The shouts of the world were strong, so strong that they seemed to subjugate everything else.
The Evil crushed
Pain trod
Suffering tore
Sadness lacerated
And all these things were the constriction of the word, of his world.
It was him who lived in that world, death was almost both the owner and the relief from that dusky world.
And he was the perfect groom for that black lady, she went along with him in each step, as she were pandering his choices, life or death in his hands.
And yet he didn't want that mate, surely he'd never admit it to himself, but he didn't want to be a messenger of death anymore,
But that world swallowed him and if he wanted to survive, he had to dance with death, on knife's edge where everything was in the running.
He thought that his world ended with his 357 Magnum's gun barrel, it was his wounded soul's extension, through which his life was complete. Without that gun he weren't able to balance the dusky world, he weren't able to save those who ended up there by chance, and if he didn't save even the bare minimum, death would have many further messengers like him.
And he couldn't stand this, he wanted to be sure not to meet anyone with his same eyes, those eyes of a child torn to tender age in a bad way, forced to fight to survive; no child deserved that. That's why he kept on fighting.
He says he's a man who survives, who doesn't have a look to the future, who lives alone with his weapon.
But he doesn't know how much he's wrong, because he fights for hope.
He's a disillusioned man, maybe because he had never fought for his own hope, because he fears tomorrow and so he thinks that his big, strong hands, are only ordinary hands made for hurting and executing.
Life and Death
Death and life
More Death than life for him
Because nobody is able to scan his eyes, so that his soul has deeply hidden behind an insurmountable wall that nobody should cross.
He doesn't want anybody to cross it in any way.
He doesn't want to reveal his fragility, his insecurities.
He doesn't want his humanity to be shown.
He doesn't want to believe that he deserves to own his humanity.
And then, someday, a tear in front of him.
A tear salty flavoured.
A tear, drenched in the sweetest of tortures.
A tear, impregnated by woman's love.
A small tear slipping on her cheek.
A tear, not any tear. Her tear.
Her.
Her, who springs into your head.
Her, who does not seem to fit into your dark world.
Her, who is the opposite of your deathly wife.
Her, who is life.
Her, who is hope.
Her, who is joy.
Her, who is light.
Her, who is smiling.
Her, who is humanity.
Her, who is love.
Her, who feels love for you.
For you, who feel egoistic, rejected, discarded.
And how can such a creature love someone like you?
And you ask it to her.
And she gives to you that tear, to you, who never cried.
And that apparently harmless tear, is able to break the wall of your soul, where you had tried to hide.
And those large and strong hands, bend to that will to touch hope, while stroking that wet cheek.
You know that she will be the only one worth to fighting for and who gives worth meaning to your life.
And the black lady leaves you as the groom.
And you rejoin to life, to that life that you've always denied.
And by tasting those red as fire lips, red like the blood that you did not think to have , you'll know you're reborn.
To have a new world living with a shining light.
A shine called love.
A love which has her name.
Kaori.