Nameless Soldiers
Soldier's Purpose
We are all nameless soldiers, waiting to find a way to stand on that thin red line between Heaven and Hell.
Rain is pure. That's what they always said. Rain rid the world of evil and saved the few men, women and animals that God thought were worth saving. It is difficult to love someone you can't stand. It's even harder to love someone you hate. So while rain is pure, it drowned countless living things that had done nothing to earn wrath; simply because they wouldn't fit on the boat. Actually, I think rain is as bloody as the rest.
It's true I was raised Catholic and the others still think I am. I don't know what I believe anymore. I used to believe I'd be going to Heaven. I don't want to consider the possibility that I'll be going to Hell. Instead, I tend to claim ignorance to it all. Dumb people have it easy. They don't have to understand anything. If there is one thing you can believe in, it's Death. Shinigami comes for us all. He sits next to me on those weary days of violence and grins incessantly, cruelly, not caring who lives or dies as long as somebody dies. It's my job to see to it. I wouldn't want to let him down.
Everyone tells me my hair is going to kill me someday, but I can't in good conscience cut it. It represents all my grievances, all the people who've given their lives for me and who I've become. It lets me get on with things. I don't mind the jokes, the burns, and the sarcasm. It's my life and what I choose to do with it is none of their concern. I don't pretend to care about them any more than I actually do. Some of them care too much, some don't care at all.
For someone who doesn't care, he seems awfully sensitive around her. They're such polar opposites it's absolutely amazing how they survived this together. She brings out what little passion the ice-boy has in him. It's the only reason he wasn't killed at least a dozen times, Shingami suspects. He has more passion for life than probably any of us— even him— know. I find it funny how he values his own life so little, willing to sacrifice every last shred of himself for a greater good. Deep down, he really cares. He compensates by being extra cold.
And now, the curtain's closing. That doesn't end the play. Every person who walks out of that theatre is going to revise the ending, many of them will contemplate the afterward, a few of them will dream of being there, all of them will forget the small things and make them up with their own intrigues. Once the curtain closes, the action only stops on the other side. Inside, the men and women and others who gave their sweat and blood to build, play, produce and special effect have to clean up. It's the side of the show no one ever sees. We don't want to know what happens on the inside, neither before nor after. People are ignorant that way. That's why people die and get taken advantage of. They don't try and protect themselves with information, because they believe it won't happen. Well, I got news for you: it happens all the time. We insist on covering up the yellow underside of our species. We imagine everything is fine, so we start to believe it. That's why I don't believe in God, per se, anymore. We need someone to blame for this deep trench we've dug ourselves into. I blame us.
There is no difference between Heaven and Hell. There is no line, only shades of gray intermixed with the greens and blues and reds that make up this wonderful spectrum we call variety. It goes so many ways I get lost and the only time I'm sure is when I'm hovering above the pallet looking at the colors from the outside. I'm not one to discriminate, but there are some colors I would like to do away with. Heaven and Hell are not places to go; they're in this world with our sorry selves. We make them sound so horrible to forget the terrors of this life.
We are nameless soldiers trying not to get mixed in with the bleeding, staining colors life has dealt us. Even white is not pure. We risk our lives in hopes we won't see the next day. People say there is no absolution. There is an absolution. Death.
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