A/N:: I'm such a hypocrite. That's all I gotta say.
Spoilers: October 4th.
It was probably the lead, or maybe the screaming. Maybe it was the eerily-tinted green moon hung high above the city; maybe it was the clatter of metal on the ground or the sound of quickly retreating footsteps.
His side hurt – good god, it hurt, but he didn't care. At least it was him. At least it wasn't somebody important; at least it wasn't…
The numbness that was overcoming his body was unbearable; he could still feel the bullet buried deep inside his body. It seemed to radiate a sort of heat – a searing, end-all heat. He hardly noticed as the alleyway was suddenly filled with more people; horrified people, confused people, but most of all… relieved people.
His mouth started to taste like iron; a metallic tinge filled his mouth, the tinge of blood, the tinge of what he was losing.
At least it was him. At least it wasn't somebody important. At least it wasn't…
The life he'd lived had been lived plenty long. It was a tired life, ready to be lost. It was a life that drew its last shuttering breaths, the life that set an example.
His senses were overwhelmed with the smell of stale alcohol, somewhere deeper inside the alleyway. It was a putrid smell, and he thought it odd that it started to fade as quickly as it had come. But he realized it wasn't the alcohol that was fading.
At least it was him. At least it wasn't somebody important. At least it wasn't…
He'd spent so long, building his castle and not letting anybody in. It was a feat to be remembered for a life so wretched and ill-spent; a life that deserved to be lost, that deserved to rest.
He might have ruined his life, but in that one final moment, he'd saved another. He'd saved one that still had a chance. That was worth it, he thought.
The remainder of his castle was starting to crumble like sand. He knew that he didn't have long. Everything seemed so blurry to him; he couldn't think straight, see straight, but he stood up. One last time, he stood up, only to fall down again, and there was no turning back. He could hear the cracks start to form and the concrete start to crumble, and the moon didn't seem so horrifying anymore. It seemed so peaceful on a night light this; odd, how it was his life that was slipping away, and he didn't give a single care, while he could hear the faint sound of somebody screaming. Anywhere else in the world, nobody noticed; it would do no good, so why not just let it go?
He was freezing. As he lay there on the cold concrete of a Port Island alleyway, he felt the cold seep through his jacket, the jacket that had kept him warm through his years. He could feel just how tired he was, just how much his body had deteriorated; his joints felt stiff and his bones felt thin. This was good; this was best.
As the walls came crashing down around him and his sense of life started to fade, he thought all would be over soon, until his world started to sharpen; started to focus. The bullets, the brandy, the barbaric intentions of such chemical-bred beasts; he knew.
He knew that his world was quickly dying.
But what a wretched world it was -- a world that sat still and stately among the dust-covered tables of an abandoned restaurant; the world that bore the sins of men on a late night in October.
A/N:: Such a piece of utter, utter crap. Not exactly the kind of thing I imagined to be my first story here. /headdesk