Grudges make wounds that never heal.
The power to hate and leave a mark that won't ever leave. Just a superstition, right? And yet, nothing else seems more real as I finger the blood leaking from the burning slash on my cheek. The blood drips quietly into the trough of water, exploding and leaving crimson flowers that fade and settle, but never really leave. Like this wound.
I wonder. Why did I even let that man hit me? What was that burning will that was able to make this mark? It's so shallow and yet the meaning behind it... deeper than I can fathom. The blood is somewhat beautiful, a pearl of red dotting my finger, resting there. But it hurts. The sting drives into my skin, burning with the intense hate and grief and resentment lingering even after leaving this world. It's turned my own body against me.
And I keep wondering, even as I thoughtlessly kill more and more people. But these people... they have lives. Friends. Family. And with one strike, I take it all away. Such a terrible power. But that one man, what did he want to live for? What could possibly be so strong that it could transcend the very fibre of living? Such a puzzling thing.
And everyday, the blood of others sets in deeper, and my own blood drips out at a terrifyingly steady rate. Kill and kill and kill. I'm doing it for righteousness, right? But it hurts. It hurts because I'm taking away. It hurts because I'm painting the world red. But most of all it hurts because... of the doubt. Is my ideal correct? Am I losing my way? Am I becoming just another killer? And that's what hurts the most. That everyday, I look into the water, and I see my face... and my eyes are dying.
The fire in my eyes has drained into my cheek, the one slash that drips. And drips.
The blood won't ever come out. It won't ever leave, won't ever dissolve. I'll never forget. Never move on. I'll just be drenched in a sea of blood. Red rain.
The confusion setting in hurts even more than the wound. The dull pain, the unfeeling. It's sharper than my sword. How is that possible? How is it possible that I can wonder all this, and that it can be solved so easily? By a sole person, and five simple words?
"You made it rain blood."
She uttered those words, and then fell. And when I caught her, the blood in my wound, the blood in my veins roared. Roared. And the blood was pouring down. The rain... It was raining blood. What? Why? No.
My body is turning against me.
I'm not my own.
My blood, my wound. They know this woman. My brain is puzzled, but my blood screams and shouts and pulls out. The blood drips and falls, and one lands on her cheek. It quickly slides off her cheek, but it looks like it's being absorbed into an embrace. An eternal embrace. My blood knows this woman. But it's not my blood...
Grudges make wounds that never forget.
Grudges make blood that never forgets.
Such a terrifying thing, even more terrifying than the ability to kill. And yet, this woman... I can't let her go. Is it recompense? Fate? I don't know, but somehow I end up taking her out of the rain, asking somebody to take care of her, and I leave.
I can remember her face. Blurred by rain, blurred by the blood that I made fall from the sky. Her wispy breath that reeked seductively of alcohol. And... she had been crying. Weeping. I made it rain tears. Red tears. Blood tears. Terrifying.
I finger my wound, and it's still burning. It's still raining blood.
Grudges make wounds that never heal.
Grudges make wounds that never forget.
And I'll never heal. I'll never forget. The day, no, the age that I made it rain blood. The horrifying blur that was soaked, drenched in blood rain. Something that never heals, never forgets, never forgives, never dies, never stops hating.
Truly. It hurts.
