Death doesn't discriminate, between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and takes and it takes.
Sometimes, Ruby likes to think about the life everyone could have had.
Team RWBY beating Grimm into submission alongside team JNPR. They would spend the rest of their days together in that fun, dysfunctional friendship. Maybe some of them would get together. Maybe not. (It's not like it makes a difference now, does it?)
On missions, Yang would make a pun and Blake and Weiss would groan. Pyrrha would chuckle politely, Jaune would snort, and Nora would have to be reined in by Ren since she'd want to one up to blonde boxer.
Saving the world should have been easy. Hunters and huntresses were supposed to get their happy endings, right?
(Wrong.)
Holed up in a bunker, her shoulders tense, wounds throbbing, fingers aching – Ruby hates herself for dreaming about the past. Though she likes to think about what their lives could have been, should have been, the bitterness and anger that chases after those thoughts like bloodhounds destroys any inkling of longing.
Hope was no longer a good thing for Ruby rose.
Maybe it had been, once. But with every death – every flame flickering out as the sea of darkness surged forward – it'd only became a horrible illusion, an invisible torture device that could break even the hardiest of soldiers. It was a way to prolong death, and in doing so, prolong your suffering.
How many times had she seen a comrade die before her very eyes?
How many nights had she spent stalking the woods, desperate for a drink, some food, or a home?
How many days could she go on for without the help of sleep inducing drugs?
How many bullets would she have to use before this nightmare came to an end?
How many bodies did she have to step on towards the goal of peace?
How many people had she left to lose?
How many?
How many?
How many?
(Perhaps it will only end when she lies unmoving on the ground, with an arrow through her heart)
"Ruby? It's time to get up."
"Yeah, I'm up, I'm up."
"Cinder is on the move again. We're down to half a day's supply of food and water."
"We'll make it work somehow. We always have."
(But for now, she continues through the motions, until the time comes for her to shuffle off this mortal coil. And maybe then, she can finally have a good night's sleep.)
