Rhade's POV.

Beyond Good And Evil

I swallow down one drink after another, pretending to keep him company, while in reality all we do in here night after night is sharing our mutual disgust. At least it keeps me from talking.

I'd rather not talk. Especially not to him. There's nothing more to say. And I don't trust my voice.

As of lately I'm almost unable to still recognise it. It sounds like the worn-out voices of those men too tired to keep walking the streets in a vain attempt to find someone still willing to listen to them. I'm one of them. Too tired to understand the things he tries to tell me.

I almost cannot hear him. And he doesn't hear me. But how can one still hear the questions, well-knowing that nobody will answer while we're lost in all this hate?

The hate. I'm tired of it. And yet, it feels comfortable. I hate having to spend so much of my time with so many people forced to play more and more shaky parts in the universe's most shabby dancing-hall, where everyone dances alone.

By Drago's bones, there really is nothing more left for me. Nothing but this hate, some wounds and this part I'm playing: the drunk, the ladies' man, the hired gun. At least this one has been written especially for me. Fits like a glove – and to no avail.

There is no way out; not unless I tell him, not unless I tell her that I'm afraid, but of what? Truth is that I'm mainly afraid that both have gone crazy, that I'm all alone on this sickening world where nobody cares. The prayers I used to have, I no longer understand them. The words I believed in, I can hear them no longer.

I wish I'd had the courage to simply leave this bar, to make him come with me, to go over to her and ask her along, to shout at both of them like an inconsiderate child, who's been denied their understanding. I wish that I could swallow down my pride and ask for help. I think I tried a few times, I even think I tried a few times too loudly, too intensely, but they didn't even make an effort to listen to the end.

By the Divine, how did I ever managed to get such rotten hand? How am I supposed to play this? What am I to do here, on this crazy world created by some childish god, who enjoys himself while letting his rusty hammer to pitilessly fell his very own children? How long is this game going to last?

I'm lost in a mad world, full of maddening people, much too loudly shouting out their ideas to some crazy folk, calling for revenge when you refuse to follow. Some of them lose themselves in some awkward details, others couldn't care less and want just to join the ballet, to get lost in the dancing crowds led by those strange prophets and even stranger healers who don't get to cure anything at all. Yeah, I know, that's all part of the game: to just look at mistakes without taking action, but I'm sick of playing.

Maybe they could help, but I just can't talk to them; everyt time I try, my eyes are getting misty. I can't even shout out, there's a claw on my throat. And even if I could, what should they do? What can they do?

Sometimes it is plain wrong to not run while the running is good, to trust one's lucky star to the bitter end, and not fall on one's sword when all is lost and gone. There are moments in life when hope is just another word for betrayal. He knows it, he feels it, no matter how often he tells me otherwise. And he'll never forgive himself for all that happened back there, at Arkology. What can a man still do who barely seems able to live with himself? I know it: not much, just laugh at hell and order another drink. That's what.

And she... Sometimes it's even worse to do run while the running is good. I know, she reconsidered... So what? There are mistakes in life that you cannot undo. She broke my trust and the little man's heart when she left us. And him... she broke his back and she damn' well knows it. He should have made her stay, I don't know why he didn't. Nor does she, I suspect. And she's too strong a woman and too fierce a fighter – and not honest enough to herself – to ever forgive him for having let her run.

Such a sad, sad joke. Such a tasteless comedy. Everyone would lose his sense of humour over something like this. I did. I'll never forgive her for leaving. I'll never forgive him for not objecting to it. I'll never forgive them both for having lost their fight. I won't forgive myself for being inferior.

And yet, I stick around and play my part. I'm not gonna die over this. Not today, at least.