Disclaimer: The character isn't mine. I just made up the thoughts that might be running in his head.. whoever he is..

Drained Out.

Tranquil.

Serene.

Haunting.

Never in my life have I thought that those three words will find me, all mixed up. Maybe because it's bound to be. Or this is simply my fate… PARANOISM.

Yeah, no such word.

Because no such thing requires using a dictionary to just understand.

It is simply felt. Mutely screaming at the back of our senses… waiting for acknowledgement.

Now, as I gulp on the half-emptied bottle of branded vodka… as I sit alone in this old, ragged salon… as the night continue to exude its darkness… the sensation of craving for the ghostly past hits me.

Finally…

Finally wanting my fears and trepidations.

Finally longing for the sting that I should have felt since those torturing days.

Finally finding myself no longer a wuss.

Lively music is being played. Boots and hills clicking… Damaged pictures of West Americans on their cowboy outfits displayed around. The ambiance is rough, unmindful of the critics. Very expressive.

People of different moods doing their own way… minding their own business.

The main reason why I chose to be here - you're not all alone, yet you are.

I can still remember that dreadful day… the day my father died. I wasn't able to do anything. I didn't do anything… well, I did… but it's not enough. It was like I'm in Twilight Zone. Like I'm only having an endless nightmare.

I always thought living poorly was okay. I was a kid then. I have learned to accept the fact that people are born differently. If it's all the same, the meaning of living and survival will have no sense, right? And people will be thinking to death why the hell they were ever born.

Dad told me once that we are lucky. That being poor is not a weakness. Instead, it's a sign of having the chance and the strength to face the real meaning of your existence. I never really understood the explanation. But the thought of 'being poor means being lucky' had stuck to my puny head. Besides, "whatever it is, dad will always be right."

But when he said that he will always be with me, was he still right? I don't think so… and I don't have anyone to confirm my thoughts with since mom had already gone to the heavens the day I was born.

That left me the guntai… Youhei, Takamiya, Ookutsu, Noma… they're always been helping. Though sometimes, this wicked façade of mine were only forcing them, scared of my famous butthead… they're still sincere. The street fights, the annoying yells, the trademark glare, the buttheads… I was never serious about any of them. Just pretending, so to atleast have an identity. The Pachinko, the moral support. Those four… my brothers… I can never forget them. Wherever they are now.

Thanks for saving me.

Seems like tragedy is always finding its way towards me. Maybe I'm the unlucky child? A disgrace, maybe?

The reason why I never confessed to Haruko. Not because of the 51st rejection. Not because of her brother's intimidating effect on me. Not because I didn't really love her… I was afraid. Too afraid that I might lose her too. And yep, I still lost her – to Kitsune, that is. Surprising, huh? Guess that's what he meant when he said he couldn't close his eyes and pay heed to sleep when she was tutoring him during the study group.

Well, atleast they're happy now.

Being their son's godfather, how the hell can I forget them?

Hmm…

After 40 years of breathing, I finally heed to reminisce VOLUNTARILY. Total contrast of the day – April Fools… Odd way of celebrating one's day of birth. The same day my mother died.

I wonder what happened to the others? It's been a decade since I haven't heard from any of them. Well, except for Rukawa. And those last ten years were the independent stage of my life. Literally speaking… no close friends, no fun. Maybe there was, but my loneliness got the better of them. Last time I've been giddily happy was this same day, celebrating it with them. After that, all I did was pure work.

Running the Sakuragi Foundation, I have found my way to the top. To be rich, at last! I got out my reverie that being poor is being lucky. Truth is, it's the other way around. Talking about reality and survival… I finally raised my once low-leveled pedestal.

Or so I thought.

Unmindful of the discreet stares the bartender is giving me; gulping the last few drops of the alcohol, my head went blank.  

Till I'm down to the question that's been bugging me since I entered that brown, creaky door…

Am I still me?

The answer is easy… I don't know.

Maybe yes. Maybe no. Maybe I've become a product of my own.

All I know is…

I now feel nothing.

Surprisingly, I don't feel anything. I thought there's gonna be the sting.

Have I become numb?

. . .

Yeah.

And that's the result when everything goes opposite your way. When you faithfully believe in hope yet it fails you repeatedly. When the pedestal your stepping on suddenly collapses, all the while thinking it's elevated.

When tears won't find their way out.

You've become numb.

All because… you're now drained out.