Reigning of Blood
Rain—it's such a simple concept, and yet such a complex subject. The cycle is easy enough to understand, but the message and soul of it is equally as difficult to match. Is it that God is crying? Are his tears pouring down upon us, enveloping humanity in a shower of sweet blessing? Or is it just unguarded truth? We are alone. We are but single droplets, falling to the ground and eventually crashing, staining, and then disappearing. Humans are expendable; soldiers even more so.
Rain is clear, empty—useless. Just like me. There's nothing inside. It's there and then it's gone. No emotion, no ties to anyone—merely a second of reassurance, realization, and then oblivion. That's the way I live my life: like rain.
The others don't understand. How could they? They all have emotions, have dreams and purpose and passion in their goddamned lives. What do I have? I've nothing but blood, rain, and simple musings to comfort me, to keep me company throughout the silence.
Perhaps I am just mad, insane with the knowledge that I indeed killed. That I took lives, slit throats, and then turned around and walked away as if nothing had happened. I walk across the pools of the shed blood, as it slowly turns to water, filters through and burns my feet. I swim in a sea of their screams, caught between betrayal and loyalty. The war ended, and so did I. Peace was declared and my inner sanctum—the one found on the raging battlefield—was destroyed, lost forever in the depths of forgotten time.
And I miss it. God, do I miss it. I miss the constant hatred flowing through my veins, the indifference; hell, even the ripped skin and jagged rivers of streaming tears. How could I not? It was a constant. The security of death and pain was always there, reminding me that I am indeed a killer and am indeed nothing more than a speck; a droplet of rain; a bead of blood. Nothing more, never any less.
The silence is golden, as well. The less humans, the less noise—it's uncomplicated enough to comprehend. And I am perceptive. In the end, all I'm striving for is respect, friendship, maybe even love. I found it in rain and blood, but the feeling is not reciprocated. I am a tragic victim of unrequited love. That earns a laugh. Loving the weather isn't exactly…right and respected in society. But, then again, neither is apathy.
Maybe one day I'll get it. I'll leave my troubled path behind and join the other four, finally understand what the hell is so attractive about humanity. Or maybe I'll just sit here forever, watching the rain pour down upon the earth, destroying lives as it does. It's a mirror reflection, really. Rain is clear, golden, empty. And, I realize, so am I.
