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their use.
Note: This is something horrible I came up with when I was
bored. Please don't mind me.
Born Of Pain
By Casey Toh
Y'know?
Sometimes, when I look at him, I wonder why he did it. I wonder why *I* did it.
For the fun? The thrill? Or was it something else?
I don't know.
I've asked him about it a few times, but all I got from him were cold stares
and crisp orders to go away.
I saw one of the
footages of when he was hurt, almost lost his life. It scared me like hell.
Mom asked where
the bruises on my face came from. I had to say it was from boxing practices.
What else could I tell her? That I was out and about every night, almost
getting myself killed by psychopaths every time?
Dana called me a
cold, unfeeling jerk. She's right, y'know? How could I still have feelings when
I have been robbed of them? Leaving me just a shell.
It makes me
wonder why I still stay on. It's been almost two years now. Two years since Dad
died. The pain should've been gone by now. Right?
No. It's still
there—a dull ache that remains in my soul, pulsing as my heart did, reminding
me of who I had lost.
I'm watching
another footage. Bright lights. Shadowy figures. Two bodies. Blood. A small boy
kneeling down, head hung. A woman comforting him. I couldn't see him, couldn't
see his face.
I saw my own in
his; saw the two bodies merge into one of a man's.
In an instant, I
saw the boy's face as he looked up. It was my own, made years younger with a
few features changed.
I saw his pain,
felt it, acknowledged it, accepted it…wielded it.
Now I know why I
remained. Just as the phoenix arose from the ashes and from the dead, he had
arisen from his pain to take on the night that was both a friend and an enemy.
Dad was gone,
but in him, I had found more of a father than I ever had. I had found myself.
"I understand
now, Bruce," I said.
He smiled
knowingly, and nodded.
And I really
understood. For he was my father, myself, both of the same soul, both born…of
pain.
Born Of Pain
By: Casey Toh