So I was looking out my window as it was pouring rain, and this sort of just came to me. It's sad and depressing, but I can't really help but think that if the anime/manga had continued, would he have not broken down as some point as he realized that there was blood staining his hands, even as he worked for peace?
Anyways, please excuse any grammatical or spelling mistakes. It was sort of a spur of the moment thing.
Please review and let me know what you think.
He stood outside, staring up at the sunless grey sky, as it cried tears of sorrow. The wind shook the trees violently, pushing nature back and forth, in a fit of rage. His clothes were soaking wet, and he shivered as he felt the chill sink into his clothes and yet he didn't go back inside, away from the rain. For he felt the need to face the anger of the sky. To simply accept his punishment.
He had done a great number of horrible things in his lifetime. He had struck people down and seen the crimson blood of others staining his hands. He had destroyed families: husbands, wives, children, aunts, uncles, grandparents. And yet he did not stop.
He had committed so many evil deeds. He had killed people that had trusted him. Perhaps not directly, but he had still been the reason that they had died.
His mother, poisoned by an enemy famigilia. In a fit of rage, he had gone and annihilated that family. And even after he had killed them all, he had not felt any better. His hands stained. Now not only with his mothers blood, but now with the people he had killed as well.
And he did it for his family. And his friends. And everyone that trusted him. And he did what he knew was right. But the blood never really washed away. And he couldn't help but think: This man that he killed. Did this man have a family? A wife? A child waiting for him to come home? And as the number of people he had killed rose, he felt as though he became more empty.
And so he stood in the rain. As tears and rain mixed until he couldn't tell which was which. As he started shivering and coughing from the cold. And he waited. Perhaps waiting for God to give him the punishment that he deserved. Perhaps he waited for the rain to cleanse his soul.
And yet the blood that he had spilled on his hands remained. The blood staining him would not wash away. But he still waited.