Ah well, I hope
this is alright? ^^
Lucid Insanity
Part 1
~*~*~* "You have been tried on
the judgement stand and was found wanting." *~*~*~
In the silent shadows of darkness,
beyond the reach of the harsh sunlight, everything…everyone is the same.
There is no holy man or whore, no saint or sinner. Everyone is drenched
in the indistinct greyness of anonymity that defines the night.
In this greyness, we all have a choice.
Be the predators who stalk the streets and make them our own or be the
victims who cower in fear in the corner, praying to a God to save them.
I chose the former, as did he. If you
could call it a choice. Assassins, they call us. Those who roam the streets
at night intent on our own business, killing without compunction and guilt.
He protests.
I am not surprised.
He *would* protest. In his mind's eye
he sees what he does as protecting the innocent. A necessary evil to pave
the way for a brighter future.
Each kill is a blight on his soul,
a heavy guilt-laden burden that threatens to drag him down into the depths
of whatever godforsaken hellhole his mind is conjuring up.
So certain is he that he has damned
himself in front of God's eyes.
How it festers in his soul, this guilt,
confusing him, hurting the sensitive core that makes him human. Until it
drives him to this.
Poor Weiß.
He is surprised. Actually surprised
that I am sane enough to perceive his thoughts and come up with an answer
that is so close to the truth that he flinches from it.
I do not need Schuldich to tell me.
I know what is running inside his head. He is thinking how can a madman
like me glean so much in a space of a heartbeat.
Ah, Weiß. You underestimate me,
like all the others before you, even as Bradley has, and Schuldich. Or
even Nagi. All you ever see is the ravaged face and eerie deranged eyes.
The constant stream of thought that comes out as a single-minded determination
to "hurt God".
I am more than that.
Do not cower. I will not hurt you.
At least, not yet…I did not save you to kill you just yet.
Why did you save him?>>
Why indeed. I should have let him die,
I suppose.
I should have just watched as he climbed
to the roof of the towering skyscraper, the dangerous intent in his eyes.
I should have silently stood by while
he stood on the precipice of death like a fledgling bird out to try out
his wings for the first time, viewed the acceptance in his eyes as gravity
embraced his body and he starts to freefall. Hear the sickening crunch
as his body kisses the pavement with resounding force.
And, finally, see the light fade from
his vibrant eyes as his body lies in an impossible angle, body and mind
broken from the burden that life has placed on him.
It would have made my life simpler.
One less Weiß to worry about should Schwartz ever encounter them
again.
Then why did you save him?>>
I was at the right place at the right
time.
Why?>>
Because.
That is not a reason.>>
You forget, I am referred to as a madman,
a certified basketcase. I do not need logical reasons to do what I want.
Your crutch again. Why must
you always use it as a shield.>>
It is not a shield nor a crutch. It
is reality. I *am* insane.
Only because you choose to
be.>>
Just as you choose to be meddlesome?
Others call it deep love.>>
I call it meddling.
But before the voice in my head can
respond, he stirs on the floor.
"What are you thinking?"
He is curious. This Weiß. That
is a good sign. It means he is still sane enough to live.
"I am not thinking so much as talking."
"Talking to yourself?" He lifts an
eyebrow in mild skepticism. Not surprise, after all it is expected of me.
Mad Farfarello. I can almost see that phrase running in his head.
I shrug. Yes, I am mad. But not mad
enough not to notice that he is clutching at this conversation in desperation.
"To God."
"God? You talk to God?" The disbelief
on his face is almost comical in its intensity, as is the sputtering sound
that gargles up from his throat.
I could have told you he would
not believe you.>>
Feh. I know that but I tell the truth.
Always.
"How can you talk to God? How can He
want to talk to you when you always spout off about hurting Him?
A good question. Why *do* you talk
to me?
It beats talking to fawning
people who do not have anything else to say but insincere flattery. Call
it a quirk.>>
I tell the brown-eyed assassin that.
And he laughs.
"God with a quirk. Interesting."
I am surprised by his reaction. I would
have thought that he above all the others would be one of those straight
Christians, the ones who would rant at my so-called sacrilege and blasphemy
against their Saviour.
He is refreshing to say the
least. And pure. One of the rare few. If only he would learn to let go.>>
You don't plan to make me your angel
of mercy are you? Because I am not nor will I ever be. Your presence in
my mind is only tolerated as it is.
Perish the thought.>>
Good.
"Why do you always want to hurt God?"
He is meddlesome, this naïve looking
lad who can almost pass off as boy-next-door, until one meets him in the
dark and gets acquainted with his dangerous bugnuks.
Just like you.
I will take that as a compliment.>>
But no, he is no naïve boy. He
is an assassin, proven by the blood of his countless victims in battle.
Hurt God. Yes, I suppose everyone wants
to know. But no one understands.
Schuldich once tried to pry the answer
from my mind but all he saw was the scarlet and black waves that lashed
about day and night inside my head, buffeting sanity into an indistinguishable
pulp.
He knew that my mother had been a nun.
How she palmed me off to another and tried to keep it secret. When I found
out, I killed my mother. And thereafter started on this path to hurt God.
Schuldich reckoned that drove me over
the edge. He deemed me just a touch insane and left it at that.
He did not understand.
If Schuldich, who had been in a situation
akin to mine, who had experienced the same atrocities, could not understand,
then how could this boy?
He would not understand.
Give him a chance.>>
"Give me a chance."
Chance? What is chance to me save a
crutch the weak use when they cannot do it right the first time. If I give
this one a chance, will he be able to unravel what it is I hunger for?
Why I do what I do?
Why not? He has the capacity
for understanding.>>
You are supposed to be omniscient.
Do you not know?
Omniscient does not mean blabbing
the secrets of the Universe to everyone, even to Irish madmen.>>