him, in places they thought he couldn't hear. To them he was already lifeless, lost was what they had come to expect from him. The mask he wore so well, a second identity at times, was slipping, piece by piece. Perhaps, if they could have looked close enough, they would have seen the pain, anguish, the horror, buried deep in his soul. Somehow I broke the seal around his soul, and inside I beheld his true fear.

I know the others suspected me, the further he retreated into himself, but they were not sure. The cowards. They lied to themselves, saw the truth as they wished it to be. They never acted against me. Maybe if they had…well then maybe things would have been different. But they did not, and the outcome was unchanged. They stood on the sidelines. They observed. In much the same way as I acted they watched. They are just as guilty as I.

He broke his promises. He let me win. I expected more from him. He was such a challenge, to begin with.

So what was the point?

I sit here alone, finally, the weight of the gun passing from palm to palm. My life was working for so hard, for so long, to win. But I didn't win…did I? He forfeited.

Oh, how surprised they all acted. The way they cried sickened me. As if they had any right. As if they had been there for him. They were even more at fault then me, his friends. At least I, I in the end of it all, I did not pretend to be anything to him other than what I was. Their existence was only a trick, an illusion of care, as they all seem to be. I did not fool him into seeing something in me. They were no more towards him than I, if not less, my emotion more passionate, more real.

The barrel is as cold as death itself, though that comes as no surprise. If they will still suspect me after this, I can't say. But he cheated, and so should I. Perhaps in death we'll meet, perhaps in death I can ask him if he ever saw those broken shards, ever realized how beautiful something so broken could be… Perhaps…But perhaps not. Even in our own ways we had so much to offer, but could not share. Only the strong survive , so I suppose in this way we are both weak. My hand doesn't shake once. There was no point.

So what was the point?