It was not supposed to happen like this.

The young man let go of the elderly man's arm. "Excuse me, what did you say?"

"I didn't say anything. Now, fuck off," said the old man, grabbing his cane away from the young man's grasp.

"Oh, you're welcome. I'll be sure to help you up the next time you fall down, you bastard," said the young man, walking away.

Wiping at his dripping nose, Mugen clutched at the cane as he began to walk along the path again. It would happen every so often, he would misstep or go too fast a pace and he would fall to the ground, dirt clinging to withered clothes. It made him want to laugh when it happened but he couldn't because the wind was knocked out of him every time.

The wind blew through the leaves of the trees overhead and the shadows wavered over his wrinkled skin. His flesh was still tan as ever, but cracks and creases destroyed the beauty of it. There was a time when he didn't even consider his looks, but now that they were gone, it bothered him.

One step at a time, he slowly reached his destination. He entered the small shack and pulled the door closed behind him. A lone window was the only light source inside and the sun cast a heavy golden glow on the wooden floor. As his feet shuffled across the floorboards dust would rise up and float in the warm air.

He sat in a chair that faced towards the window and he rested his cane against the armrest. The window was more of a gaping hole in the wall than a window and it let the flies in to annoy him. Mugen began to rub his sore knee out of habit and watched the sun drift towards the horizon.

What's the matter with you!

"What?" Mugen asked sharply, his body tensing. He looked wildly around the small room but no one was there. "Nothing's the matter with me. Go away!"

Mugen, if you're not going to listen to reason, then at least listen to beauty. Now, I'll ask again: What's the matter with you!

His eyes rested on the edge of the window in front of him. He knew whose voice that was. A face flickered dimly in his mind and he grasped at it but the image dissolved like smoke. He had heard that line so many times from her. So many times.

Pale skin burned a dark orange in the candlelight and it tasted like sweat and it reminded him of the seawater back on the island. A low moan was all he needed and she breathed against his lips.

Stomach twisting into a cramp, Mugen coughed into his hands and knew that blood would be on them when he pulled away. The stomach pains and bleeding had been going on for a few months and he knew it would only get worse. His love for food had decreased a few weeks prior but he didn't notice or care. This was how it would end.

The blood looked almost black on his hands. The sun had set a few minutes before and he could see the moon rise up from the dusk and into the night.

Mugen? Are you even listening to me?

"Yeah, Fuu. I'm listening."