*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
At first, he hadn't understood the full implications of his actions—why it was that he returned to that one spot at the very crack of dawn, no, before even then, every morning, and after every mission away from the village.
He could not comprehend his own actions; and that in itself was as belittling as it was frustrating.
Why did he even bother? It had been over sixteen years since his loved ones perished in the line of duty; over a decade and a half, and yet he was still firmly rooted back in the moment, as if he were stuck in a pending continuum of endless possibilities—possibilities that could have altered the present dramatically.
Could have saved their lives from the invariable clutches of Death himself.
He always pondered; pondered on what he could have done, should have done—didn't do.
Perhaps… maybe, had he not been such a stubborn, reticent fool, they would have been spared that cruel fate of dying, barely into adolescence, never seeing life through the eyes of an adult; never having the chance to rise through the ranks—to fall properly in love and raise a family with their loved one forever by their side.
But it was all too late.
And that was when he realised why it was he continually came back.
It was because he was repenting for the time that they lost, for the time that they never had the opportunity to use, or waste away.
He kept returning to that sacred marking place to gather the life's energy that they had left behind, so that he too could keep moving on with his own.
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
a/n: Experimenting with short, one page oneshots. Please tell me what you think. (:
CLICK TO COMMENT! :D
ii
ii
i
V